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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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The Passer-Through-Walls

Marcel Aymé (1941)

In Montmartre on the fourth floor of number 75½ Rue Orchampt there once lived a fine fellow named Dutilleul who had the remarkable gift of being able to pass through walls with perfect ease. He wore a pince-nez and a small black goatee and he worked as a level three clerk in the Registration Ministry. In winter he would take the bus to work, and come summer he would walk, wearing his bowler hat.

Dutilleul discovered his power shortly after he turned forty-two. One evening, the electricity went out briefly while he was standing in the front hall of his small bachelor apartment. He groped around for a moment in the dark, and when the power came back on, he found himself standing on his fourth floor landing. Since the door to his apartment was locked from the inside, this gave him pause for thought. Despite the objections of his common sense, he decided to return home in the same way he left—by passing through the wall. This strange ability seemed to have no bearing on any of his aspirations, and he could not help feeling rather vexed about it. The following day was Saturday, and since he worked a five-day week, he sought out the local doctor and presented his case to him. The doctor satisfied himself that Dutilleul was telling the truth, and upon examining him he discovered that the problem was caused by a helicoidal hardening of the strangular membrane of the thyroid gland. He prescribed intensive overwork and told him to take two doses a year of tetravalent pirette powder containing a mixture of rice flour and centaur hormone.

Dutilleul took one dose, then put the medicine in the back of a drawer and forgot about it. As for intensive overwork, his activity as a civil servant followed fixed practices which did not lend themselves to any excess. He spent his free time reading the newspaper and working on his stamp collection; these activities did not require him to expend an unreasonable amount of energy either. After a year then, he still retained the ability to pass through walls, but he never used it intentionally; he had little interest in adventures and he stubbornly resisted the impulses of his imagination. The idea never even occurred to him to enter his apartment any other way than by the door, and that after having duly opened it using the lock.

He might have lived out his life in his peaceable habits and never been tempted to put his gifts to the test if an extraordinary event had not suddenly disrupted his existence. Monsieur Mouron, the associate office director, left to take another position and was replaced by one Monsieur Lécuyer, who spoke in short, clipped sentences and wore a toothbrush mustache. From the very first day, the new associate office director was highly displeased to see that Dutilleul wore a pince-nez on a chain and a black goatee, and he made a great show of treating him as an obsolete nuisance or a slightly grubby antique.

Far more serious however, was his plan to introduce far-reaching reforms in the office; they seemed specially designed to disturb the peace of his subordinate. For twenty years, Dutilleul had begun all his letters with the following phrase: “In reference to your esteemed correspondence of the 12th of the present month, and furthermore in reference to our previous exchange of letters, I have the honor of writing to inform you that...” Monsieur Lécuyer replaced this with a turn of phrase that had a more American ring to it: “In response to your letter of the 12th, I inform you that...” Dutilleul could not adapt to these epistolary fashions. He couldn’t help himself; he reverted to the traditional formula with a mechanical obstinacy that earned him the growing enmity of the associate director. He began to find the atmosphere at the Ministry of Registration oppressive. He felt apprehensive on his way to work in the morning, and at night in his bed he often lay awake turning things over in his mind for a full fifteen minutes before he could fall asleep.

Monsieur Lécuyer was disgusted by this willful backwardness which was threatening the success of his reforms, so he had Dutilleul’s desk moved to a small dim closet next to his office. It was only accessible by a low narrow door which opened onto the corridor and still bore the inscription “RUBBISH” in capital letters. Dutilleul accepted this unprecedented humiliation with resignation, but at home, whenever he would read in the newspaper about some gory incident, he found himself daydreaming, imagining Monsieur Lécuyer as the victim.

One day, the associate director burst into his closet brandishing a letter and bellowing, “Rewrite this stinking letter! You will rewrite this appalling piece of drivel which is dishonoring my department!”

Dutilleul tried to protest, but Monsieur Lécuyer, in a thunderous voice, called him a hidebound cockroach and as he left, he took the letter he had in his hand, crumpled it up into a ball, and threw it in his face. Dutilleul was modest but proud. He sat alone in his closet, steaming, when suddenly he had an inspiration. He rose from his chair and entered the wall which separated his office from that of the associate director. He was careful to move only partway through the wall, so that just his head emerged on the other side. Monsieur Lécuyer was seated at his work table, his ever-twitching pen shifting a comma in the text an employee had submitted to him for approval. Hearing a quiet cough in his office, he looked up, and discovered to his unspeakable alarm the head (just the head) of Dutilleul stuck to the wall like a hunting trophy. What’s more, the head was alive. It looked over its pince-nez glasses at him with deepest hatred. And then it began to speak.

“Monsieur,” it said, “you are a hoodlum, a boor, and a spoiled brat.”

Gaping with horror, Monsieur Lécuyer couldn’t take his eyes off this apparition. At last, tearing himself out of his chair, he leapt into the corridor and raced to the closet. Dutilleul sat in his usual place, pen in hand, looking perfectly peaceful and industrious. The associate director stared at him for a long moment, mumbled a few words, and went back to his office. No sooner had he sat down then the head reappeared on the wall.

“Monsieur, you are a hoodlum, a boor, and a spoiled brat.”

In the course of a single day, the dreaded head reappeared on the wall twenty-three times, and it kept up the same pace over the following days. Dutilleul became rather good at this game, and he no longer contented himself with shouting abuse at the associate director. He uttered veiled threats; for example, he would cackle demoniacally and wail in a sepulchral voice:

“The Lone Wolf’s on the prowl! Beware! (laughter) No one’s safe—he’s everywhere! (laughter)”

Whenever he heard this, the poor associate director grew a little paler and made a choking noise; his hair stood straight up on his head and the cold sweat of terror trickled down his back. He lost a pound that first day.

