ISBA WILLIAMSBURG

In aid to you, my friends, I infiltrated an ISBA investigation in Williamsburg, Va only recently.  This was convenient as it was, apparently, at Busch Gardens Howl-O-Scream, allowing me to kill two birds with one poisoned pumpkin and bring you a report on the 2018 Howl-O-Scream event.

This is right inside the gates at the England section, named Ripper Row for the event.  I've either captured an establishing shot or thought those were particularly sinister hanging baskets. 

Again, Ripper Row.  Again, not sure.  The...what would you call that...bunting...crepe...and some person's disembodied floating sunglasses. 

A bit more Ripper Row and I've definitely decided to go with bunting.

Do not be fooled by the sign in the lower right corner.  There were none of these so-called "flex rings" on the premises. 

We did not take in this Monster Stomp show.  Still, nice theater.

Yay, something spooky.  A hearse with a headless driver.  If you look you can see the sign offering a reward for the capture of the Whitechapel Murderer.  Turns out there is no reward.  I saw him right on the steps of the theater and the police were just turning a blind eye.  Slackers.  Oh, lots of ravens.

Jack O'Lanterns hung from strings.  What more can be said?

This signpost tells you, in the most general direction possible, where to go.

Ah, scarecrows.  With pumpkin heads.  Love it.  Conspicuous by his absence was the troll that often lurks outside of Italy.  

I assume this one is napping.

It's like some sort of pumpkin Golgotha up in here. 

You know what's cool to see hanging from strings?  Lit pumpkins.  Lit ghosts.  Spiders with glowing eyes.  Here you see some bare bulbs.  Yep.  Bulbs.  On cords.  Come on, Ireland, make an effort.

Ah, Ireland.  No attempt has been made to make the fairy tree scary, and I think that's okay.  It gives one a safe haven in all this madness.  So far, we have not made contact with the ISBA rep.

A little ghostly history: This is one of the monsters that premiered over in Germany when they had a Doctor Frankenstein theme instead of the damned vampires they've had for years now.  One thing about Germany I never could stomach...

Every good ghost hunter knows that gravestones are a sure sign that no ghosts are present.  Which they were not.

Because they are all in the trees!

Not my best work.  I'm going to assume the blur was caused by a ghost and not my poor cameraphone skills.  Yes, let's go with that.

More ghosts.  Now at this point we are moving out of Ireland on our way to Canada because that's where the smokehouse is where the wife suggested we eat lunch.  It was lunch time.  This was a good suggestion.  You have to get through France to get to New France, which is to say Canada.

I feel obliged to point out that this is a skull throne.  Which is pretty good.  We've now entered France.  In the past France has played host to a demonic DJ when the moon rises, but BG, in their infinite wisdom, stuck the poor bastard into Italy in a theater.  Try to imagine it.  DJ playing pumping dance tunes, some 5 people sitting at tables listening and having a beverage.  No dancing, singing, or shouting.  Poor man was dying up there, and he knew it.  He tried.  He really did.  It was utterly hopeless.  I saw a ghost that night.  The ghost of a man's dreams.

The story is this jester has taken over France and is the new king and chaos reigns supreme.  By the way, if you are at all into Warhammer or 40K, all of this is far more amusing to you.

Rats abound in France.  Yep.  Rats.  Just rats.  Also some of the jute from the pirate displays of a few years back.

I'm still in France, I'm still hungry, and we've not met the ISBA contact yet.  That was the DJ booth in the past.  

Ah, the border to New France (or Canada, as established) and for once I do know somebody in the picture.  Two folks, bottom left.  I didn't know it was them until AFTER I'd put the pic on the blog.  So they are probably ghosts too.

LUNCH!  Smokehouse sampler and a big pickle, please.  Since the INVADR ride was added to Canada they've gone a bit viking.  So now the ghost of good taste can also be seen haunting the place.  Yes, I'm very aware of vikings in Newfoundland.  Nobody would give a French rat's arse if not for the viking vogue thing currently in its fifth year or so. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Frank Farkle, ISBA veteran field investigator.  Frank, with his trademark beer, met with me after lunch, back in France.  At an undisclosed location (the Griffon) he thoroughly checked my forged credentials and accepted my presence into the field operation.  He told me to find his cousin in Ireland, where I'd be given a brief on suspected activity.  He then promptly pointed behind me, said, "What the hell is that?!" causing me to turn.  When I had turned back, he was gone.  Very mysterious.

