After getting a contemporary taste of first-person dungeon crawlers with the DS' Dark Spire, I fell down a rabbit hole looking for another game to satiate my reawakened hunger for the grueling genre, and that game seemed to be the PS2's Wizardry: Tale of the Forsaken Land.

Menacing box art? Check. No overly-cutesy anime girls? Check. Clunky-looking gameplay? Check. God-Like soundtrack and oppressive atmosphere? Hmm... that one would've been tough to call without purchasing this scarcely available gem, so I did exactly that, risking everything in the process.

Upon start-up, I was greeted with my first hint that this game's soundtrack would surpass my expectations, and the story's set-up and general characterization for the NPCs proved to craft a perfectly chilly atmosphere. 

Unfortunately, the atmosphere would be less consistent than I had hoped, and the gameplay itself, while fun enough, was painfully slow. Still, though, the music never let me down.

Greatly reminding me of Dark Cloud's unique and memorable score (definitely more on that soundtrack, and game, in the future), there's just something so special about the compositions within this rare PS2 oddity. An overwhelming aura of sadness, unexpected progressions, and an underlying feeling of sinister grandeur are only on the very tip of this musical iceberg.

Truly, Wizardy: Tale of the Forsaken Land's music is an unknown gem that absolutely NEEDS to be be heard by fellow lovers of video game music, so let's quickly march through these eerie, illogically-designed catacombs so we can get started!

As the Title Screen's main theme, this was the first piece of music to greet my ears, and it was then that I knew I was in for something special. 

The aptly-titled "World of Darkness" conjures simultaneous feelings of dread, sorrow and definitive fates, all within the opening notes. The orchestra chime at the start establishes a funereal mood which is quickly amplified by truly mournful strings. 

The piece builds in intensity until reaching a surprisingly melancholy climax, complete with choir, before it takes a hard turn into an openly sinister sequence with an unnerving harpsichord.

This is a fantastic piece, and one that knows how to set an incredible mood, and it's a shame that the game couldn't consistently maintain what this theme establishes.

"Where Have You Gone*" is essentially the most atmospherically and thematically perfect piece of music for the very concept of entering and exploring a haunting dungeon. 

With a deep, ominous note that almost sounds like a warning, and a chilling vocal soloist to bolster it, this track creates an unnerving atmosphere right from the get go. Following the establishment of its theme, the track continues with a subtle addition of unusual and uneven percussion that sounds suspiciously like a heartbeat. 

"Where Have You Gone" isn't a long track, and while I would have loved to see it continue to evolve and flesh itself out, subtly or otherwise, with a few more minutes, I really can't complain about what we do have. 

There are very few pieces of music (be they classical, film, video game or otherwise) that fully grasp and understand an emotion or concept, perfectly translating it into musical form... and "Where Have You Gone" is one of them. 

If you ever find yourself with a party of battered adventures entering a labyrinth crawling with monsters and traps, all while having little hope of returning alive, I guarantee you'll hear this music.

Again, while the game itself doesn't live up to what this music represents and promises, it's impossible to subtract points from the soundtrack as a whole. This isn't music failing a game; this is a game failing the music. 

* = Editor's Note: the official name of this track is "Where Are You Gone." I changed it to what I believe the non-English-speaking composer probably intended to call it.

One of the most powerful pieces in the entirety of the soundtrack, "Destiny" goes all out with its use of the entire "orchestra," creating an intensely emotional experience in the process.

This is one of the few times that I feel my (obnoxiously erudite) words and accompanying (self-indulgent) analysis regarding a track's quality isn't necessary; "Destiny" speaks for itself.

Whether it's the gentle, harp-led start, the intense-yet-contemplative strings, or the decidedly sinister crescendo, "Destiny" tells its own, self-contained story. Despite only being a brief minute and a half long, "Destiny" organically portrays an entire range of ever-evolving emotions which culminate in a tragic conclusion... one that's all too fitting for the dreary world of Wizardry: The Tale of the Forsaken Land.