As the week wore on, you could practically see him melting away. He took to eating his soup with a fork and greeting policemen with a smart military salute.

At the beginning of the second week, an ambulance came to his residence and took him away to a sanitarium.

Now that Dutilleul was free of Monsieur Lécuyer’s tyranny, he could return to his cherished phrases: “In reference to your esteemed correspondence of the 27th of the present month...” And yet, he was unsatisfied somehow. There was an unmet demand inside him, a new, urgent need, which was none other than the need to walk through walls.

He could certainly indulge this need easily, at home for example, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. But a man possessed of brilliant gifts cannot satisfy himself for long by exercising them on a mediocre subject. Walking through walls cannot really serve as an end in itself. Rather, it is the first step in an adventure, which calls for continuation, development, and, in short, a payoff. Dutilleul understood this fully. He felt within him a need for expansion, a growing desire to fulfill and surpass himself, and a certain bittersweet pull which was something like the call of the other side of the wall. Unfortunately, what he lacked was a goal. He sought inspiration by reading the newspaper. He paid special attention to the sports and politics sections, as these seemed to be honorable activities, but in the end, he realized that they really didn’t offer any opportunities for people who could walk through walls. That’s when he settled on the police blotter, which turned out to be most suggestive.

Dutilleul’s first burglary took place in an important financial institution on the Right Bank. He passed through a dozen walls and partitions and let himself into various vaults, where he filled his pockets with banknotes. As he left, he signed his work in red chalk, using the alias “The Lone Wolf”, underlined with a distinctive flourish which made it onto the front page of all the newspapers the following morning. Within a week, the name The Lone Wolf had gained extraordinary celebrity. Public sympathy was unreservedly behind this prestigious burglar who so thoroughly flouted the police.

Every night he distinguished himself with some new exploit; sometimes his target was a bank, other times a jewelry store or some wealthy individual. From Paris to the provinces, there wasn’t a woman who, in her daydreams, didn’t nourish a fervent desire to belong to the fearsome Lone Wolf, body and soul. After the theft of the famous Burdigala Diamond and the break-in at the Crédit Municipal the same week, this enthusiasm reached a fever pitch. The Interior Minister was forced to resign, and he brought the Minister of Registration down with him. Nonetheless, Dutilleul, now one of the richest men in Paris, remained perfectly punctual at work; there was talk of awarding him the national medal for service to education. Every morning at the Ministry of Registration, he took great pleasure listening to his colleagues discuss his exploits of the night before. “That Lone Wolf,” they would say, “a great man, Superman, a genius!” Dutilleul blushed with embarrassment to hear such praise, and he beamed with friendship and gratitude from behind his pince-nez on its chain.

One day this sympathetic atmosphere boosted his confidence so much that he thought he would not be able to keep his secret any longer. As his colleagues stood together around a newspaper reading about the burglary at the Bank of France, he studied them shyly, then announced in a modest voice, “As it so happens, I’m the Lone Wolf.” Dutilleul’s confession was greeted with loud and long laughter, and it earned him the derisive nickname “The Lone Wolf”. At night when it was time to leave work, he was the butt of endless jokes from his colleagues, and life lost some of its luster for him.

A few days later, the Lone Wolf got picked up by the night patrol in a jewelry shop on Rue de la Paix. He had affixed his signature to the sales counter and was singing a drinking song while smashing various display windows using a solid gold antique goblet. It would have been easy for him to slip into a wall and escape the night patrol, but in all likelihood he wanted to be arrested, probably with the sole intent of getting even with his colleagues; their disbelief was mortifying.

Indeed, his colleagues were most surprised the next day when the newspapers published Dutilleul’s photograph on the front page. They bitterly regretted underestimating their brilliant comrade and they all saluted him by growing little goatees. A few of them were so carried away with remorse and admiration that they tried to get their hands on the wallets or heirloom watches of their friends and acquaintances.

Now you may well think that letting himself get picked up by the police to astonish a few colleagues shows a great recklessness unworthy of such an exceptional man. But although this act appears willful, his volition had very little to do with the decision. Dutilleul believed that by giving up his freedom, he was giving in to a prideful desire for revenge. In reality, though, he was simply sliding down the slope of his destiny. When a man is able to walk through walls, one can’t really speak of a career until he’s tried prison at least once.

When Dutilleul was taken inside the La Santé prison, he felt as though fate had smiled upon him. The thickness of the walls was a veritable treat for him. The very first morning after he was imprisoned, the astonished guards discovered that the prisoner had driven a nail into his cell wall, and from it he had hung a gold pocket watch belonging to the prison warden. He could not or would not reveal how this object had come into his possession. The watch was restored to its rightful owner, but the next day it was found again on the Lone Wolf’s nightstand, along with the first volume of The Three Musketeers which he had borrowed from the warden’s private library. The prison personnel were under great pressure. Moreover, the guards complained of receiving mysterious kicks in the behind which seemed to come from nowhere; it seemed that the walls didn’t just have ears anymore, but feet as well. The Lone Wolf had been in jail for one week when the warden found the following letter on his desk upon entering his office in the morning.

“Dear Monsieur the Warden,

In reference to our exchange of the 17th of the present month, and furthermore in reference to your general instructions of May the15th preceding, I have the honor of informing you that I have just completed reading the second volume of The Three Musketeers and that I expect to escape tonight between 11:25 and 11:35 p.m.

Most respectfully yours, The Lone Wolf.”

