moon arrived. Stan, Ray Canada, Alan Nickolleti, and I hiked up into the hills and entered the estate from the rear by climbing a rotted wooden fence. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it. If the ghost wasn’t scary enough, we’d recently learned that a surly caretaker also lived somewhere on the property. He was supposedly meaner than hell, no doubt pissed off by the intrusions of kids like us. I knew from experience that angry security guards were just as scary as evil spirits. My eyes were open wide for either man or apparition.
We crept deeper onto the property, picking our way through a dense jungle, and stumbled upon a stone path. We followed the man-made trail as it snaked through the canopy of towering date palms. It led us straight to the charred ruins of the main house.
There was nothing left of the mansion except for a huge rectangular cement foundation and two stone fireplaces that loomed in the darkness like sentinels. Under the gray moonlight, we scoured the cracked concrete in search of underground secret passages, the main goal of our expedition that night. Had we found one, it would have been like discovering King Tut’s tomb; the bragging rights would have lasted a lifetime.
We probed the ground, prying up broken chunks of concrete, and found nothing but dirt. Then, we heard something: a far-off, blood-curdling howl. My body froze and my eyes darted back and forth, trying to penetrate the dark jungle surrounding us. The high-pitched howls grew angrier, more intense. Some kind of monster, alive or dead, was clawing its way through the bushes and closing in on us.
“Let’s get out of here!” Stan screamed. I needed no more prompting.
We dove into the thick shrubs. As I ran, tree branches lashed my face, unleashed by the fleeing kid in front of me. Nothing slowed me down, though. I was at the rear of the pack and knew I would be the first to be eaten. Looking over my shoulder, I finally saw a predator tearing through the bushes. It was a sinewy Doberman pinscher in full gallop, twenty yards behind and closing fast.
Up ahead was a chain-link fence. Ray and Alan climbed it in two seconds flat. Just as Stan was about to climb, he looked at me and saw that I wasn’t going to escape the canine. Casting his own safety aside, Stan ran back for me like John Wayne returning for a fallen comrade. He grabbed my collar and dragged me to the fence as the Doberman arrived. The mad dog had his pick of legs hanging down and chose Stan’s. I only knew this after I heard my brother’s panicked cries; I continued to climb the chain link like a scared monkey. It was “fight or flight,” and I opted for the latter.
I reached the top of the fence and looked down. It was a terrible sight. The beast’s head was flailing back and forth with Stan’s leg in its jaws. It looked like a velociraptor toying with a natural enemy before tearing it to pieces. Amid Stan’s screams and the dog’s guttural snarls, the bottom half of my brother’s jeans ripped right off. He was suddenly free of the dog’s bite and flew over the fence like a ninja.
We dropped to the ground on the safe side of the fence and watched the insane Doberman gnaw on the fence, trying to chew through steel to get at us. A flashlight’s beam sliced through the jungle and was coming our way. I didn’t care if it was the caretaker or the ghost of Houdini; I’d had enough fun for one night. I ran home and never looked back.
We lived next to Houdini’s mansion for more than three years, and I never ventured back onto the grounds again. In my mind, the Doberman might have been the spirit of the great Houdini himself, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
CHAPTER 9
My Six Loves
I had done two movies for Paramount: The Errand Boy and Papa’s Delicate Condition. I must have impressed somebody at the studio because in late 1962 they offered me a great supporting role in My Six Loves, an upcoming film starring Debbie Reynolds and Cliff
We crept deeper onto the property, picking our way through a dense jungle, and stumbled upon a stone path. We followed the man-made trail as it snaked through the canopy of towering date palms. It led us straight to the charred ruins of the main house.
There was nothing left of the mansion except for a huge rectangular cement foundation and two stone fireplaces that loomed in the darkness like sentinels. Under the gray moonlight, we scoured the cracked concrete in search of underground secret passages, the main goal of our expedition that night. Had we found one, it would have been like discovering King Tut’s tomb; the bragging rights would have lasted a lifetime.
We probed the ground, prying up broken chunks of concrete, and found nothing but dirt. Then, we heard something: a far-off, blood-curdling howl. My body froze and my eyes darted back and forth, trying to penetrate the dark jungle surrounding us. The high-pitched howls grew angrier, more intense. Some kind of monster, alive or dead, was clawing its way through the bushes and closing in on us.
“Let’s get out of here!” Stan screamed. I needed no more prompting.
We dove into the thick shrubs. As I ran, tree branches lashed my face, unleashed by the fleeing kid in front of me. Nothing slowed me down, though. I was at the rear of the pack and knew I would be the first to be eaten. Looking over my shoulder, I finally saw a predator tearing through the bushes. It was a sinewy Doberman pinscher in full gallop, twenty yards behind and closing fast.
Up ahead was a chain-link fence. Ray and Alan climbed it in two seconds flat. Just as Stan was about to climb, he looked at me and saw that I wasn’t going to escape the canine. Casting his own safety aside, Stan ran back for me like John Wayne returning for a fallen comrade. He grabbed my collar and dragged me to the fence as the Doberman arrived. The mad dog had his pick of legs hanging down and chose Stan’s. I only knew this after I heard my brother’s panicked cries; I continued to climb the chain link like a scared monkey. It was “fight or flight,” and I opted for the latter.
I reached the top of the fence and looked down. It was a terrible sight. The beast’s head was flailing back and forth with Stan’s leg in its jaws. It looked like a velociraptor toying with a natural enemy before tearing it to pieces. Amid Stan’s screams and the dog’s guttural snarls, the bottom half of my brother’s jeans ripped right off. He was suddenly free of the dog’s bite and flew over the fence like a ninja.
We dropped to the ground on the safe side of the fence and watched the insane Doberman gnaw on the fence, trying to chew through steel to get at us. A flashlight’s beam sliced through the jungle and was coming our way. I didn’t care if it was the caretaker or the ghost of Houdini; I’d had enough fun for one night. I ran home and never looked back.
We lived next to Houdini’s mansion for more than three years, and I never ventured back onto the grounds again. In my mind, the Doberman might have been the spirit of the great Houdini himself, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
CHAPTER 9
My Six Loves
I had done two movies for Paramount: The Errand Boy and Papa’s Delicate Condition. I must have impressed somebody at the studio because in late 1962 they offered me a great supporting role in My Six Loves, an upcoming film starring Debbie Reynolds and Cliff
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