I’m at the part in “The Shunned House” remix where the narrator’s uncle has procured some Crookes’ tubes to… I’m not quite sure… do something to the thing in the basement. I looked up Crookes’ tubes, which were apparently hugely important for teaching us a lot about different thing, but, as far as I can tell, really only succeeded in casting some kind of glowing shadow? I don’t quite understand if they were cathode ray tubes or if they lead to the invention of the cathode ray tube, but either way, it appears their strategy for using a Crookes’ tube as a weapon would have actually been something like “Please look at this until you get really, really bored.”
Which, you know, is how most of us spent our childhoods in front of cathode ray tubes and none of us were vanquished.
On the other hand, presumably none of us are werewolfish vampiric Frenchmen buried in some unsuspecting person’s basement, so maybe it works?
This part of the story is making me realize two things. One, I need a different weapon. I’m going with a highly-classified electromagnetic pulse weapon, which our grandchildren and great-grandchildren can laugh about. “Betsy thought you could vanquish a werewolfish vampiric Frenchman with a toaster?! People in the past were so stupid.” To which I say, “None of you are vampiric werewolfish Frenchmen buried in some unsuspecting person’s basement, so I guess it works, huh? Get off my lawn.”
Two, my story needs more Jesus. Well, any Jesus at all. It’s just not plausible that a couple of Southern vampiric werewolfish Frenchmen-hunters who think they may have uncovered evidence of black magic wouldn’t have some Jesus-y backup. No matter how “skeptical” or “scientific” they imagine themselves to be, they’re going to pray at some point. It just wouldn’t be otherwise.
That’s a pretty big change from Lovecraft, but it’s a necessary one to meet my goals.
If they are French, it would be the Mary or the Sacred Heart or some particular saint — wingmen to Jesus rather than The Man himself. And holy water. That’s a go-to. And maybe some holy medals or a rosary.
On reflection, the saint they’d most likely be appealing to is St. Hubert. He was French, he’s the patron saint of hunters, and he’s the saint one appeals to when one needs to cure bites (especially rabies). Perfect for werewolf hunters.
Oh, damn it. Now I wish my werewolf hunters were Catholic, because St. Hubert sounds PERFECT for my story. I’m going to go back and find a way to work him in.
When you’re ready to use a basement cage and a seriously chewed up post for the photo shoot, let me know.
Ha ha ha. That would be awesome.
Even if their people haven’t been Catholic for generations, I would find it plausible that they’d use Catholic mojo (or as they say in academic circles, vernacular practice). The saints are the last thing to go.
Oh, no, that sentence in the post is confusing. The people doing the hunting aren’t Catholic, aren’t even related to the Deraques. It should have read something like “a couple of hunters of vampiric werewolfish Frenchmen.”
Their problem is merely the Deraques buried in the basement of their cousins’ house. Though, you know… the cousins are Fitzgeralds. Entirely plausible that they’d be Catholic.
Oooooo.