Who ever thought that Halloween could actually be such a night of drastic mortality? Let me explain.

            For the last few months on Friday nights, I’ve been watching this British show called Most Haunted. Through this weekend, they’ve been doing a live “Hunt for Jack the Ripper” special (as in a not-taped program.) Although most of the “encounters” seem like psychosomatic farces withdrawn from the participants’ vaults of fright and alertness, some of the experiences seem incredibly real and clearly believable. Shattering glasses from Ouija boards and violent possessions seem too frightening and candid to not bear some validity. Mortality check one; will I end up some exploited spectre one day?

            The second reminder of the fragile state of the human being certainly hit home. Two months ago I attended the Vendetta Red/Bayside/Schoolyard Heroes show written about in the last editorial. Today, while traveling to the next tour date with Hawthorne Heights, Bayside’s van flipped on a patch of ice, injuring their bass player and drum tech and killing their drummer, John “Beatz” Holohan.

            It’s surreal; I can still picture him in Cleveland doing soundchecks, backstage for a little while, and standing behind me near the merch table for the Vendetta Red set. And now he’s gone. He even left a widow at home, the poor dear.

            It’s just too startlingly real. (John, if you can ever possibly read this, we miss you and hope to hear you drumming in the afterlife.)

            Not to be depressing, but it’s quite fascinating to think some variation of this will occur with every one of us someday. Some might say, “I plan to live forever. So far, so good!” But for once I’m at a loss for words.

Until next time,

Samantha C.