Scorpion (Penny Dreadful)

I hate admit it, but I like this show better than anything else on television right now. More than Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. Penny Dreadful speaks to the heart of me.  Vanessa Ives is played by the remarkable Eva green who makes the show spectacular. If you have a chance to see it, take it. It is rare for a show to inspire me to illustrate something connected while watching it, but this scorpion was very much the result of viewing the show.

Candy Beast

I am always looking for new things to turn into monsters. This is just one more horror to add to my collection.

The Horseman 1 of 13

I started a series of digital paintings and I plan to work my way through all thirteen ghosts I want to paint. The first was the traditional horseman. My version is a blue flaming skeleton on a skeletal horse swinging a fiery chain. I think I was influenced by a few sources including the Headless Horseman and a poem called Daniel Webster's Horses. 

Daniel Webster’s Horses

Elizabeth Coatsworth

If when the wind blows

Rattling the tress,

Clicking like skeletons’

Elbows and knees,

You hear along the road

Three horses pass,

Do not go near the dark

Cold window-glass

If when the first snow lies

Whiter than bones,

You see the mark of hoofs

Cut to the stones,

Hoofs of three horses

Going abreast—

Turn about, turn about,

A closed door is best!

Upright in the earth

Under the sod

They buried three horses,

Bridled and shod,

Daniel Webster’s horses—

He said as he grew old,

“Flesh, I loved riding,

Shall I not love it cold?

“Shall I not love to ride

Bone astride bone,

When the cold wind blows

And snow covers stone?

“Bury them on their feet,

With bridle and bit.

They were good horses.

See their shoes fit.”

The Ghost

I built this guy a few years ago. We are having a lot of storms this year. I hope he holds up. I also am a big fan of creepy poems, so here is one for you now.

Ghosts

I am almost afraid of the wind out there.
The dead leaves skip on the porches bare,
The windows clatter and whine.
I sit here in the quiet house. low-lit.
With the clock that ticks and the books that stand.
Wise and silent, on every hand.

I am almost afraid; though I know the night
Lets no ghosts walk in the warm lamplight.
Yet ghosts there are; and they blow, they blow,
Out in the wind and the scattering snow.-
When I open the windows and go to bed,
Will the ghosts come In and stand at my head?

Last night I dreamed they came back again.
I heard them talking; I saw them plain.
They hugged me and held me and loved me; spoke
Of happy doings and friendly folk.
They seemed to have journeyed a week away,
but now they were ready and glad to stay.

But, oh, if they came on the wind to-night
Could I bear their faces, their garments white
Blown in the dark around my lonely bed?
Oh, could I forgive them for being dead?
I am almost afraid of the wind. My shame!
That I would not be glad if my dear ones came!

Fannie Stearns Davis