by Timothy Whitfield
Author of Witchblood

As a writer of horror and dark fantasy, I love to be haunted, haunted by things dark and surreal, seen or unseen, real or imaginary. It could be something as simple as a melancholy song or an antique sepia-tinted photograph. It could be a person, living or dead. It could be a tragic or mysterious event. And, of course, it could be a place, full of wondrous shadow and whispered tales of sin and death. Haunted, for me, is synonymous with passion. To be haunted is to be truly in love.

Blackwater Tavern is not only the setting -- and title -- of my next dark novel, but is also a state of mind. Located along a muddy riverbank black with soot and ash from the countless nearby steel mills and iron factories, it quenched the thirsts of the immigrant workers with its endless supply of blackened whisky imported from Scotland, Ireland, and Canada, the homelands of many of the destitute workers themselves. The year is 1901, the river the Monongahela, and the city Old Birmingham, South Side of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, renowned steel capital and one of the richest cities in the world at the time. It was also one of the blackest, most hideous places this side of Hell. Violent crime and disease were equally prevalent. Morals were scarce if existent at all . And as evil runs rampant throughout this literate place and time, so does the imagination of the writer -- and reader -- caught in it's treacherous maw.

Blackwater Tavern is a prequel to my first novel, Witchblood, which was released in March, 2002 and is set in modern-day Pittsburgh. You might ask, why use Pittsburgh as a setting for a horror series, especially one so dark and menacing? Is Pittsburgh really that scary of a place? Well, besides the fact that I'm from the area, Pittsburgh is, simply put, an evil place. Quiet, peaceful, but evil. And amazingly eclectic, a true definition of a cultural melting pot. A literal melting pot. Dating back to the Revolutionary War, Pittsburgh was founded upon death and war and subterfuge. Its many rivers have run both red with innocent blood and black with heartless greed. Countless Indians, Frenchmen, and Englishmen died here during the War, and countless immigrants from every corner of the globe died here during the bleak years after as they labored and sweated under the cruel demons' whips, tending the endless fires, forging steel and iron for the rest of the developing world. And just as demand for the precious metal began to dwindle, the Civil War brought about a resurgence in the economy and the steel industry thrived anew. The quickly modernizing and mechanizing Union Armies' massive demand for steel knew no bounds. Railroads and cannons and bayonets took precedent over people, food, and shelter. And Pittsburgh, without the slightest hesitation, heeded this call to arms, feeding lustily upon the world's weak and wary for the "greater good." Pittsburgh became a true vampire, ripe with evil long before the rest of the world even knew what true evil really was.

Meanwhile, Blackwater Tavern loyally--and joyfully--served its purpose in keeping the demonic engine running smoothly by supplying a bottomless sea of liquor at the bar, high-spirited gambling in the smoky oak-paneled parlor, and, of course, a higher class of woman waiting with bated breath upstairs in the satiny red lofts. Then in 1901, a relatively peaceful time in America's blood-soaked history, a new kind of evil rose up and took hold of a young couple, wide-eyed, innocent, and vulnerable. Theirs was an evil far beyond what humankind has seen or dealt with before. An alien, preternatural force which had the power to turn even the most stout, intellectual person into a vile monster, delving into his or her psyche for earthly subsistence and for the fiendish purpose of furthering it's most diabolical theosophies. This forlorn and star-crossed couple fell in love, suffered great loss, sought comfort in each other's arms, and eventually felt the pang of Death's hand.

Did I mention I'm also haunted by tragic love stories?

Blackwater Tavern, mercifully, burned to the ground in late 1901, but not before the deed was done, the evil spawned, and the wheels set in motion to unleash Hell on earth once again. Years later, the tavern was rebuilt and subsequently named Crimson Evol. And so it remains today, on the South Side of Pittsburgh, a glass and brick and steel testament to everything dark and mysterious.

And beautifully haunted.

Look for Blackwater Tavern, the novel, in early 2003.

Witchblood is available now.

A big helping of thanks to Timothy for joining Scary Voices! Be sure to visit www.witchblood.net for more information on Tim's work.