Despite being under close surveillance that night, Dutilleul escaped at 11:30. When the news hit the streets the following morning, it was greeted everywhere with great enthusiasm. Nonetheless, once Dutilleul had carried out a fresh burglary which raised his popularity to new heights, he didn’t seem very concerned about hiding, and he roamed freely through Montmartre taking no precautions at all. Three days after his escape he was arrested in Rue Caulaincourt at the Café du Rêve a little before noon, as he was enjoying a glass of white wine and lemon with friends.

Dutilleul was taken back to the La Santé Prison and triple locked in a dingy solitary cell; he escaped from it that same evening and spent the night at the warden’s apartment, in the guest room. The following morning around nine o’clock, he rang for the maid to bring him his breakfast. The guards were summoned, and they seized him where he sat in bed, putting up no resistance. The warden was outraged; he posted a guard at the door of Dutilleul’s cell and placed him on bread and water. Around noon, the prisoner went off to have lunch at a restaurant near the prison, and when he finished his coffee, he phoned the warden.

“Hello! Monsieur the Warden, I hate to bother you, but just now when I went out, I neglected to bring along your wallet, and now here I am at the restaurant and I’ve come up short. Would you be so good as to send someone along to settle the bill?”

The warden showed up in person immediately and lost his temper, shouting threats and insults at Dutilleul. Dutilleul’s pride was wounded; he escaped the following night, never to return.

This time he took a few precautions. He shaved off his black goatee and traded his pince-nez on its chain for a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. A billed cap and a checked suit with golf trousers completed his transformation. He settled into a small apartment in Avenue Junot; he had moved some of his furniture there along with his most prized possessions long before his first arrest.

He began to grow tired of his newfound fame, and ever since his stay at La Santé Prison, he had become rather blasé about the pleasure of walking through walls. Even the thickest and most imposing walls now seemed to him nothing more than simple folding screens, and he dreamed of plunging into the heart of some massive pyramid. So while he developed his plan for a trip to Egypt, he was leading the most peaceable of lives, dividing his time between his stamp collection, the movies, and long walks through Montmartre. Clean-shaven now, and wearing his horn-rimmed glasses, his metamorphosis was so complete that he could pass by his best friends without being recognized. Only the painter Gen Paul, who would never fail to notice any sudden change in the countenance of a longtime neighbor, finally unraveled his true identity. One morning he found himself nose to nose with Dutilleul on the corner of the Rue de l’Abreuvoir, and he blurted out in his rough slang:

“Hey daddy-o, I dig the new drape and sky piece! You’re togged to the bricks! With threads like that you must be stachin’ so you don’t get tapped by the fuzz.” Which means, more or less, “I see that you have adopted an elegant disguise so as to escape the attention of the police detectives.”

“Ah,” murmured Dutilleul, “you’ve recognized me!” This made him uneasy and he decided to move up his departure for Egypt. On the very same afternoon he fell in love with a blonde beauty whom he met in Rue Lepic twice in the space of fifteen minutes. He immediately forgot about his stamp collection and Egypt and the pyramids. As for the blonde, she looked at him with great interest. Nothing captures the imagination of young women today like a pair of golf pants and horn-rimmed glasses. That movie producer look sets them dreaming about cocktail parties and Hollywood nights.

Unfortunately, Dutilleul learned from Gen Paul that this beauty was married to a violently jealous man; moreover, he led a rough-and-tumble existence on the streets of Paris and spent his nights on the town. Every night he would abandon his wife from ten at night to four in the morning, but before he would leave, he always made sure to double-lock her in her room and padlock the shutters. During the day he kept a close eye on her; sometimes he would even follow her through the streets of Montmartre.

“Hey, I see you’re still chasin’ that skirt. Take it slow, daddy-o. That chick is fine dinner, but her main on the hitch gets evil if he focuses some cat tryin’ to score his barbecue.”

But Gen Paul’s warning only inflamed Dutilleul’s passion further. The next day he saw the young woman in Rue Tholozé. He boldly followed her into a dairy, and while she was waiting in line, he told her that he loved her respectfully and that he knew about everything—the cruel husband, the locked door and the shutters—but that he would be in her bedroom that very night. The blonde blushed; the milk bottle trembled in her hand and her eyes grew moist with tenderness. She gave a muffled sigh. “Alas Monsieur, that is impossible.”

The evening of that glorious day around ten o’clock found Dutilleul standing like a sentry in Rue Norvins, watching an imposing garden wall; he could only see the weather vane and the chimney of the small house which sat behind it. A door in the wall opened, and a man stepped out. He carefully locked the door behind him and walked off towards Avenue Junot. Dutilleul waited until he was out of sight, until he was all the way down at the bend in the street at the foot of the hill, and then he counted to ten. Then he rushed forward and strode like an athlete into the wall, running straight through the obstacles until he penetrated the bedroom of the lovely recluse. She greeted him ecstatically and they made love late into the night.

Unfortunately, the next day Dutilleul had a terrible headache. He was certainly not going to let something so trivial make him miss his rendezvous. Nonetheless, since he discovered some tablets scattered at the bottom of a drawer, he took one in the morning and one in the afternoon. By evening his headache was tolerable, and in his intense excitement he forgot about it altogether. The young woman was waiting for him, full of impatience aroused by her memories of the previous night; that night they made love until three o’clock in the morning. When he left, Dutilleul passed through the walls of the house and felt an unusual rubbing sensation against his hips and shoulders.

He didn’t think it merited much attention though. In fact, it was only when he entered the garden wall that he felt a definite resistance. He felt as though he were moving through some gel-like substance that was still fluid but was growing thicker; it became firmer the more he struggled. Once he was entirely embedded in the thickness of the wall he realized that he was no longer moving forward. Terrified, he remembered the two tablets that he taken that day. He had thought they were aspirin tablets, but in fact they contained the tetravalent pirette powder that the doctor had prescribed the year before. The effect of the medication combined with intensive exertion produced quite a sudden reaction.