This short track commonly plays over moments where the game teaches players about new mechanics (lessons which are often relayed by a small, staff-wielding pixie) but, for whatever reason, it gives me a massive dose of pure, unexplained nostalgia (probably because it sounds similar to music from Dark Cloud...) which, according to ancient law, means I am legally required to include it on my list.

Legal obligations aside, the strange, overly synthetic bell-like instrument coupled with percussion that appears to be provided by what sounds like a cheap drum machine manage to conjure up a truly dreamlike mood and atmosphere... which is perfect for listening to the instructions of a staff-wielding pixie who is no more than an inch tall. 

The theme for the town, Duhan, which acts as your hub in-between dungeon raids, "Lonely with Loneliness" is a delightfully odd title for a song that supposedly represents a place filled with people. 

The piece itself is a nice musical departure from what we've listened to so far, featuring a lead guitar (that happens to call to mind Diablo's haunting theme for it's own "hub" town, Tristram) and a lively flute. Together, these two instruments not only create a memorable track with hints of blues, but one that manages to be minimalist without ever feeling like it. 

At first listen, "Lonely with Loneliness" feels upbeat and defiant (especially considering what evils await a mere stone's throw away from the locale), but repeat listenings reveal a melancholic and dreary tone beneath the "happier" instrument choices, which is a perfect representation of the dread and fear that festers within the brave facade of Duhan.

My best friend recently (i.e. a year ago) let me borrow his DS for the sole purpose of playing The Dark Spire, as he knew it would be right up my alley... and he was right. 

The Dark Spire is an unabashedly hardcore, old-school first-person dungeon crawler that pulls zero punches in terms of brutality and difficulty. 

The player creates a completely customizable party from scratch and takes them deep into the labyrinthine "Dark Spire" that the title refers to, disarming traps, collecting treasure and fighting monsters along the way, all while a steep learning curve and unrelenting level of danger keeps you in check.

It's not just the stressful and cryptic gameplay that makes this title such a showcase for the addictive and riveting qualities of old-school difficulty, though... it's the fact that the game's omnipresent atmosphere is relentlessly and palpably oppressive: jarring, contrasting color schemes are disconcertingly dreary yet saturated, descriptions of monsters are needlessly horrifying (where even the most basic thief is depicted as being so overwhelmingly insane that it's barely human), and you're routinely reminded that you're always on the edge of failure thanks to disconcertingly vague, yet distinctly menacing, threats that the game will just randomly dole it.  Not even the game's singular safe haven, its town,  is able to escape the all-encompassing, perpetually sinister ambience, which extends its reach to the village's supposedly "friendly" characters, all of whom look warped and maniacal (and the constant, obsessive and excessive use of heavy shadows only makes them appear even more unnerving and suspicious.)

And then there's the music... 

While perhaps not quite as tense as you might expect, the music is a strange blend of haunting, heroic, treacherous and ominous, and I can't get enough. Of particular interest is how well the music represents the game itself: Dark Spire is a modern-day take on an ancient, practically forgotten genre, and while it retains just about all of the classic elements, it isn't afraid to optimize them just enough for the current era without eliminating what made things special in the first place. The music follows the same creed by incorporating a retro style with modern sensibilities. 

I'm not very far into the game, and I doubt I'll actually beat it by the time my friend demands the return of his DS, but until then, let's talk about a few of these awesome tracks! 

Right from the outset, the main theme's somber and tragic tone is immediately apparent, with the forlorn, almost broken piano and strained strings. The unexpected appearance of an operatic vocal in the form of an aria manages to bring the bubbling despair to an even more tangible level, creating a ghost-like sensation that not only sets the tone of the game, but haunts the listener well after this brief piece concludes.

"What would ruffians think while living on the ocean? What would ruffians think while in the dark labyrinth?"

This is one of many discomforting messages that greet players as they enter the deadly "Tower of Mist," and it raises a few important questions: what the hell does it even mean?  Why is it so gut-wrenchingly ominous? How can something this nonsensical be so menacing and foreboding? Why do I feel like it's directly threatening me in a way I can't comprehend!?

