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Hallow Amityville

by Andrew McDonald 9 years ago

Happy Halloween. I spill my guts about THE AMITYVILLE HORROR.

It was war. After years of hopelessly searching for Jay Anson’s elusive book The Amityville Horror, a yellow paged, crease laden paperback copy flashed right before my eyes. The very book that inspired the horror franchise, popularised a white house with attic windows that resembled a sinister pair of eyes, and ignited a blaze of fascination in my young impressionable mind was now within arm’s reach! I could finally uncover the deep, dark and mysterious origins of my recurring nightmares. The problem was that my friend Bell had the book gripped firmly in his hands and after facetiously darting it in front of my face for one miniscule glance he proceeded to make his way to the counter to pay for it.

 

This was genuinely an incredible find and one that would likely never happen again or at least that was my perception at the time and as Bell casually regarded the book as a mere cheap read that loosely appealed to his extensive knowledge of horror films, I on the other hand had reached panic mode. We were in a second hand book store somewhere in South Australia amidst a weekend road trip. Bell knew all too well that I had been desperately searching for the original Amityville Horror book for years and if he knew what was good for him he would forfeit his chance discovery and hand it over to its rightful owner at once! Keep in mind, this was before the days where you could obtain any book throughout history as desired and download it straight to your kindle or ipad with a click of a button. Back in the not so distant past you had to hunt for old books, risk sinus related allergies, blocked noses, temporary lung damage and coughing fits at various thrift stores amidst pre-loved moth-infested clothing or scour dusty second hand book stores like the one we were in to uncover a hidden gem.

 

At first I was angry and kept reminding Bell that he knew how badly I wanted the book and I insisted that the precise basis of his near-future purchase was purely to mock and taunt me. How could he be such a contemptuous prick, were we not mates after all? It didn’t take long before the anger turned to desperation and in no time at all the grovelling and pleading began. I hovered around him like a malnourished dog, frantically trying to reason with him or at very least secure a deal with whatever pop culture gems of my own I had to offer in exchange, but secretly I was on the verge of tears. My bickering intensified and continued as he snaked around, surveying the old shelves one last time before approaching the counter. By the time we reached it, the bookshop owner knew exactly what all the commotion was about and upon realising that the relic in question was The Amityville Horror he interjected with a wry smile, ‘I have another one?’ I could not believe my luck, even Bell was impressed and true to the man’s word he went on a quick hunt under the counter and resurfaced with an identical copy of The Amityville Horror! My day had been made and friendships were still intact. Bell and I each handed over seven dollars and I floated out of there one happy camper with some long-awaited choice reading material for the tedious drive back to Melbourne.

 

 

My copy of the original book, it may be falling apart but at least I have it in my 'possession'.
My copy of the original book, it may be falling apart but at least I have it in my ‘possession’.

 

 

I don’t think you’re allowed to even utter the words Amityville and Horror without openly verifying or at least acknowledging that it’s the supposed true story of a haunted house, and whether you find yourself debating its authenticity or are content to accept that the house did indeed force its inhabitants to flee in terror, you know something of its nasty background. So perhaps Jay Anson’s account as it was first told was the very thing I needed to draw my own conclusions or to get a firm grasp of where my fascination with this story had been born as my current understanding derived purely from the films themselves. Whatever the case it certainly evoked a profound curiosity – like a monkey on your back, but one that you occasionally pet and feed even though it will surely bite you, infect you with rabies effectively killing you, and even when you’re dead and haunting your own house as a ghost in the afterlife, you still kind-of like the monkey.