France again.  Only now I'm heading for Ireland.  That's back whence I came, but I'm on assignment.  My forged credentials as Wilder McRook having been accepted.  

No, seriously, what are these skeletons doing?  I assume this is all more exciting in the dark.

Jester again.

If you look carefully you will see the spooky fire plug in this picture.

Two shots of the Vistani wagon that NEVER has the rare encounter up when I'm here.  How is a paladin to get 100% completion at Busch Gardens?  I'd totally turn the $&!@ out of some vampires.

I did not partake in this ride.  I just wanted to show you the picture.

Antigone Frogwrangler and Ophelia Newtskinner of the ISBA.  I suspect those are alias used by the group to protect their true identities.  I am now in Ireland.

Paddy O' Furniture, my ISBA contact.  This seems to be a rare case of Patty Duke Syndrome where identical cousins are two of a kind.  I swear that's Frank Farkle in disguise.  Has my cover been blown?

Well, maybe not.

I did mention the Canadian Vikings, right?
I think the theme in Canadaland was axe murder, but I can't be sure.

The spider bridge that will lead us to Germany.

I believe the evidence speaks for itself.  Fortunately I had plenty of garlic in my pack, so I didn't need to rob the Germans.

I don't know this guy.

Here I followed standard ISBA practice when I smelled something like unto cheap beer, bad pizza, and mustard.  I quickly pulled out my camera ready to snap a picture of the spirit, but all I saw as the mist cleared was Paddy O' Furniture.  True to his "cousin's" form, he claimed the spirit had fled before the image could be captured.

Spooky fruit?  I'm in Italy now.  I caught in a Germany holding pattern for hours that involved eating pretzels and drinking beer, which ISBA special investigator O' Furniture assured me was preparation.  They have these haunted houses.  You stand in line for a long time, then you go in, they I shout and do a Don Knotts krotty move like I'm in "The Ghost And Mr. Chicken" then you come out.  And you can't use your camera.  So just trust me on this. 

I need to get some night speed film.  Oh wait.  I'm using a phone.

Shots from the Garden of the Dead in Italy.  Very good makeup work, lighting, and a nice skeleton theme.  Death sat beside me on Apollo's Chariot (no, really) after I was "volunteered" to accompany Ophelia Newtskinner on what the ISBA calls a "ride along".

Now finally we have a ghost.  I think.  I'm a skeptic, but if you squint...

Spooky candles on a grave.  Now that's what I call Howl-O-"Scream".  That was so lame.

I spent several long seconds and three lookbacks trying to figure out if this was a person in costume, a mannequin, or death.  Jury is still out.

Festa Italia, renamed Sideshow Square for the event.  Nothing says sideshow like a midget driving dolls in a cage pulled by a dead horse.  

Seriously, it's like an HBO series or something.

My ISBA contacts, clearly fitshaced at this point.  I'm beginning to think the spirits they were bothering were of the distilled variety.

Creepy dolls.  That is all.

Clowns.  Of course it's clowns.  It's a circus.  So here's the math on clowns.  Scary clowns are not scary.  Normal clowns can be scary.  Antigone hates clowns, it turns out.

Hello, Mr. Sad Clown.  I must be going.  Into spooky woods...

For reasons I am not at liberty to divulge, I am back at England.  Ripper Row at night. 

Evil cop.  No troll.  Not as good as in years past.  This year claimed a return to "the scare is everywhere" vice the so-called child friendly "scare zones", but there was not much of it.  Unlike a half dozen years ago where the scare was constant with people dressed as bushes jumping from other bushes and spark throwers this was more low key.  Much less on the jump scares.  By the end, although I enjoyed myself in general, I was forced to ask, "Is the scare anywhere?"

Keep your pumpkins lit.