Regardless, it's the perfect primer for the terrors that await within, and the music that goes with them.

​Arguably more important than the main theme itself, this track is what you'll be hearing for the first hours of the game, and it does a remarkable job of drawing players into the misty realm of the Dark Spire. 

The collection of spine-tingling notes coupled with a theremin-like sound are perfectly eerie, but they're also backed by a percussion that's happy to drive players forward, ever deeper into the dungeon. Instead of relying on the "spookier" side of things, the piece kicks into its main sequence at :38, with the addition of piano and a grungy electric guitar, which Offer a hint of courage in the face of overwhelming odds.

The track then breaks down into an almost contemplative sequence with almost nothing but the piano and percussion carrying it, and it works wonderfully to break up the song (since, as previously mentioned, you'll be hearing a lot of it.)

Overall, it truly nails EXACTLY what The Dark Spire, as a game, is going for: it contains the ominous, threatening and arguably scary tone of old-school dungeon crawlers, but it injects a modern, driving twist into it that effectively proves that The Dark Spire is a reverent but modern take on the genre. 

You'd think that going into the basement of a haunted tower would result in extremely foreboding and ghastly music, but The Dark Spire disagrees. Instead, the theme for the "underground" floor, while still containing spooky moments, is one that's high-energy and even "space-y."

The atmosphere at the start is unabashedly modern with its electronica-inspired instruments, but the :38 mark adds a sense of desperation and otherworldly threat that drives the song to its increasingly dire conclusion before looping back to safer territory.

In all honesty, The Dark Spire's battle theme isn't the best of its genre, or really all that special on its own, but there's still something about it that really gets your blood pumping as your party faces their destiny against a creature that the game describes as "a grotesque being that glares with an indescribable wickedness," or a "ghastly, unimaginable creature that has fully manifested its existence, eager to commit malicious acts."

The start of the track is typical RPG faire, though it is certainly spiced up by a simple (but fun) operatic vocal that enhances the frenzied nature of its composition. The tension reaches its breaking point at the :32 mark, where the song just goes all out with what could best be described as a guitar solo being played by an organ. 

It may not break ground, but it's still cool as hell. 

What kind of savage would force you to listen to battle music and then not provide the victory track? Not this savage, I assure you. 

After the tension of a well-fought battle (that you've likely survived by the skin of your teeth), you're greeted with this truly satisfying and stress-releasing piece. 

... although, being that this is The Dark Spire, it's still surprisingly ominous. 

In fact, it's only the opening jingle that is unwaveringly optimistic, while the rest of the track uses threatening timpani drums to create foreboding... and it somehow makes a gentle harp seem menacing.

But, hey, that's The Dark Spire ​for you.  

Like I said at the start, I'm really not that far into the game, and I haven't listened to the whole soundtrack yet... but there are definitely some other amazing tunes that could have easily made this list. If you're interested, do yourself a favor and check out the rest of the soundtrack... and you needn't take my word for it: 

"Alright. That's it. I'm buying it." - a genuine comment left by an honest soul who listened to a few songs from The Dark Spire's soundtrack on YouTube. A reasonable fellow, indeed. 

I was recently compelled to watch Netflix's trilogy of anime Godzilla movies (though heavily flawed, they still had fantastic, hard sci-fi concepts that were beyond compelling) and somewhere in between sessions, I was reminded that I had added Netflix's animated Ultraman series to my queue, where it had been waiting patiently for quite some time. 

Ultraman, as a franchise, is something I respect, but have very little experience with... well, except for some childhood viewings of the undying horrors in the nightmare fuel-soaked Ultra 7 (a topic I'm looking forward to talking about next October!) and the Tokusatsu fun of the basically-Ultraman-but-apparently-not Superhuman Samurai Syber-Squad / Gridman (which is another topic for another day.)

Regardless,  I chose to put it on..... and wow, I'm glad I did. 