 

It began when I was all of about eight years old, mum allowed me to stay up and watch Amityville II: The Possession. The reason given was that she and Dad had enjoyed the original film when it was released and since the unheard of sequel was on TV I was permitted to saddle up and partake in this family event. At that age it wasn’t uncommon for me to fall asleep around 8:30pm; in fact you could set a watch to my sleeping schedule. I believe 8:30pm was the suggested bed time by schools or some such thing for kids our age, but I never put up any protest, threw a tantrum, nor was this a rule to be adhered to at home, but come 8:30pm I compliantly dragged myself off to bed. I can even remember mum remarking one night as I shuffled off ”…but its Saturday!” My sleeping schedule didn’t discriminate. Unsure as to why I showed an interest or even how I managed to stay awake to watch Amityville II: The Possession is a mystery in itself, but watch it I did and from that moment onwards my sleep routine would never be the same again!

 

To provide a fairly loose background, Amityville II: The Possession is based on the ordeal of the DeFeo family who occupied the house right before the Lutz family whose collected interviews formed the basis of the original book and film. The transcribed stories of George and Kathy Lutz would kick-start the Amityville legacy which still inspires ghost stories, related horror films and documentaries to this day, however the sequel was focused on the events that occurred prior to their arrival. The DeFeo’s one surviving family member, eldest son Ronnie, had the first ghostly encounter as the demonic spirits that occupied the residence took possession of the young man who then tragically killed his entire family while they were sleeping, or at least that’s how the myth goes. There are suggestions that a fight had ensued earlier to help explain the motive but one mystery remains – after gunshot number one went off, no single member of the DeFeo family in the neighbouring or adjourning rooms seemed to wake in fright or attempt to seek out the source of the loud bang, nor did they run for their lives (each family member was found asleep in identical positions face down on their stomachs). Whether or not a ghost was the instigator, Ronnie was able to go about his business undisturbed. So jump ahead to The Lutz’s who scored themselves one hell of a bargain in Amityville with the now almost cliché haunted house buying scenario ‘You don’t have a problem with a pre-existing murder do you? Nope? Great, the house is yours!’ Less than thirty days later The Lutz’s fled for their own safety before the house consumed them, forcing them to leave all of their ‘possessions’, sorry, belongings behind.

 

Pretty creepy stuff, and a testimony that George and Kathy Lutz held true their whole lives. The books author Jay Anson, and consequently the author of a book that was released a short time afterwards claiming that Anson’s account was all an elaborate hoax, both died shortly after each had been released. What’s that old saying about exposing the devil? Anson’s introduction outlines that the Lutz family had no reason to lie about what they had experienced and that the interview itself was given by two visibly frightened individuals. Additionally the whole fleeing in terror without any intention to return kept me fairly persuaded whilst reading that something must have occurred as this notion was equally as frightening as any single image of an actual ghost.

 

 

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But years prior Amityville II: The Possession instilled something in me that I could not shake, so much so that I never watched the film again, well that was until about a week ago. What stayed with me most at the time was a scene in which Sonny’s (Ronnie) family leaves for church of all places, and with the ghost having only a teenage boy to contend with and upon sewing a few seeds to limber the boy up until he was ripe for the picking, takes possession. I remember Sonny’s stomach rising in and out as the spirit engulfs him and thus the ultimate fear of the supernatural engulfed my fagile mind from that moment on. I was suddenly convinced that providing I was home alone then a ghost had every opportunity to take hold of my body and soul, I was even certain that the prerequisites weren’t even limited to being alone in the house, it could happen during sleep while everyone else watched television far away in the lounge room after 8:30pm. As I watched the film and in particular the possession scene again last week I was quite elated by how much everything resembled my mind’s age-old version. From the arm rising in the cold dripping wet cellar to Ronnie’s chest rising up and down as evil takes hold, it was all exactly as I remembered it. Not to actively persuade anyone to seek this film out immediately if you haven’t already, for the most part the dialogue and performances were average at best and although the special effects hold up remarkably well, I just can’t help but feel that something got slightly lost in translation. Maybe Italian director Domiano Damiani who was also making his American debut was a bit too lenient with performances (for an extreme case of this very thing see Troll 2 and the documentary Best Worst Movie), but as an exercise in exorcising my childhood demons revisiting Amityville II: The Possession was a perfect way to waste some time on the weekend.

