Eldritch Theatre

Eric Woolfe was born the bastard child of an itinerant sideshow contortionist, and a door-to-door alienist. He began his career at the age of eight and three quarters, when a national famine forced him to follow his mother’s twisted feet into show business. Following failed careers as a learned pig tamer, flea circus promoter, and gaffed armless calligrapher, he formed Eldritch Theatre after losing a bar bet. He is now an actor, writer and puppeteer, as well as being a noted spiritualist huckster. He is often visited by the ghost of his beloved miniature schnauzer, Schubert, who offers Mister Woolfe valuable career advice, such as “You should chase more squirrels,” and “You better hide in the basement when there is thunder outside.” Mr Woolfe has my credits, projects and award nominations, but his favourite by far is George A Romero’s maritime western zombie masterpiece, Survival of the Dead. @EricWoolfe

Listen to his Stage Worthy Podcast Interview
Read his interview with J. Gordon Shillingford Publishing

Melanie is a set and costume designer who created the non-Euclidian, mad-blasted, architecturally anomalous, temple of unholy abomination, known to the students at Miskatonic University as the Pit with a Thousand Steps. Her efforts on this project won her two Dora Mavor Moore Awards, a pickled Siamese twin in a mayonnaise jar, and a thirty-year stint in a padded room at Ravenscrag Asylum for the Mentally Deranged. It is said that her fingernails are made of needles, and to look into her eyes is to see one’s darkest, most secret fears writ large across the sky, in words penned in streaks of lightning. I have feared many dark things in my life. But I fear Melanie most of all.

Sandi Becker strikes fear into the hearts of the weak and foolish. She has retractable fangs. And, due to a recurring battle with Early Onslaught Lycanthropy, has become a passionate advocate for promoting tolerance to Werewolfism in school age children. She can kill you with a look, and if you are not in bed by 9 o’clock, she’ll come to you in the darkness, slip you into a bag made from cat skin, and take you to her moldy, mildewed lair. What will happen there? No one has lived to tell the tale.

Listen to her Stageworthy Podcast Interview

Mairi became the Head Witch of the Dread Coven of Danforth Avenue at the tender age of 13 when she shoved Prickled Gertie Rumplehump into a wood burning stove, baked her into a tortiere,and stole her broomstick and crown. Mairi’s voice can hit notes so high, that only creatures of the night can hear them. She has danced with the Mi-Go on Signal Hill, had tea with the Black Goat of the Forest, and painted her own kitchen with the Colours out of Space. Small children fear her. It is said that on nights when the moon is gibbous, she sneaks through your bedroom window as you sleep, and sits on your chest, and when your nightmares begin, she smiles and inhales the life from your body as your panicked, yet slumbering, breath ebbs from your dying body. As you drift into death, her red, red eyes are the last things you see. And you yearn for them. Dear gods! You yearn for them!