Although I haven't finished it yet, I'm fully enthralled. Sure, it has a slew of annoying flaws, but it's all worth it thanks its maddening level of wanton subversion that turns the entire Tokusatsu genre on its head. Essentially, it's a superhero show that challenges the very concept of a superhero show in unexpected ways.

You know how in Power Rangers, a group of teenagers routinely kill hundreds of monsters without ever giving it a second thought? Did you ever think about how unsettlingly weird that is? Netflix's Ultraman did, and it happily tackles the topic, and its ramifications, head-on: a high-school student is burdened with the responsibility of becoming the titular superhero (something he did not ask for), and is then conditioned to enjoy the highs of saving lives and stopping small crimes... only to be forced into a position where he is not only asked to kill, but do so repeatedly and without a conscience. "This is your job," his superior says. The main character's forebear, the previous Ultraman, tells the boy that, despite the wonders of the Ultraman powers, there's a dark side. Being Ultraman is a curse... and the murder and mayhem is an inescapable part of it. 

As a sucker for stories where the main character's superpowers are a burden rather than a gift (oh, hello there, Tekkaman Blade!), I can't help but adore how this series takes such a common and understood element of Tokusatsu shows (in this case, the explosive deaths of enemy Kaiju at the end of every episode) and approaches it from a new angle, questioning the act's morality and the ramifications it has on those who are forced to do it.

Before I get any further off track, let me reel myself back in and talk about the reason I'm making this post in the first place: THE MUSIC.

The main "hero theme," which is simply titled "ULTRAMAN," took me by total surprise to the point where I was covered in chills, my jaw had dropped and I had tears in my eyes!

The second our hero transformed into ULTRAMAN for the first time, this was the theme that blasted, heralding the arrival of Earth's champion... so let's give it a listen!

Despite featuring a safe and simple composition with progressions that could never be described as anything but predictable... it has an unexpected power. There's a magic to it that brings everything together to create a satisfying and powerful heroic anthem.

The thunderous brass and percussion that open the piece give us our first taste of the song's main idea (one that'll be stuck in your head for some time, but in a good way). Just from these few opening seconds, it's clear that the composer is going hard, but it's only after the choir kicks in that you finally realize just how hard they're actually going, and the scope of the length they're willing to go to do it. They're pulling out all the stops, and no one can stop them. 

With the choir comes an enthusiastic percussion section, and, soon after, the full "orchestra," whose synthetic nature, which I would normally consider a hindrance, actually helps give this piece a greater level of thematic impact, as it reflects the transformation's mixing of synthetic and organic elements into a single, greater being.  

As you continue to listen, you soon come to realize the most astounding part of the piece: it's basically the same motif being repeated over and over again for two minutes straight... and yet it never gets old. In fact, I want even more. 

The variations of motif, while not spectacular or complex in their own right, are endlessly satisfying, and you can't help but get wrapped up in the excitement and energy of the composition. 

Some of my favorite moments are the sequences at :55, with its proud horns and timpani, and also at 1:08, with the choir giving its own, dramatic take on the idea.

My truly favorite sequence, though, is at 1:22, where a digital element enters the fray and mixes with the choir, delivering a rendition of the main theme that seems to scream "we aren't done yet; THIS ISN'T EVEN OUR FINAL FORM!," and that sentiment is perfectly punctuated at the appropriate times with a mighty, rogue timpani player (at approximately 1:27, 1:30, and 1:33, with the final act of defiance near the 1:40 mark.)

... and don't even get me started on the inversion of the main theme during the track's finale. Don't even. Don't do it. Just don't.

.... YEAH! I KNOW!  IT WAS AWESOME.

Okay, you don't have to lie to me. I get it: you're totally pumped and want to see the piece in action. I don't blame you. Here, I'll do you a favor. I'll put up the video so you can hear the music in its proper context and feel the cinematic power of pairing it with the the corresponding visuals... ...andImcertainlynotdoingthisjustbecauseIlovethisvideoandcouldwatchitamilliontimesinarow.

I've always been partial to the Revolutionary War. I'm not really sure exactly why, but it probably has something to do with New Jersey's role in the conflict, that George Washington's portrait made him seem like a pretty cool guy, or the excellent Social Studies classes I had on the subject way back in 3rd and 4th Grade. 