Dutilleul was immobilized inside the wall. He is there to this very day, imprisoned in the stone. When people go walking down the Rue Norvins late at night after the bustle of Paris has died down, they hear a muffled voice which seems to come from beyond the grave; they think it’s the sound of the wind whistling through the streets of Montmartre. It’s Lone Wolf Dutilleul lamenting the end of his glorious career and mourning his all too brief love affair. Sometimes on winter nights the painter Gen Paul takes down his guitar and heads down to the lonely, echoing Rue Norvins to console the poor prisoner with a song. Its notes take flight from his numb fingers and penetrate to the heart of the stone like drops of moonlight.

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bbcbreakingnews · 4 years

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Montana woman trips while running away from a charging bison and plays dead to survive attack

A Montana woman played dead to avoid injury when she fell in front of a charging bison at Yellowstone National Park.

The woman can be seen in a video which was shot at Nez Perce Creek at the Wyoming section of the national park.

In the clip, people off-screen can be heard screaming as two people – the woman and what appears to be a man – are seen running away from two charging bison.

The Montana woman can be seen running away from the charging bison (left), before she trips and falls to the ground (right) where she immediately plays dead

As the closer bison nears, the woman trips and falls to the grass. She lays completely still while the bison, within a fraction of the second, catches up to her position.

‘Play dead! Play dead!’ people can be heard screaming at her as the bison prances around her body and eventually moves away from her.

Cloie Musumecci, who sent in the video to MTN, said that the woman who was being chased by the bison ‘is a Montana local so she knew to play dead in that situation.’

The quick-thinking woman, who was not identified, was then able to escape ‘without a scratch,’ Musumecci said, according to KBZK.

The woman doesn’t move even when the bison catches up to her and practically stands on her

After a short time, the bison appears to lose interest and begins to turn away from the woman

The incident took place at Nez Perce Creek at the Wyoming section of the Yellowstone park

It’s unclear from the video what set the bison off or how close to them the two people were before the bison started charging at them.

It’s also unclear when the incident occurred.

Yellowstone allows its bison to to roam relatively freely across the park, according to its website. The bison population haven’t been interbred with cattle like most other bison herds and exhibit wild behavior like their ancestors.

Yellowstone bison have a history of attacking park visitors or their cars, often after they get too close.

In late June, a 72-year-old woman from California was caught on video as she got far too close – within 10 feet – to a wandering bison at the park. The woman was gored by the bison, which also flung her between 10 to 15 feet into the air during the attack, witnesses told WCCO.

‘Bison are wild animals that respond to threats by displaying aggressive behaviors like pawing the ground, snorting, bobbing their head, bellowing, and raising their tail,’ Yellowstone’s senior bison biologist Chris Geremia told Time after the woman’s attack.

‘If that doesn’t make the threat (in this instance it was a person) move away, a threatened bison may charge. To be safe around bison, stay at least 25 yards away, move away if they approach, and run away or find cover if they charge.’

The post Montana woman trips while running away from a charging bison and plays dead to survive attack appeared first on BBC BREAKING NEWS.

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nemesisbinxartifactseries · 5 years

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Artifact Series A

A Christmas Story Leg Lamp (canon)

