Monday, December 4, 2017

Pennywise in Guadalajara

Sometimes you're walking down the streets of Guadalajara, minding your own business... When you run into Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Sneak peek from the "Clown Motel" book

Enjoy this sneak peek inside my book Three Nights in the Clown Motel, about my harrowing journey to a haunted clown motel in the desert.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

 Three Nights in the Clown Motel book

From Chapter Seven: "An Infestation of Clowns"

The bells hanging from the lobby door jingled when I pushed it open. I blinked in the dim light.
I was surrounded by them. The clowns.
To say that there were “a lot” of them doesn’t quite capture it. While it would be numerically accurate to say the lobby contained over 600 clown dolls, this would also fail to properly capture the horror of the place. Infestation would be a good word. The lobby was infested with clowns.
The first one to greet me was an enormous, shiny Ronald McDonald statue just inside the door. His faded, glazed eyes stared at me inscrutably, his red mouth curled into a smile. He held up a white gloved hand.
I walked past Ronald and saw hundreds of his clown brothers staring down at me from all sides. Stacked on the shelves, dangling from the ceiling, arranged on the floor. Our name is Legion, for we are many, they seemed to say.
Porcelain figurines with delicate features. Plush dolls with rainbow hair. A sad “hobo clown” with a five o’clock shadow. A horned clown face with a handkerchief body, dangling from a nail on the shelf. Grotesque features, deformed hands and feet, mocking grins.
The receptionist from the previous night stood behind the desk, chatting on the phone. How can she remain so calm, I thought, when surrounded by these creatures?
A plastic cage on the desk contained a quintessential “evil clown” doll—red eyes, fangs, claws. This one didn’t even bother me. I was much more disturbed by the clowns with a sly, cocky grin on their face. An evil-looking clown just makes me think of cheap, B-horror films. The quiet, smug grin, however, can only mean one thing: This clown is real, and he thinks about murder all day long.
The receptionist acknowledged my presence with a nod and continued her phone conversation. I stared up at the signed clown photographs behind the desk. One black-and-white clown grinned psychotically, hair disheveled, eyes promising violence and chaos. I took a few steps backwards and bumped into something. It creaked. I turned.
A high, girlish shriek escaped my throat.
I had bumped into a rocking chair containing the ugliest mannequin I had ever seen. He wore a sheen fabric costume of rainbow stripes, with a matching conical hat. Aside from the red pompom, it could have been a Klansman’s hood. His wooden hands had been painted with eerie realism—detailed knuckles and veins and bones. I squinted, fancying the possibility that they were real, dehydrated human hands.
And the face. Oh God, the face. It was a smooth, waxen figure of indeterminate age. The corners of its crimson mouth turned gently upward, its eyes half-shut in opioid glee. It was the smug smile of Zen-peace-meets-psychopathy.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist held one hand over the receiver.
“I just need to pay for last night. I’m in room twelve.”

She slid the credit card machine across the counter and went back to the phone. I decided I’d ask about the rocking chair clown later on—this was all too much to handle on an empty stomach. I signed the receipt and headed out into the cold morning air, giving one last look over my shoulder.



Tuesday, June 27, 2017

The clown breakfast bowl

A couple months after my visit to the haunted Clown Motel, my aunt gave me this lovely breakfast bowl. She knows me too well.

Apparently, she ate cereal out this fun bowl as a child in the 1950s. Like pretty much everything vintage and clown-themed, it is now scary as hell.

"The best part of waking up...is terror in your cup."

Sunday, March 26, 2017

The clown doll with the moving hand

The lobby of the "Clown Motel," in Tonopah, NV, is filled with hundreds of clown figurines. One of them is this life-sized doll.

"I call him 'Mister Creepy,'" the receptionist tells me. "He gives me such a weird feeling when I'm in here alone."

She swears that she has seen his left hand move on its own. Twice.

"I finally put that other doll on top of his hand to keep it from moving. But other employees have told me that it still moves sometimes anyway."

Many guests refuse to look the doll in the eyes. They can't stand to even stand near it for very long.

"We had a professional psychic come through here," the receptionist says. "She told me, 'This doll has something inside it.'"

Mister Creepy and hundreds of his friends await you here in Tonopah. Tonight will be my third night in the Clown Motel.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Journey to the Clown Motel: the beginning

The haunted clown motel. 

Located in a remote town in the deserts of Nevada, the entire motel is clown-themed. Clown dolls fill the lobby, and paintings of clowns are in every room. 

Some guests say they have seen the silhouette of a clown standing outside their window at night. 

As if that wasn't enough, an Old West graveyard lies right next to the motel. 

I will be spending the weekend there. 

I plan on writing a couple books about my time at the "Clown Motel" of Tonopah, Nevada...if I make it out alive. Stay posted for my frequent updates. You can follow my live posts on social media: 

Twitter: @SchmidtTales
Facebook: @HolyGhostStories

Stay tuned.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Meeting R. L. Stine

I had the honor of meeting renowned horror author R.L. Stine at the San Diego Writers' Conference this year.

Extremely affable, down-to-earth guy, and one of the most humorous public speakers I've ever heard.

And now he has a copy of my book, "Holy Ghosts."