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Astral Camera: Paranormal Parlor, A Weiser Books Collection
Astral Camera: Paranormal Parlor, A Weiser Books Collection
Astral Camera: Paranormal Parlor, A Weiser Books Collection
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Astral Camera: Paranormal Parlor, A Weiser Books Collection

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Varla Ventura, fan favorite on Huffington Post’s Weird News, frequent guest on Coast to Coast, and bestselling author of The Book of the Bizarre and Beyond Bizarre, introduces a new Weiser Books Collection of forgotten crypto-classics. Magical Creatures is a hair-raising herd of affordable digital editions, curated with Varla’s affectionate and unerring eye for the fantastic.

Join early twentieth century author William T. Stead. for a romp in the woods where the Camera Obscura waits to photography the very nature of your soul!

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 10, 2012
ISBN9781619400436
Astral Camera: Paranormal Parlor, A Weiser Books Collection

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    Astral Camera - William T. Stead

    Through a Glass, Brighter

    When I was a teenager, I had a prescient vision, one which showed me where my life would one day take me. Even though I lived in the countryside outside of a small Midwestern town, I knew that I would reside in a city, one on the edge of America. In my vision I saw winding, narrow streets lined with town houses, the dark waves of the ocean overhung by a bright full moon, and perched on a cliff-side, a rambling Victorian masterpiece seven stories tall. A boisterous dinner party bustled inside, champagne glasses clinking as the stylish gathering of people rang in a new year, a new start there on the edge of the Western world.

    Back in Iowa, I pushed the vision from my teenage mind, stood up from where I'd fallen asleep on the floor, and turning off the glowing television set (which, incidentally, had been showing a rerun of Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City), retired to my Midwestern bed in the Midwestern house of my Midwestern boyhood.

    It was easy to dismiss and forget the vision—it was a mere dream, the effects of the TV show creeping into the crevices of my consciousness. But when I found myself San Francisco's newest resident several years later, driving my car along Geary Street toward the Pacific Ocean just to see what I could see, the dream came roaring back into my mind's eye. I parked the car just above the rocks and looked out over the dark afternoon waves of the Pacific, much more solid in appearance—and in reality—than they had been in my mind. There was a boxy white restaurant—the Cliff House—just north of where I'd parked the car, and

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