haunted in huron

The village of Blyth is located in the heart of Huron County. It is as wonderfully charming as it is deeply haunted. 

I'm in town for five weeks for a run of shows. The sky is grey the day I pull up to my stately-looking billet. It's an old building, and I am be staying on the top floor - peak haunting location. 

I go upstairs to my room, and I find a book on the coffee table. Salem’s Lot by Stephen King. 

Well. What an auspicious sign. Surely this place can’t be as haunted as it appears. 

Perhaps a run along the trail will clear my head. 

I had heard a lot of nice things about the trails that cut through Huron County, and was excited for a new running terrain during my visit. I make my way through the trail and pass a gentle creek. How quaint!

I follow the water as I run and see that it passes under a bridge. Maybe it was the old timey brick, maybe it was the lush nature surrounding it, maybe it was the fact I was a solid fifteen minute jaunt from the nearest building - but I know a haunted clown-hole when I see one. That bridge was a straight-up clown-hole. For demon clowns.

Hard nope. 

I pull a one-eighty, and begin running the opposite direction (ie - away from the haunted clown hole.) 

Along the opposite direction of the trail, which takes me deeper into farm country. There’s no water - therefore, no creepy bridges, clowns, or the like. Surely, I am safe. 

Then I saw this. 

Well I’ll be damned. An above-ground clown-hole. 

Clowns be lurkin’ in here, for sure. Clowns be on the lurk-out for out-of-town bumpkins passing through so they can ensnare them in their evil clown clutches. 

Maybe I’m over-thinking it.

Maybe what I’m really scared of is different and deeper.

Maybe I am not scared of what I’ll see - maybe I’m scared about being seen. 

I am living in Blyth for five weeks sharing a story I wrote about leaving home. It’s a one person comedy - you know, one of those. It isn’t just funny but, get this, it also has feelings. That’s right. I’m boldly going where many other white male comedians have gone before. 

I can’t even reflect upon my own work without being jokey or snarky about it. 

The truth is I’m scared of how much this story means to me and I’m scared that it’s not good enough. I’m scared it’ll be dismissed as just another bleeding-heart one person solo show that has some laughs but also the obligatory third act vulnerability beat of performative sincerity. I’m scared I’ve become so critical of myself and others that I have closed myself off to those around me. 

I’m scared - and it’s a lot easier to blame my fear on the clown-holes. Those are creepy looking, right? 

I begin working on my show with the Blyth Festival Theatre. Blyth, a town that closes at 7:30pm, is home to one of the most renowned theatre companies in the country, celebrated for their mandate of amplifying original Canadian theatre. I guess that includes me.

We called my show “Off-Island Odyssey” so folks know it’s a story about leaving an island - and also that it’s really long. This show is a marathon, so running helps me build some stamina. I don’t know the science behind it. I just know after a 60 minute run (!) and a 100 minute show (!!) I can eat a baby goat. 

The staff at the theatre are really supportive. They are quite aware it’s a “horse of a different colour” in their season. They’ve got musicals, traditional comedies, and me, Stinky. The audience members that came were either intrigued by the idea of a story of leaving Prince Edward Island, or saw the poster and said “what the fresh hell is this.” 

My nerves didn’t completely vanish during the run. Act one always felt like I was forming an alliance with the audience, and the audience would either be automatically on-board and dial in, or they would say “what the fresh hell is this” and sit in silence until they’ve made up their minds if they’re having fun or not.

But Act Two - mamma mia. I don’t know if they all had a bottle of wine during intermission or were smitten by cookies with my face on them (yes, they made those) but Act Two the audiences always came back charged up and excited to see me walk through the curtain. That was a really special feeling. 

Seventeen performances. Matinees, evenings, and two dow-shays. After seventeen performances, I’m less afraid. Not completely unafraid, but less afraid. There’s still a spark of fear because I know, at the end of the day, there is a fragile vulnerability to the story I am sharing. It’s like sky-diving. Without a parachute. Or pants. 

I was reminded of kindness at every turn. 

I got to chat with a lot of wonderful actors, even got to chat with the students of the Birmingham Conservatory of the Stratford Festival. They all came to the show for some reason. These are hardcore Shakespearean actors. They had all kinds of questions. I had a question for them too - “WHY ARE YOU HERE? My life is a cautionary tale, this was not plan A.”

One day, tragedy struck - my french press broke! I was going to “borrow” the french press in the greenroom of the theatre, but the theatre was closed the day of the tragedy. I contemplated breaking into the theatre, but I noticed the cafe across the street, Fabhaus, had a light on - I banged on the door like a lunatic asking to borrow a french press. They laughed and said sure. I love my coffee, and I love them. Fabhaus rules. 

Near the end of the run, an old gal chatted with me after to tell me that this performance was the last show she’d ever see at Blyth Festival. 

“You hated it it that much eh?”

“No no. I just won’t be here next year. This was my final show of the season, and this will be my last season of me doing anything.Thank you.” 

Woof. 

Artistic Director Gil Garrett was a beacon of support even when I doubted myself. On my off days I was messaging him for coffee to chat about playwriting and topics we want to see on stage and then I’d run back to my haunted billet and write like a mad man at the keyboard, not unlike Jack Nicholson in The Shining. 

On my last day, I went for another run along the trail. I bravely ran through the clown-hole - not letting fear stand in the way of my journey. 

But that Summer in Blyth, there truly was a crazed clown running through the town - and he loved every minute of it. 

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I'll be back in Blyth this December with A CREATURE IS STIRRING - my Christmas solo show! This is my fourth year in a row running this show, and I never get tired of telling it. Join me at Blyth Festival Theatre December 5 & 6!