The ticket guy, realizing my inherent tourist vibe, tactfully but firmly pointed out that photographing is frowned upon. Or did he say that out loud? I don't remember, but that's definitely the vibe I got. Not willing to meet whatever Warcraft orc would act as a bouncer at this sort of event, I complied, so apologies in advance for the relatively few pictures from the actual venue. This, however, is a fairly close approximation of the terrors that awaited me within:
Caiaimage/Sam Edwards/OJO+/Getty Images
Tremble, puny mortals.
The general attire was slightly more hippie-like than in that photo, but you get the drill -- where I was expecting a sort of supernatural Comic-Con of Nessie cosplayers, absurd clothes, and people vomiting (hopefully) fake blue slime at you, there were just a bunch of regular stalls and regular people going about their con-day in a regular kind of way. I started to relax -- clearly, I had let my own prejudices get the best of me and forgotten that even the most rabid believer in the paranormal can otherwise be a perfectly ordinary person, just like you and I.
Which is when I got ambushed by a shifty-eyed dude in a sack cloth bathrobe, handing out grubby photocopy pamphlets in two-point all caps detailing the inner workings of whatever sun deity his last acid trip had showed him.