AND YOU THOUGHT HALLOWEEN WAS OVER !!!

iNtRoDUcInG

ThE

aNnUaL

pHaNtOm

pHaMilY

pHoToGrApH

 When the photographer,  Mr. Henry Trembles, pulled up to the Phantom Phamily's Estate,  his eye grew wide as the  decrepid, decaying

old mansion loomed  above him as if to swallow him whole! 

He tried to stay calm   but his heart began to race, his knees began to quiver!  With shaky hands, he picked up his camara case and equipment wishing that he had not  taken this job!  What was he thinking?  The  13 mile drive to get to the Estate was enough to kill any  man! It was nothing but a  long, winding road with curves turning from left to right so quickly that  his head was spinning  as he tried to keep the

old Studabaker from going straight into the ravine!

If  he had listened to the Towns People, he would be safely home right now, tucked in his feather bed,  with his hot water bottle warming his feet!  He  would be comfortably alone,  eating his dinner  of wild boar and  drinking his evening gruel.

He definitely would not be standing in the dark, trying to gather  his courage to go up the rickety, broken steps and knock on the door.  He stepped forward and then quickly shrank back , as a lone wolf  howled eerily in the cold night air!   

The three story mansion must have been a beautiful home once but now it was in ruins.  All of the glass in the large windows had been  broken out long ago and now the jagged remnants of the once lovely, black, silk curtains freely danced in the moonlight as the wind tossed them to and fro!

He gulped and slowly made his way up the steps and saw the huge  door knocker that was made out of black metal to resemble some fierce creature he was sure he had never seen before! 

  He hesitated and then with  a tremling hand,  knocked on the door.  A hollow sound echoed and then all was deathly quiet!  He knocked again, much louder this time! Still,  no sound came from behind the heavy weather-beaten door!  It was as if he were trying to wake the dead!! 

Before he could knock a third time, the  large door swung open on rusty hinges, creaking shrilling as a musty damp smell invaded his senses and large cob webs of dust swirled and curled around his body!  He looked up into the dark faces of the  proprietors of the Phantom Mansion and fainted dead away!  No one ever saw  or heard from him  again! 

We know he was there, because these pictures were found years later, hanging  upside down and crooked on the cold, damp walls of that  old delapidated mansion! They are  all  alone, nothing but blank eyes staring out into the dark, dead of night! 

Or so the Towns People say, no one can really be sure, because anyone who dares to enter the house doesn't stay long enough to really see what's inside!  And on a cold, clear night, if you listen closely, you can hear the echo of the shrill screams  of those brave souls who try to enter  through the doorway of The Phantom Mansion!!

Dare you look at these pictures???

 

 

 

 

 

Every year the picture always look the same,

their clothes, their faces, and even their eyes!!

See...

They Never Grew Old...

They just disappeared!!!

Oh No!!!! Not More Knitting Witches!?!

THE TRICOTEUSE

She has brows like a knitting machine;

 teeth grinding, sliding back and forth,
 hands tense twitching, like the furies,

 knitting revenge into every stitch,

 like Madame Defarge,
the tricoteuse.

 Like Nero,
she could be knitting while Rome burned.

For each stitch that drops off the needle,

another head will roll.

Stitch on stitch,
she builds a scaffold of reprisal

to shore up her pain and punish her foes,

fatally – clickety-clack.

As she watches the guillotine swing,

she never lets go of those knitting pins,

 pinning elbows to sides,

 tight, pressing breasts together,

like a turnkey, pointed,

like knives piercing nooses,

tearing at thread and yarn.

She never lets up on the rhythm of plains

and purls and slip stitch over,

 knitting holes for the holy,

knotting sutures for her bleeding wounds.

She knits her worries into the fabric,

repetition relieving her heart’s terror.

She experiences no trauma.

 The edge of life is taken off,

 woven into lacy borders, colours,

a jacquard array, balm for her sorry soul.

Falling apart,
 she knits to keep herself whole.

                     ---Wendy Freebourne

                           Knit Designer and Poet

I constructed the
"Knitting Witches Spiderweb"

out of white cotton yarn and a glue stick!

 Time consuming but fun!

BALLLET OF BONES

                                                              

DON'T MISS  

 THE LAST

THREE PERFORMANCES

OF

THE MERRY MACABRE

BONES BALLET

 THE ENCORE PRESENTATION OF

THE  ORIGINAL  BLACK &  WHITE  VERSION OF:

THE BALLET OF BONES

IN

"PICASSO'S  HALLOWEEN"

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MORE KNITTING WITCHES AND THEIR SPOOKY STITCHES!!!!

             NOW THAT HALLOWEEN IS OVER  

             AND THEIR BEWITCHING

                       IS DONE, 

WHAT COULD THESE

CRAFTY WITCHES BE

                   WANTING TO WEAR?

OF  COURSE !!

           THEY'RE KNITTING THEIR          

 **  **  ** 

WINTER UNDERWEAR!

****************

Bewitched Knitting

               BEWARE!!

                                     THESE  WITCHES

                                             ARE IN

                                          STITCHES!!