A Dictionary of the English Language by Samuel Johnson

A.A. Milne's Honey Dipper

ABBA's Champagne Glasses

AFV Video Screen

A.J. Hackett's Bungee Cord

ATLAS Android Test Subject

Aaron's Rod

Aaron's Staff

Aaron Anderson’s Oars

Aaron Swartz's Computer Mouse

Abby Normal's Brain *

Abd Al-Rahman Al-Gillani's Walking Stick

Abebe Bikila's Jersey

Abigail Williams' Pendent

Abing's Erhu

Abraham's Sapphire

Abraham Lincoln's Top Hat *

Abraham Maslow's Hierarchy Chart

Abraham Suydam's Golden Pocketwatch

Abraham Ulrikib's Caribou Pelt

Absorbent Photo Album and Camera

Abu al-Qasim's Bellows

Abu al-Qasim's Forceps

Abu Hurairah's Tombstone

Achilles' Arrow *

Accordion from Kunstkamera

Acme Police Whistle

Ada Lovelace's Dress

Adad-nirari I’s Axe Blade

Adam Lanza's Gun

Adam Rainer's Measuring Tape

Adam Sandler's Idea Pad

Adelard of Bath’s Abacus

Adolf Eichmann's Eagle Insignia Badge

Adolf Frederick's Silver Cutlery Set

Adolf Hitler's Colored Pencils

Adolf Hitler's Microphone *

Adolf Slaby's Snuff Box

Adolphe Chaillet's "Shelby" Bulbs *

Adolphe Dugleres' Menu

Adrian Hill's Sketchpad

Aegean Sails

Aegicoros' Goblet

Aesop's Cloak

Aesop's Grapevine

Aesop's Pendant

Aesop’s Rope

Aeschylus' Turtle Shell

African Ngil Fang Mask *

African Tribal Elephant Tusk *

African Witch Doctor's Staff

Agamemnon's Mycenaean Bronze Sword

Agatha Christie's Car

Agatha Christie's Typewriter *

Agatha Christie's Wedding Ring

Agathodaemon's Natron

Agent Aden Taylor's God-Tier Clock

Agent Aden Taylor's God Tier Outfit

Aggressive Metal Lunchbox

Agnodice’s Tunic

Aguara's Carob

Ahmad Shah Durrani's Pesh-Kabz

Ahmose I’s Armband

Aileen Wuornos' Black Ledger

Aimée Crocker's Hat and Fur Stole

Air from the Great Stink of 1858

Air Raid Siren from Pearl Harbor

Air-Raid Skeet Thrower

Airbrushes from Disney Studios *

Akbar the Great's Water Container

Akira Kurosawa's Mao Hat

Akira Toriyama's Original Pen

Aki Ra’s Landmine Casings

Alain Robert’s Bag of Chalk

Albert Fish's Whip of Nails

Al Capone's Fedora

Al Capone's Machine Guns *

Al Smith's 1928 Campaign Badges

Aladdin's Lamp

Alan Hale Jr.'s Skipper Hat

Alan Seeger's Helmet

Alan Turing's Typewriter

Alan Wake's Flashlight

Alarm Clock

Albert Abrams’ Vials

Albert Anastasia's Barber Shop Chair

Albert Bandura's Bobo Doll

Albert Butz's Glasses *

Albert Camus' Coffee Cup

Albert Einstein's Bridge Device *

Albert Einstein's Chalk

Albert Einstein's Comb *

Albert Stevens’ Paintbrush

Albert Tirrell’s Razor

Alberto Burri's Sacking and Red

Albertus Magnus' Quill Pen

Alboin’s Skull Cup

Albrecht Dürer's Rhinoceros Horn

Self-portrait at 26" href="/wiki/Albrecht_D%C3%BCrer%27s_%27%27Self-portrait_at_26%27%27">Albrecht Dürer's Self-portrait at 26 *

Alchemist's Curse

Alcmaeon of Croton's Ring

Aldrich Ames' Chalk

Aldus Manutius’ Vellum

Aleijadinho’s Palanquin

Aleister Crowley's Ruby Studded Universal Hexagram Necklace *

Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Keisaku

Tetris" href="/wiki/Aleksandr_Serebrov%27s_Nintendo_Game_Boy_%26_Copy_of_%27%27Tetris%27%27">Aleksandr Serebrov's Nintendo Game Boy & Copy of Tetris

Alessandro Volta's Biscuit Bin *

Alessandro Volta's Lab Coat and Goggles *

Alethiometer

Alex Mercer's Jacket

Alex Sander's Scourge

Alexander of Abonoteichus' Grimorie

Alexander Alekhine's Chess Set *

Alexander Bain's Fax Machine

Alexander Calder's First Mobile

Alexander D'Agapeyeff's Telegraph

Alexander Fleming's Beaker

Alexander Graham Bell's Telephone Wire

Alexander the Great's Bronze Breastplate

Alexander the Great's Xyston

Alexander of Greece's Pocket Watch

Alexander Grey's Owl Pendant

Alexander Hamilton's & Aaron Burr's Dueling Pistols

Alexander Herrmann's Gold Watch

Alexander Hermann's Mustache Scissors *

Alexander Keith Jr’s Barrel

Alexander Litvinenko's Tea Pot

Alexander Morison's Top Hat

Alexander Polyhistor's Animal Fiber Sponge

Alexander Steinert's Grand Piano

Alexander von Humboldt's Fern

Alexander Wilson's Falconry Glove

Alexandre Étienne Choron’s Menu

Alexey Leonov's Near the Moon

Alexis Soyer's Cutting Board

Alexis St. Martin's Musket Powder

Al-Farabi's Shahrud

Alfred Adler’s Coat Rack

Alfred Dreyfus' Sword Hilt *

Alfred George Hinds' Prison Uniform

Alfréd Hajós' Measuring Tape

Alfred Hitchcock's Metal Pinwheel (canon)