 

 

Jack Magner as Sonny Montelli. Based on Ronald DeFeo Jr.
Jack Magner as Sonny Montelli. Based on Ronald DeFeo Jr.

 

 

Post- possession sequence onwards I made it a habit to fall asleep on the floor in front of the heater in the lounge room. I had to be woken up and escorted to bed for years after seeing that film. Sometimes I’d get into bed and waltz right back out again and curl up in front of the heater once more, just to save myself from being alone. My superstitions and supernatural senses were heightened whenever night descended. I became convinced that I could feel what can only be described as a cat walking over me while in bed. We did have a cat and not only did I feel it walk over my legs but also kneed and settle into a sleeping position only to discover when I reached down to pat my feline pal that there was nothing there. Mum claimed that she often experienced a similar sensation and offered the following explanation: When I was three years old I was playing He-man with a kitten and accidently squashed it to death, when my mum was the same age she accidently hugged a kitten to death and she wondered if perhaps our combined murders was the result of cat ghosts, which was incredibly reassuring.

 

I started noticing hotspots around the house where I would see shapes and what appeared to be fully formed people, often they would come complete with facial features but they always quickly faded a split second later. Like our bathroom, strange visions began materialising through a mirror that faced an open door to the hallway. So at night, if I was say brushing my teeth I would often see things walk past the door through the mirror. It reached a point that I was so certain I saw someone walk past that I would call out ‘Dad? Are you home?’ The visions continued, there is also a glass window between our lounge room and a smaller room that leads to the backdoor. Since no one ever enters via our front door I would often feel certain that I could see  someone walk through the back door in the dark and I would wait anxiously to see who it was once they made their way through to the lounge room but often it was no one and nothing at all.

 

From here things got worse. I would occasionally look up and see a man standing before me, my friend Burke claimed he saw the same thing so I took solace in knowing I wasn’t alone, usually a large figure standing right behind the couch that disappeared just before you got a really close look. Mum has a glass cabinet displaying little ornaments. One of which is two cups and two saucers. One cup has ‘October’ printed on it, the other ‘September’. Shortly after my grandmother died, and on her birthday in October, the cup and saucer split in half, not just a jiggered break but a clean split right down the centre. Not one of the tiny ornaments (some of which were small, fragile and shakily resting on the edge of the display case) had even moved. We finally put things to rest when my parents were overseas. I was in my early twenties and  had invited about ten or so friends over; we were drinking and with a bit of Dutch courage thought it would be a fun idea to conduct a séance. I drew up the Ouija board and my friend Rooney held court leading the sermon in a very composed and assertive manner. Upon making contact he asked various questions of the spirit and low and behold the shot glass that we used as a cursor began to move.

 

My sister and I both agreed that we may even know who the spirit was and conducted a series of questions that no one else in the room (especially Rooney) would know the answers to. When asked what’s the first letter of your first name it went straight to ‘E’. My grandmother on dad’s side whose name was Estelle prompted us to continue our line of questioning based on the idea that this was actually her. After a good twenty minutes of utter disbelief I snapped out of my trance and came to my sceptical senses, insisting that I guide the cursor myself. I started accusing Rooney of pushing the shot glass. He happily sat back and said ‘go ahead’. I placed my pointer finger over the shot glass to find that somehow this thing was moving on its own. I even gently lifted my finger off the glass to be absolutely sure and watched in astonishment as it slid along the board by itself. With the hair on the back of my spine standing on end and all Goosebumps exposed I jumped back and let Rooney man the controls once more. Seeing how freaked out I was we brought the session to a close and politely thanked the spirit for its time.