And who could forget the stellar Schoolhouse Rock showstopper, "The Shot Heard Round the World?" It was the start of the Revolution! 

Regardless of what started my affinity towards that particular time period, I remember being fascinated by commercials for The Crossing back in 1999, but feared that I wouldn't be allowed to watch it.

Lucky for me, my 4th grade teacher had taped it and we watched it as a class just a few days after its premiere... and it was kind of a surreal experience, considering how brutally and explicitly violent it was.

Also, I'll never forget the look on my teacher's face (or how she threw her arms up in the air) after George Washington made a rude comment about Henry Knox making the boat sink by swinging his fat balls around. 

Ah, memories. 

So, what is The Crossing and how does it count as a Christmas Special? Read on!

The A&E made-for-TV film The Crossing tells the story about the fateful turning point in the Revolutionary War, where George Washington lead his battered and desperate army across the Delaware to deliver a surprise attack against the elite Hessian mercenaries on Christmas Day. This act would start a momentum that would lead the fledgling United States to victory against the British Empire.

What's immediately apparent, aside from the late 90s opening title cheese, is how distinct the tone and atmosphere of the film is. With impressive (and award-winning) cinematography and perfectly chosen color palette, you find yourself sucked directly into the 1700s, and are hit with an almost tangible sensation of the wintery chill that the Continental Army is grappling with. 

Speaking of the army, they're in a desperate situation: loss after loss, retreat after retreat, their once-great army has been reduced from 20,000 to about 2000, with almost all of their guns and supplies being exhausted or unusable. To make matters worse, their enlistment papers will soon expire, and it doesn't seem that Congress is interested in paying for them to be renewed.

Thus, George Washington finds himself with almost the entire weight of the Revolution on his shoulders, and his alone, and the pressure is killing him. 

Jeff Daniels takes on the role of the general (yes, the Dumb and Dumber Jeff Daniels) and his performance is unique. Instead of playing Washington like the idealized, larger-than-life immortal god that he is often revered as, Daniel's gives us a reserved and quite man who silently suffers under the tremendous tasks thrust upon him. For some, he may seem to understated, but the subtle humanity that's injected into the role spoke volumes to me. 

He's also bolstered by a stellar cast of actors who bring life to multiple historical figures, all of whom are excellent foils to the stoic and controlled Washington.

The production itself is humble, yet it somehow manages to create an atmosphere of authenticity that few other historically-set shows and films are able to capture. As I mentioned before, it genuinely feels like you're in the 1700s during this fateful period of the Revolutionary War. 

The restricted budget, coupled with a superb production staff, made the most of what they were given and crafted an impressive and authentic, unpretentious world, and it's by far the film's most distinct and endearing element. 

That's not to say that the storytelling itself is poor, though. 

Despite knowing the story and how it will play out, the writing and performances are convincingly executed to the point where the situation seems so dire that you're no longer sure if Washington and his exhausted soldiers will be able to find success in their truly bold mission... and what a mission it is!

The pacing throughout the film is extremely well-done, that by the time the actual crossing occurs, you'll be on the edge of your seat. 

Washington bets everything on this desperate maneuver, and you truly feel the anxiety and elation of it being carried out.

When the troops march to Trenton (in unintended day light, no less!), the look of subdued shock on their faces speaks volumes; they can't believe they made it as far as they did without being detected. And yet here they are, in Trenton, without a single Hessian prepped-and-ready to fight them off. 

The final battle sequence is one that needs to be seen to be believed, as the film's best elements are elevated and come together in a powerful climax.

The imagery of Washington and his associates coming over the hill at Trenton on horseback, only to be dwarfed immediately by the thunderous marching of their army right behind them is chill-inducing, as is the look of surprise, awe, praise, relief, elation and even disbelief as Washington and co. give the order for their men to charge, totally bewildered that no one stands in their way and their gambit has paid off in spades. 