Alfred Kinsey's Abacus

Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Bronze Statue of Chiron

Alfred's Monarch Ice Skates

Alfred Nobel's Box Detonator

Alfred Nobel's Curtains

Alfred Packer's Gold

Alfred Snoxall's Lee-Enfield Rifle

Alfred N. Stevenson's Military Helmet

Alfred Stieglitz's Tripod

Alfred Watkin’s Theodolite

Alfred Wegener's Parka

Algie the Pig

Al Herpin's Rocking Chair

Al Hirschfeld’s Chair and Lamp

Ali Asghar Borujerdi's Prayer Beads

Alice Manfield’s Trekking Pole

Alice Bailey's Necklace

Alice's Crown

Alice Stebbins Wells’ Police Badge

Alien's Device Prop

Allan Pinkerton's Briefcase

Allan W. E. Jones' Underwear

Alleyway from Kowloon Walled City

Alliance Tenna-Scope TV Signal Booster

All Hallow's Eve Pumpkin

Alphonse Bertillon's Shaving Mirror

Alphonse Cahagnet's Magnets

Alpine Brandy Rescue Cask *

Aloysius 'Alois' Alzheimer's Eye Glasses

Alpharts Tod's Hauberk

Altaïr's Hidden Blade

Aluminum Bluthner Piano *

Álvaro Obregón's Right Arm

Alvin C. Graves' Tie

Alvin C. York's .45 Colt Automatic Pistol

Alvin C. York's Medal

Alvin Straight’s Riding Lawn Mower

Alyattes of Lydia's Electrum Coins

Amanda Palmer's Ukulele

Amanda Todd's Flashcards

Amasa Coleman Lee's Porch Swing

Amaterasu's Yasakani no Magatama

Amazon Fish Tank *

The Amber Room

Amber Sphere *

Amber Spyglass

Ambrose Bierce's Skull

Ambrose Burnside's Jacket

Amelia Earhart's Goggles

Amelia Earhart's Lockheed Vega 5B

Amenemhat III’s Pyramidion

Amenemhat III's Sistrum

Amenemhat IV’s Sphinx

"American Idiot" Stage Set

Amerigo Vespucci's Armor Plate

Amityville House Windows

Ammunition from the USS Maine

Amphion's Lyre

Amulet of Hapi

Amy Lowell's Cigar

Amy Winehouse's Microphone

An Zhengwen's Brush

Anasazi Rope

Anatoly Onoprienko's Sawed off Shotgun

Anatomical Model

Anaxagoras' Krater

Anaximander's Sundial

André the Giant's Wrestling Singlet

André Citroën's Double Helical Gear

André de Toth’s 3-D Glasses

Andre Devigny's Bedding and Lantern

André Devigny Spoon

André-Marie Ampère’s Notebook

André Martinet's Phonograph

Andrea Aguyar’s Lasso

Andrea del Verrocchio's Workshop

Andreas Mihavecz’s Prison Cell

Andreas Vesalius' Watering Can

Andrew Borden's Couch

Andy Dufresne’s Rock Hammer

Andrew Jackson's Keg of Ale

Andrew Wyeth's Christina's World

Andy Kaufman's Bowl & Spoon

Andy Kaufman's Sunglasses

Andy Lambros' Fishing Pole

Andy the Clown’s Costume

Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup Cans

Andy Warhol's Concept Dress Mannequin

Andy Warhol's Hairbrush

Andy Warhol's Marilyn Diptych

Anfo Merc's Electric Guitar and Battery Amplifier

Angela Cavallo's Car Fender

Angelo Faticoni's Chair

Angelo Moriondo’s Espresso Machine

Angelo Siciliano's Workout Trunks *

Angel Wings from the Pulse Funeral

Angkor Wat Piece of Vishnu

Ankou's Horseshoe

Angry Birdcage *

Animatronic Presidents from the "Hall of Presidents" in Walt Disney World

Anita King’s Lighter

Ann Corio's Bra

Ann Faraday's Jacket

Anna Baker's Wedding Dress

Anna Bertha Ludwig's Wedding Ring

Anna de Coligny's Crown

Anna Pavlova's Swan-Feather Fan

Annabelle Doll

Anne Boleyn's Pearl Necklace and Ornate B

Anne Bonny's Cutlass *

Anne Frank's Diary and Ribbon Bookmark

Anne Greene's Noose

Anne Sullivan’s Doll

Annette Funicello's Beach Ball *

Annie Edson Taylor's Barrel *

Annie Fox's Purple Heart

Annie Oakley’s Bonnet

Ansel Adams' Camera

Antarctic Whaling Station Camp

Anthony Bishop's Manuscript *

Anthony Salerno's Fedora *

Anthony Spilotro's Casino Tokens

Anthony Stewart/Rupert Giles' Glasses

Anti-Boarding Netting from the Mary Rose

Antique Candy Box

Antoine Lavosier's Candle

Antoine Lavosier's Microscope

Anton Aicher's Marionette Handle

Anton Chekov’s Pince-Nez's

Antoni Gaudí’s Chisel and Trencadís

Antonietta Dell'Era's Ballet Slippers

Antonio Stradivari's Violin Strings *

Antonio Vivaldi’s Aspergillum

Anton Praetorius' Hynm Book

Anubis Canopic Jar

Anubis Shrine Pyramid *

Anuket's Necklace

Aphrodite's Ankle Bracelet

Aphrodite's Girdle *

Aphrodite's Hairbrush

Apple of Discord

Apollo 11 Lunar Landing Hoax Set *

Apollo 11 Moon Rock *

Apollo 13 Command Module

Apollo 15 Geologic Hammer and Falcon Feather

Apollonius of Tyana's Amulet

Apollo of Veii's Arms

Apollo’s and Artemis’ Bows

Apollo's Sandals

Apophis Statuette

Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s Goggles

Aquilas from the Battle of Teutoburg Forest

Arachne's Loom

Arceus' Plates

Archibald McIndoe's Saline Bathtub

Archibald Spooner's Cloak

Archilochus' Aulos

Archimedes's Bathtub

Arc Light from the Iroquois Theater

Ares' Gauntlets

Aretha Franklin's Spotlight

The Argo

Ariadne's Ball of Thread

Aristotle's Lyre

Aron Ralston’s Pocketknife

Artemisia II of Caria's Chalice

Armand David's Glasses & Zucchetto

Armand Guillaumin's Soleil couchant à Ivry

Armando Socarras Ramirez's Shirt

Arne Larsson's Pacemaker

Arrow of Alan Gua

Arrow of Time

Artemis' Cloak Pin

Arthur Aitken's Pith Helmet

Arthur Aston's Wooden Leg

Arthur Blessitt’s Cross

Arthur C. Clarke's Telescope

Arthur Claude Darby's Rope

Arthur Conan Doyle's Disintegration Machine

Arthur Conan Doyle's Fairy Notebook

Arthur Conan Doyle's Pipe

Arthur Edward Waite's Tarot Deck

Arthur Evans' Magnifying Glass

Arthur Galston's Soil Knife

Arthur Rostron’s Loving Cup

Arthur Stace’s Chalk

Arthur Wellesley's Boots

Arthur Wynne's Journal

Arthur Zimmermann's Ticker-tape Machine

Artie Moore's Headphones

Artie Shaw's Clarinet *

Asclepius' Offering Bowl

Ash Williams’ Double-Barrel "Boomstick"

Ashes from the 1925 Madame Tussaud Fire

Ashley Revell's Tuxedo

Ashurbanipal's Crown

Ashoka's Hell

Ashoka's Pillars

Assorted Herbs (Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme)

