Once in a while, you need to just take yourself out on a “you” date. I haven’t done this since doing my final Spartan at Fenway Park, Boston, last year. This time, I got to commune with my patroness, Sekhmet and bury myself in Egypt while taking in art at the Walters Art Museum, which I used to hit three to four times a year.

The museum renovations are spectacular. There are two separate wings dedicated to Egyptian art and artifacts and a sectioned-off study room for the public to sit in quietly and get a deeper look at some of the museum’s curated pieces. It was here I was first drawn on the hunt for Sekhmet. She threw me an omniscient thread where to find her in a peaceful, meditative spot before I went to the two main Egypt wings. Special thanks to the Walters security who saw me deeply immersed in the Egyptian deities and brought me a stool so I could read the low-lying placards and have a deep, personal moment with the goddess.

The Walters has long housed one of Baltimore City’s leading collections of Old Master, Renaissance, Byzantine, Flemish, Dutch, Baroque and Rococo paintings and sculptures. I dove back into the Christian triptychs, La Pietas and Madonna and Childs ad nauseum I’ve known all my life and felt a lost piece of me restored.

It seems, by my eyes, the Walters has doubled their treasures, though I found my old favorites where they’ve always been. Switched around, maybe, but still aesthetically appealing and as a horror author, I’ve been long drawn to a specific gory painting which has been a gallery staple for decades, Trophine Bigot’s visceral “Judith Decapitating Holofernes.” Having veered off my usual path lines from the past due to the new additions, I found Judith doing her dirty work towards the end of my run.

Before the Christian Madonna and Child, there was Isis and baby Horus. Food for thought.

An impromptu fire alarm at the Walters chased us out of the gallery for a bit, so I got to go connect with my roots at Baltimore’s Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the oldest in America. I used to go here to pray and meditate on lunch breaks when I worked downtown ages ago. I also took my ex-wife here to a Christmas Eve mass and participated in the Stations of the Cross.

I figure the fire alarm was an act of divine intervention, a well-intended fight for my attention amongst the deities whom I give adoration to, including Jesus Christ. I feel like Jesus wanted His moment with me, since the Basilica is a mere two blocks away from the Walters. I was overcome by the moment and sat for twenty minutes amidst the splendor and the church keyboardist getting in some practice licks on a harpsichord. I paid my due respects and marveled at the engulfing inner dome, much as I ever did years ago.

After my Walters and Basilica excursion, I took down a couple of pints at Union Craft Brewery, which was pumping. Having become one of Charm City’s crown jewel operations, what I dig about Union, aside from the reliably gnarly beers, is the fact the entire staff are unified owners in the place. Hence the “Union Collective” signs you see around town. They split all gross tips from a day’s take amongst the whole lot of them. You gotta love it, as much as I loved the seasonal IPA, Lot Trees, they have for Christmas, and their trusty winter stout, Snow Pants.

My final landing was the new Silent Night Deadly Night film, which is absolute garbage, pun intended. It honors a few moves from the original but does its own thing. I hated the Dexterising of this thing with the internal voice guiding our Billy, and it was just a dismal experience for me. I’m surprised the extreme right hasn’t torpedoed this thing yet for the Neo-Nazi massacre scene, and that’s all the spoiler I’ll give. I know the new Santa slaughter film has a lot of supporters in the horror community and more power to alla yas with respect. For me, four ridiculous sequels and now two whatever remakes? Enough already! I assure you this one will never make the cut on my annual slash ‘n wrap tradition. OG SNDN all day.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.