This moment, among many others, is given an even greater sense of emotion thanks to composer Gary Chang's beautiful and reserved score, which creates a perfect mirror into the spirit of each moment.

All in all, The Crossing is a fantastic historical picture, and it's happy to suck you into another time and place for its 90 minute runtime while delivering a powerful-yet-understated emotional experience.

So what makes The Crossing a so-called "Christmas Special?" 

Traditionally speaking, not much... other than the fact that it takes place around Christmas, with the climax transpiring directly on the holiday. Also, George Washington is quick to wish his men a "Merry Christmas" before the legendary boat journey.

Also, what's more Christmas-y than sneaking across a river and murdering your still-drunk enemies on Christmas Day? 

Not a damn thing. 

This blog was always intended to act as a platform and community for writers who longed to share their work with the world.

We've been lucky and honored to have numerous Guest Writers share their talents with us, and we've compiled all of their current (and future) contributions here in this convenient hub. 

If you are looking for a place to publish your own stories, articles, topics, rants, photography, art and whatever else, feel free to get in touch and let us know!

Ricky "Bonehead:"

- Halloween Haunts! Second Opinion: "Cemetery"

"C.C:"

- The Warrior, a Poem
- Hello Goodbye, a Poem
- The Clear Wall, a Poem
- The Factory, a Short Story

Tom McWatters: 

- A Christmas Carol, The Holiday Horror Story
- 10 Reasons Why Home Alone 2 Is Just As Good (If Not Better) Than The First

Daniel Murano:

- Culture vs. Creation

Aaron Nicewonger:

- 30 Favorites From The Metroid Series: A Musical Retrospective 

Joseph Prescott:

- The Return of Doctor (Who) Mysterio, 2016 Christmas Special Review
- Forgetting Chernobyl

Darren Wilson:

- The Anomaly, A Short Story

Here are the times that we have contributed to the creative endeavors of others!

- Franchise Friends Podcast: Power Rangers (2017)

October is upon us and that means Christmas is on its way, meaning it's time to talk about one of my favorite Christmas stories: A Christmas Carol.  Now before you lay in on me, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about Halloween.  It’s one of my favorite holidays and there’s a reason I bring up A Christmas Carol this early in the season.  

​A Christmas Carol as a story is quite a dark one.  I would actually call it a brilliantly written ghost story and it’s the perfect transition film to bridge the gap between Halloween and Christmas.

Some of you may be wondering which film adaptation I’m talking about.  In reality, this story is so malleable that any one of the dozens of versions done over the years will do.  However I will reference a select few to illustrate my points. Here are a few reasons why A Christmas Carol is an unintended horror movie.

​The movie literally begins with (spoilers) the death of Jacob Marley, the protagonist Ebenezer Scrooge’s business partner. In fact the opening line of the book first published in 1843 reads “Marley was dead.”  Could you imagine if the book Marley and Me began like that?  Even the Muppet version of the story takes a moment to mention how creepy the start of the movie is.  Gonzo the Great, who plays the narrator and quotes lines throughout the movie, opens with that line, with Rizzo the Rat immediately commenting that it's "really creepy and spooky.”  

​The story instantly grabs your attention with a punch in the mouth with the fist of our own mortality.

You’ll be hard pressed to find another Christmas movie that has the amount of ghosts in it as A Christmas Carol.  

Including the ghost of Jacob Marley plus the three that visit Scrooge throughout the evening, that’s a total of four ghosts and, I don’t know about you, but when I think of Christmas, hauntings and ghosts aren’t the first things that come to mind.  

Like always, however, Dickens pulls it off flawlessly.  

The first ghost, Jacob Marley, comes back from the dead to warn Scrooge about his impending eternal damnation.  Most of the film adaptations of this scene really do it justice.  Particularly the one from the 1984 version with George C. Scott as Scrooge.  Marley comes in screaming in agony and terror, rattling the chains he wears that he forged in life, illustrating to Scrooge and the audience that there is life after death and there are consequences for your actions on this earth.  