Asphyxiating Blackboard Erasers

Atalanta's Spear

Æthelred the Unready's Crown

Athena's Owl Pendant

Athena Parthenos

Athena's Aegis

Athena’s Breastplate

Athens Caryatid

Atlanta Ripper's Balaclava

Atlantean Crystal Pendant

Atlas' Globe

Atomic Bombs from The Dayton Project

Atticus Finch's Pocketwatch

Attila the Hun's Battle Helmet (canon)

Attila the Hun's Swaddling Blanket *

Audio-Healing Tuning Fork *

August Bier’s Needle

August Musger's Projector

August Natterer's Bible

Auguste Escoffier’s Tasting Spoons

Auguste Piccard's Gondola

Auguste Renoir's Young Girls at the Piano *

Auguste Rodin's Hammer and Chisel *

Auguste Rodin's Gateway to Hell

Auguste Rodin’s The Kiss

Auguste Rodin's Rasp

Augustina de Aragon's Cannon

Augustin-Jean Fresnel's Magnifying Glass *

Augustin Pyramus de Candolle’s Touch-Me-Not Plant

Augustus Saint-Gaudens’ Double Eagle Gold Coin

Aung San's Pinhole Camera

Aurora's Torch

Australian Boomerang

Automatic Trash-Disposal Waste Bin

Automatic Vaccum *

Autumn Leaves

Avatar Relics from The Last Airbender

Axe Ring

Axel Erlandson's Sycamore Seeds

Axeman of New Orleans' Phonograph

Ayrton Senna's Race Suit

Azletar (by technicality)

Aztec Bloodstone *

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thegirlwhoboardgames · 5 years

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August Games

• Blood Rage • Azul • Ticket to Ride London • Ticket to Ride New York • Takenoko • Raiders of the North Sea • Mice and Mystics • Imperial Settlers Roll and Write • Dice Throne • Alchemist • Micro Brew • Hive • Carcassonne • Clank!

Game of the Month - Mice and Mystics

I have fallen in love with this game, it's a great co-operative adventure game, which you can totally immerse yourself within the characters and the story, I even do voices when I'm reading the story, much to my husbands amusement. We have only played the first chapter, we have fought off cockroaches and spiders, been in a kitchen and hid from a big crow. I'm looking forward to having more adventures with my characters.

In Mice and Mystics, players take on the roles of those still loyal to the king – but to escape the clutches of Vanestra, they have been turned into mice! Play as cunning field mice who must race through a castle now twenty times larger than before. The castle would be a dangerous place with Vanestra’s minions in control, but now countless other terrors also await heroes who are but the size of figs. Play as nimble Prince Collin and fence your way past your foes, or try Nez Bellows, the burly smith. Confound your foes as the wizened old mouse Maginos, or protect your companions as Tilda, the castle’s former healer. Every player will have a vital role in the quest to warn the king, and it will take careful planning to find Vanestra’s weakness and defeat her.

Mice and Mystics is a cooperative adventure game in which the players work together to save an imperiled kingdom. They will face countless adversaries such as rats, cockroaches, and spiders, and of course the greatest of all horrors: the castle’s housecat, Brodie. Mice and Mystics is a boldly innovative game that thrusts players into an ever-changing, interactive environment, and features a rich storyline that the players help create as they play the game. The Cheese System allows players to hoard the crumbs of precious cheese they find on their journey, and use it to bolster their mice with grandiose new abilities and overcome seemingly insurmountable odds.

Mice and Mystics will provide any group of friends with an unforgettable adventure they will be talking about for years to come – assuming they can all squeak by…

#thegirlwhoboardgames #co-op games #boardgames #miceandmystics #dicegames #cardgames #workerplacement #gaming

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death-knight7 · 7 years

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5 years past

Raide was walking home from The Dive when he noticed two figures following behind him at a distance. Raide looked over his shoulder at them and smiled before looking back ahead of him and turning sharply into an alley and stopping in the center of it.

The nimble one had climbed onto a roof when he had looked away while the other one continued following him. The nimble one hopped down and landed in front of him, Drawing back their bow and aiming directly at him, at his head to be exact while the one behind him drew a large Kukri and waited.

Raide shook his head and chuckled as he drew his Nessmuk from the sheath on his back and a dagger from his side and readying himself as he speaks “I’m a bit rusty with these so forgive me if this doesn’t last as long as it usually does.” Chuckles came from the two figures before there was silence once again.

One beat

Two beats

Three beats and the Archer fired their arrow at Raide. He narrowly dodges it, feeling the skin on his cheek and his ear part and bleed as the one behind him charged Raide, running the side of the wall and jumping down at him with a downward slash directly at his shoulder. Raide catches the blade with his own and attempting to stab the mans neck with his free blade.

His arm was halted by a fierce grip from the archer as his leg was kicked out from under him from the man. In an instant, an arrow head was against his forehead and a kukri against his throat. After a moment of silence, all three of them began to laugh as the figures removed the cowls over their faces and stepped away.

“When you said you were rusty i didn’t know you meant completely out of practice.” Nez bellows as the pull down their hood and wrap their bow around their chest and stow the arrow. “An’ ‘ere i thought i was getting slo’. I ‘uess you were ‘lways better with that fuck off ‘lade of yours.” Gallow says as he stows his kukri and pulls Raide up to his feet. Raide stows his own blades, a smile growing on his face by the second “Was beginning to think the two of you were dead. The hell took you so long to show up?”

Gallow slapped him in the back of the head “Shu’ up you gob shite. You’re the ones who thought ‘ou were dead. ‘hen we ‘ear that you’re the fuckin’ high lors and the kin are gone completely!” Nez spoke up “Can you really blame him though Gallow? We did disappear after Tanaran. After...” they pause for a moment “You know...after their burials.”