 

Gradually everyone left except for Burke who thankfully stayed awake with me until the sun came up. I remember ridiculing my leaving guests at their inability to party like Burke and I could, but the truth was that I dreaded the thought of going to bed, hell if there had been no séance I would have kicked everyone out half the night earlier. There was no way I could sleep, perhaps ever again. I confessed all to mum who sounded interested enough to want to try it herself and I assured her I wouldn’t be partaking. I even mentioned the séance to a psychic several years later who claimed she was channelling spirits. She warned me never to perform a séance as spirits will lie to you throwing off my comprehension of what and who we had met that night. I even pressed Dad to reveal if he’d ever seen anything supernatural in light of what we had witnessed. He replied with a self-assured ‘No!’

 

Over time I went through a ‘natural’ transformation. I moved out of home and I guess I became a bit more privy to the world. Richard Dawkins made me question things like, you know, my catholic upbringing and the afterlife etc and assisted with my official switch to atheism, and before long I was worshipping at the altar of comedians Bill Hicks, George Carlin and Ricky Gervais. For the better part of two years I lived alone and I never saw anything I couldn’t explain, I didn’t have any trouble turning off the lights at night and putting myself to bed and completely forgot about the spooky tales when visiting mum and dads place. After a while the stories started to seem ridiculous. The ghostly figure in the lounge room was probably a momentary sensation as my eyes adjusted from looking away from the TV. The movement I saw in the mirror in the bathroom could be explained as light being reflected as there was a total of three mirrors in the room, and the broken cup in the cabinet, just a coincidence. I was even starting to harbour some doubt as to what I had witnessed during the séance. For starters we were drunk enough that the whole room was moving on its own, and were we willing that shot glass around or desperately grasping at straws to make sense of what letters the shot glass landed upon? Whatever happened, it certainly didn’t keep me awake at night anymore.

 

But something was missing in my ‘I-don’t-believe-in-spooks’ little world; I enjoyed trading ghost stories among fellow believers and I would tell my tales of the supernatural with such vigour and conviction that if it didn’t get my listener riled up, I would still manage to make myself jumpy, causing self-inflicted chills and instant watery eyes. Over time I regarded these stories with sheer embarrassment and kept them locked away in the same vault where Amityville II: The Possession resided but that didn’t mean I didn’t love a good scare once in a while. While friends ridiculed the Blair Witch Project I vowed never to roam the woods again, The Ring made me wary of children and a ringing telephone, The Conjuring was almost a form of torture being confined to your seat in a cinema with no access to a pause button. But at least I can say that I was honest about being scared which is more than I can say for my girlfriend Laura who later became my wife and my friend Burke who later became my housemate. One night we all gathered around to watch the much hyped Paranormal Activity I confessed I was already scared when the Paramount logo came up. I shuddered, heaved, gasped and bleated my way through the whole ordeal and when it was all over I turned my attention to see how my compadres fared. They both found it lame and not at all frightening. But! I was the only one who had a proper night’s sleep, Laura and Burke both claimed to have stayed awake in a restless state all night!

 

Horror movies aside, if I’m to be completely honest the most scared of ghosts I have ever been since Amityville II: The Possession was when I finally got around to reading the original book that I snapped up in the second hand book store. A hangover overruled my desire read it on my way home from South Australia as planned but when I finally got around to it I suppose you could say it was worth the wait. I was still living with mum and dad then and it seemed the tables had turned, everyone was falling asleep around the 8:30pm mark and I would stay up, usually watching movies until midnight unless engrossed by a good book. This one didn’t just scare me, it shook me to my very core, and like Amityville II: The Possession before it I have never had the courage to revisit it. My main memory was not so much of any one ghostly encounter within its pages but rather what happened after I put the book down in one of my many moments of fear. My heart was working overtime and needed a rest, so I treated my heart to a much needed cigarette in the garage. The florescent garage light never switches on right away; it usually makes a ticking sound then begins to flicker until finally illuminating, you’re looking at a good ten seconds in the dark. In that moment while I anticipated the lights arrival I saw a white figure in the darkness, upon seeing the figure the garage door made a large bang and the white figure raced towards me. Not only was I frozen in terror but when I tried to yell all that came out was a falsetto ‘eeehhhhh’, which sounded more like a choir boy’s version of a grisly moan. As the fluorescent light finally came on, the neighbours white tabby cat that was sniffing around for our cat’s food, flew straight past my legs. I had to laugh and solemnly promised that there would be no more reading that night.