​Remember kids, this is a classic Christmas story.  However, if you showed this scene to someone who has never heard of this story before, they would never imagine that this movie had anything to do with Christmas.

One death in a Christmas movie is enough, wouldn’t you think?  Well Charlie didn’t think so.  To really hammer his point home that we need to cherish those who we hold dear, the Ghost of Christmas Past takes us back to Scrooge's childhood and we learn that his mother died in childbirth.  

While not all the film versions reference this dark detail but the 1951 version with Alastair Sim does, and it's incredibly effective.

When the spirit’s business is finished, Scrooge is passed on to the Ghost of Christmas Present and we’re introduced to Tiny Tim, who walks around with a cane and is very sick.  To add insult to injury, the Ghost says to Scrooge that if things don’t change the child will die.  

​Pretty dark stuff, isn’t it? But it gets worse: there's one more ghost to come, and this one has Halloween written all over it.

The final ghost to pay a visit to Scrooge is none other than the Angel of Death itself. Showing Scrooge that Tiny Tim died, and that he'll be next in line. The only difference being that Tiny Tim and Scrooge aren’t going to the same place: Death takes Scrooge to his grave and unleashes a portal to hell.  

Every film version of this sequence is creepy but shockingly the story still has a happy ending.

After that scene, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Most people forget how dark A Christmas Carol really is because it’s been around for over 150 years and has been engrained into the fabric of the Christmas season. 

The only other major Halloween/Christmas movie out there is The Nightmare Before Christmas and compared to this looks pretty tame.  A Christmas Carol exemplifies mortality on a surreal level that’s overlooked rather frequently, especially for a Christmas movie.  Ralphie may have almost shot his eye out with his Red Rider, but at least he didn’t actually kill anyone.  My recommendation is to seek out at least the versions of this movie I mentioned and check them out just in time for Halloween.  Better yet, get a copy of the book because every version ever made misses a little bit of the original story.  Think of them as deleted scenes.

Throughout the films, you’re reminded that this is a story about redemption.  Sure Scrooge was scared into becoming a good, honest, and charitable person, but it’s the choices he makes after his encounter with the spirits that really gives him his new lease on life.  

No matter how big of a jerk you are, Christmas is about bringing out the best in people and sometimes, miracles can happen. Even if, in our case, they happen a little bit before Halloween.

Recently, I lost my mind (as I tend to do) over the discovery of an excellent leitmotif in Mischief Makers ​for the N64 in a "Weekly" Soundcheck.

As I briefly mentioned in the article, ​Mischief Makers is one of the stranger (albeit excellent) games on the system, and has developed something of a cult following.

Visually, the game is covered with eerie, undulating faces. Sonically, the music is high-class but uses curious instruments. Gameplay-wise, you're tasked with things like riding trikes and shaking the hell out of everyone and everything. 

Now, I loved this game as a kid and I love it now, but all that weirdness must have gotten to me at some point, because certain aspects of it started to creep me out.

While most of those feelings were irrational and quickly forgotten, there was one sequence so bizarre and so genuinely eerie, that it has stuck with me ever since.

That sequence is, of course, the "Toadly Raw" boss battle.

Starting out normally enough (or as normal as Mischief Makers gets), you're thrust into battle with a giant frog (or toad, whatever). You grab his lashing tongue, throw it back at him or use it to slam him into the ground, and you'll have the upper hand in no time.

And then things get weird. 

The frog just sits in the middle of the screen, breathing rapidly, and the already dark cavern darkens even further. Lightening strikes and the frog laughs.

The frog fucking laughs. 

And this is no normal laugh. It's some super-high-pitched insanity-fueled cackle.

Then a little man riding on a little cloud appears, and starts dancing. Dancing, I say! 

​Suddenly it's storming. The frog is laughing. The lightning is striking.

Your senses are overwhelmed by just how God damned weird everything has become, and you get scared. Your biological instincts kick in. Your brain has not evolved to the point where it can handle whatever the hell is happening on the screen.

I... I'm sorry. I have to go now. 

Give Mischief Makers a shot, but be forewarned of the nightmare doom that awaits with laughing toads, dancing men and miniature rain clouds.

