I’ve received a very important and seemingingly dire email from The Creepings of Creeping Hills. D.M. Cunningham has gone missing. (Although I’m not too sure how much I trust the Creepings of Creeping Hills. They are a diabolical bunch.) However, they have found the last known footage of D.M.:
I’ve been asked by the Creepings to post he Halloween Tree animated series, which I think is a brilliant idea. In this animated video, you will see a more cohesive version of what we have been reading over the last 19 days. I hope you take some time this lovely Halloween and enjoy this classic book by the legendary dreamer, Ray Bradbury.
I hope you have enjoyed our crazy Halloween Tree readings, as well as agentbree.worpress.com’s month long Halloween extravaganza! It’s been a blast for all of us to bring this story to life in a somewhat unconventional form.
Go be deliciously evil and spontaneous tonight!
I love you all! Thank you for participating in this very special month!
LOVING the voice and body language of this Halloween Tree reading. FEARING the gorilla mask.
Let’s just say, I grew up in Phoenix, AZ and was once traumatized as a young girl by the Suns mascot…
…that sounds a lot darker than it should. I just physically ran into him in a dark room of the arena and he grabbed me to steady me… TRAUMATIZED. So thanks for opening up old wounds, Peter!
The Landau Kids!
If you follow Peter Landau on Twitter, you know that his children are ridiculously clever, funny, witty, and intelligent.
And now, here they are to entertain us while Peter reads The Halloween Tree Chapter 13! BOO!
(Ada’s sound effects are super fitting!)
Peter Landau, ever so suave, tenderly adjusts his creepy black mask like the gentleman that he is…
And it’s that juxtaposition that makes me adore this guy! Even when he is doing something creepy, he does it with élan.
Alors qu’il peut apparaître comme un homme rampant dans un masque noir, Il est un vrai gentleman. Profitez du chapitre huit de L’Arbre D’Halloween.
(My french is rusty and also as I was writing that, I noticed a spider crawling up my shirt. So forgive any errors.)
Peter Landau, first drummer for White Zombie and retired contributer to Gene Simmons’ Tongue Magazine (haha, seriously) reads chapter three of The Halloween Tree for us today.
There is something incredibly creepy about the way Peter did this. Boy knows how to get a shudder out of me.
Tomorrow, starts the ZomBreePod experimental readings of legendary author Ray Bradbury’s The Halloween Tree.
For 19 days in a row, This literary life will feature a chapter a day, each read in a style chosen by each individual reader.
Be sure to stop by AgentBree.Wordpress.com daily to get your dose of Bradbury, Moundshroud, and all the fun Halloween ruckus involved in this magnificent children’s book.
One of the better parts of being an agent is that I get to snap my fingers at my incredibly cool clients, beg them to do things for me, and usually get what I want! Yep! I abuse my power over these poor unsuspecting writers—even if this particular client is a father of 3 kids under the age of 10, has a day job, and is undergoing revisions of his MS for me—I still have the nerve to ask him for favors. But you all benefit. So really, how bad am I?
Here’s the deal. A while back, I started to run across all these vintage Halloween Pin Up girls. They’re all over the place. And I happen to have this client—Peter Landau—who is like Allen Ginsberg, Hunter S. Thompson, Andy Warhol, Bob Dylan, and Rivers Cuomo (when he was cool) all combined. I thought, who’s more perfect to whip me up a short little story based on one of the Halloween Pin Up Girls? So I sent him a 1966 Bill Layne Pin Up of a “sexy witch” and he returned with this. I love my job.
You know what I could go for now? Batter-fried tarantula. Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside. Sure, the hairs get stuck between your teeth. What, you want everything? You sound like my old man Jack.
Where’s Jack? I’m sitting on him. There’s not much else I can do with Jack. I mean, he’s got a big head and all but other than that he’s lacking the essentials for a mutually rewarding relationship. That’s what I read in a book. There was a time when books said that a green witch getting friendly with an orange jack-o’-lantern was a sin against god and country. They used to lynch pumpkins that just carved an eye in a witch’s direction.
Of course it’s hard to lynch a pumpkin head. Right, Jack? Sorry, my man doesn’t talk much. He’s got a slice of a smile and a few buck teeth, but they ain’t made for conversation. Mostly, he just likes to stick a lit candle in his hollow head and let the fire do the talking. He’s got bright eyes, right? And there’s more. Did you know his seeds are edible? When I gutted him I used his innards to make a sweet pie filling. What more does a witch need from a mate? I’d rather sit on his face than have to listen to Jack blah, blah, blah. There are better things for a mouth than speech. I should know. There’s a spell for that. Well, I’d love to chat all night, but it’s Halloween — show time — and this broom ain’t going to fly by itself. Haunt you later.