 

I should point out that although the movies have held my fascination I doubt they can ever nail the books as the strange goings on are far too absurd and random. On paper it’s eerie but on film it seems disjointed and silly. The first film attempted to follow the book closely and got caught up in the randomness, whereas the remake tried to tighten the story and give it thorough context emphasising Native American burial grounds’ and the like, thus straying too far from the original source. But it all still keeps me enthralled enough to never turn my back or fall out of love of this ghostly phenomenon. I’ll read everything Amityville related from the time the house went back on the market to the time the residents demanded privacy from pesky tourists. I recently heard about how the Lutz family apparently admitted to it all being a hoax as has been suggested quite often and I was content to dismiss the story as just that – a great yarn. Then two recent documentaries come along My Amityville Horror and The Devil I Know. The former about The Lutz’s psychologically scarred son Daniel who recounts his version and claims that his father George was obsessed with black magic at the time and that he purposefully summoned the evil spirits. The latter is about a psychics encounter with Ronnie Defeo whilst in prison, who in the course of the documentary still holds firm that there was definitely a spiritual influence in that house; the psychic needed no further convincing of course. And so the wondering continues, and then fades, and then flares up again, and then fades…

 

I should round this up by mentioning that I actually visited the Amityville house! It’s true, I was that pest snooping around hoping to catch a glimpse of… what exactly I’m not sure. I happened to be in New York for my 25th birthday and the night before found myself watching the original movie yet again. When asked ‘so what do you want to do for your birthday?’ my swift reply was ‘how far is Amityville from here?’ With the help of the primitive internet, in particular an Amityville forum where someone gave me the actual house number on Ocean Avenue as opposed to the one mentioned in the films and History Channel specials, the number of which I forgot to memorise or write down, and with assistance from locals I was able to cut a lap of the street, take a few photos and return again. Of course the house used in the original film and its sequel is not the house but a Colonial style replica situated in Toms River, New Jersey and yet some part of me wanted it to stand out among the rest, loom menacingly above everything else on the street, force me back with a sudden gust of wind and tell me to ‘GET OUT!’ Instead the windows had been altered and some hedge bushes created quite an obstruction to the famous facade. The street was quaint and picturesque don’t get me wrong but if it wasn’t for a bunch of curious kids wearing heavy metal t-shirts entering as we were leaving (who I figured were there for the same reason I was) I would have been convinced we had taken a wrong turn.

 

 

What I expected to see in Amityville.
What I expected to see in Amityville.

 

A more accurate depiction.
A more accurate depiction.

 

 

Short of infiltrating the house in a gung-ho effort to cleanse the premises Ed and Lorraine Warren style by screaming bloody murder toward the heavens in hopes to uncover its evil I guess I should feel satisfied that I’ve spent enough quality time with Amityville. I’m nowhere closer to the truth, and I’m also not about to dismiss the whole phenomenon as ridiculous nor am I going to swear the existence of ghosts and claim the devil is alive and well just biding its time to resurface again after a thrilling run in the 70s– if anything I wish I could have been one of the thousands of flies on the wall that spooked the Priest in the first film, if anything just to get a realistic account at what the hell went on.

 

Oh, and happy Halloween. Here’s some Halloween trivia whilst we’re on the topic, Amityville II: The Possession screenwriter Tommy Lee Wallace also wrote Halloween III: Season Of The Witch, the only Halloween movie not to feature legendary slasher icon Michael Myers.

 

 

 

 

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Posted by: Andrew McDonald

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