"When the moon is dyed in blood, a bat departs from a forbidden castle into the night, having changed from its human form to seek its next victim."

"His name is whispered in fear... NOSFERATU, creature of night."​

Thus begins one of the SNES' most unknown and epic of intros.

When you combine Prince of Persia, Castlevania and 1920s horror villains, you get the surprisingly awesome Nosferatu on the SNES. The graphics are gorgeous throughout the entire experience (especially the cutscenes), the music is moody and the gameplay is surprisingly tight. Barring a few frustrating hiccups (and lack of gore, which the game seems to be practically begging to display), Nosferatu is a fun and little-known experience for those seeking a Halloween treat during the season.

​While the game itself is worth exploring, it's the intro that is the most impressive element of the entire production, and it's something that's absolutely worthy of the hallowed halls of "An Intro To Remember." 

Let's get the ritual started:  

The first thing of note is the awesomely atmospheric music (after the dainty fairy flies by, of course). The stark  eruption of the bat soaring into the blood moon is a great touch while the unnecessarily bad-ass writing sets the tone.

Then there's that awesome swooping down into the victim's house, the outline of Nosferatu with his prey, and the utterly epic, incredibly well-animated swirling of his cape into pitch black darkness. 

What's apparent throughout this entire intro is just how incredible the presentation is. The art direction and cinematography are stunning, even now, and when coupled with such perfectly evocative writing, creates a stirring sense of dread and a palpably morbid atmosphere that only something like Super Castlevania IV really matches.

By the time we get to the excellent shot of the hero riding his horse, we're already fully immersed into the realm of Nosferatu, and the rather impressive title screen (which is almost good enough to be featured in "Title Screens") fully seals the deal... particularly with that strange, billowing, flame-like aura from within the castle.

Truly a fantastic introduction to a game that seems to have fallen far from the limelight, making it a perfect gem of horror and evil for the month of October. 

Glover on the N64 is in a strange place. It's somehow well-remembered and looked upon fondly, but simultaneously remains relatively obscure.

A unique 3D platformers, players control a wizard's living glove and are tasked with protecting the kingdom's all-important crystals from the glove's evil twin, Cross-Stitch, by turning them into various balls (bouncy, bowling, etc.) in a combination of puzzle-solving and platforming challenges.

For the most part, it holds up really well and is a truly unique take on a genre that was bursting at the seams.

For me personally, though, Glover holds an even more special place in my heart: it was one of the first games to truly scare me. Like actually scare the hell out of me. 

First was the atmosphere of the hub world. At the start of the game, the loss of the castle's crystals transforms the landscape from idyllic to a pure nightmare.

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A thick blanket of blood red fog covers the land, painting a picture of a post-apocalyptic massacre. Incredibly menacing music subtly drills into your ears (seriously, listen to that). The scariest evil laugh of all time echoes throughout the barren realm. And, for real, this laugh is actually evil. Like, the person laughing has a deep-seated hatred of all life and they are making fun of their dying victims. 

Then there's the chicken. My God, the chicken. 

This... thing. This hideous, deformed, mentally-deficient chicken just absent-mindedly swings at his own pace. He must have witnessed the slaughter of thousands and that's what destroyed his mind.

He doesn't speak, either. He merely burps, farts and clucks. 

Of course, you might later find out that he is simply giving cheat codes, but as a kid? No way in hell.

I wish I could describe why this was so eerie, but you'll have to play it for yourself. 

But despite this hellscape, there was one moment that was even scarier...

In the haunted level, Fortress of Fear, the game provides one of those "scary" levels like DK64's Creepy Castle, where they aren't actually scary beyond choosing a spooky aesthetic. Still.... it was this very level that has given me my one and only jump scare from a video game.

I was rolling my ball, minding my own business and then POP! I ran into some well-hidden spikes. 

.... yeah, this was kind of an anti-climactic story, but it legitimately scared the hell out of me. 

Play Glover. It's worth your time. Say hi to the chicken for me.