The three of them shared a moment of silence before Nez approached Raide and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and lightening the mood “Gallow and I decided it was time to get the band back together after these long five years. And seeing as how it’s only the three of us now...” they shrugged “Looks like we’re all here.” Gallow chuckled stroking his beard before speaking “So...wha’ you think boss man? time to rebuil’ or wha’?”

Raide laughed before putting a hand on their shoulders before nodding “Yeah, i think it’s about that time. Let’s get the Kin up and running again.”

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kintsugi-sheep · 3 years

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Hawthorne v. Hollywood

There were murmurs in the courtroom. The judge shuffled her papers as the prosecution team spoke in hushed tones. Every bench was crowded, save for the seating within the diameter of the prosecution. The folks couldn't seem to take the smell. The judge donned her pince nez and read. "J. Hawthorne versus Hollywood. Mr. Hawthorne you want to sue the movie industry for their depiction of you kind, is that correct." Hawthorne began to give an affirmative groan when his lawyer stopped him. "That is correct, your honor." She squinted. "Am I to believe that you will be talking on behalf of your client?" "Yes, your honor. Considering the damage to Mr. Hawthorne's throat, lungs, and jaw communication has become a challenge for him. He has given me permission to speak in his stead for the length of this case." "Can you confirm this, Mr. Hawthorne? One groan for yes, two groans for no." Hushed laughter was heard from the crowd. But, when Hawthorne opened his mouth to let out a bellowing groan, the laughter stop. The overtone was like thunder in the distance, while a slight his could be heard, likely air escaping his body. "Very well, then." Hawthorne sat as best as he could; the rigor mortis made it hard for him to bend his legs. His open throat had stopped bleeding weeks ago and while he had wanted to switch into a new suit, his lawyer, Maurice, had insisted that the inexpensive suit, riddled with the holes of a shotgun blast, would greatly help his case. At the defendant's table, a group of nondescript lawyers and executives huddled together, whispering among themselves until one of them stood up. Young, tall, and blonde, he gave the judge a porcelain smile. "Your honor, before we go any further, would you mind if we opened up the windows? The prosecution's insensitivity to the rest regarding his hygiene has caused everyone in the room great discomfort." Hawthorne ducked his head and placed his hand on his forehead. Maurice placed a hand on his soldier, careful not to apply to much pressure to the delicate tissues beneath his jacket. Once the windows were opened, the defense began. "Your honor, Hollywood has no problems admitting to the usage of zombies for entertainment purposes over the last century. Zombies were a thing of fancy, fiction, definitely not something to be taken seriously. "When minority communities wanted proper representation, Hollywood buckled and gave it to them. When the LGBT crowd wanted proper representation, Hollywood buckled to them. When various religious groups, cultures, and ideologies wanted their stories told in a way they could appreciate, Hollywood was there providing them. "You see, your honor, we believe wholeheartedly in the rights of people. The only issue is, Mr. Hawthorne is not a person." He jabbed an accusatory finger at the prosecution. "Mr. Hawthorne is an abomination upon this Earth!" The defense seemed a little rattled, but the speaker continued. "I'm sorry if this offends you, but nothing could be more true. His continued existence is unnatural and a source of great distress towards the public-at-large and his loved ones. "We must also not forget about what their diet mostly consists of. Do you want to know how Mr. Hawthorne got that gunshot wound? By attempting to consume his wife!" The courtroom was in an uproar and the judge called everyone back to order. She turned, measuredly, toward the prosecution. "Does Mr. Hawthorne have anything to say to this?" "Yes, your honor." Maurice stood, pulling a single sheet of paper up with him. "May I say beforehand that the way the defense has spoken is reprehensible. Terms like 'insensitive' are needlessly callous in regards to a person not physically capable of feeling. I didn't think it was appropriate to mock those with physical handicaps within the hallowed halls of a court of law. The opening of the windows was a low jab as well, being that he's been decomposing for three weeks now and has no control over his smell whatsoever. "But, let's also not forget about you equating his plight with those of minorities and the LGBTQA+ crowd, which, by the way, funny how you forgot the QA+ there, which is vastly inappropriate and unfair for everyone involved." Maurice drew in a deep breath and held up the paper. "This was dictated to me by Mr. Hawthorne. It wasn't easy, but we managed to record his thoughts and feelings on the matter. And, if I may credit my client, his point exists within the first sentence of this dictation. "My state of being is not an appropriate source from which you may extract entertainment. "I lived my life as a good man, father, husband, and prominent member of my community. The members of the church always knew who to call when they needed help feeding the homeless. The community centers always knew how to get in touch when they needed an event planner. "My life was good. Up until I was mugged at knife point. I let him have my wallet, money could be replaced, and he began to walk away. Still, it was frustrating, being stolen from. So, I swallowed my pain and said to the man, 'I forgive you.' "He then turned around and slashed my throat. I was well-known in the community. Identifying me was simple, even without my ID handy. "When you die, you have your deeds tallied. But, this takes a while so you're free to float around and talk to the other deceased. I was right in the middle of a conversation with H.G. Wells when I felt myself pulled back onto the mortal plane. "In my own body, no less. I fled from whatever sorcerer had done this to me and made my way back home. "I saw Rebecca. And Jacob and Abigail. And when my wife saw me, she was stunned. "And when I went to hug her, she shot me. "I wept for a few days, easy to do when you can't sleep, and came to terms with what I was. "You filmmakers depict a class of people, and be assured it is a class as races and creeds can vary, to depict as violent, bloodthirsty, subhuman monsters. You say what we, lack souls, that we eat human flesh to feel alive again, that the first ones we come for are our loved ones, and that the only way to kill us, which you thoroughly encourage the spectators of your barbaric films to do, is to preform one of the most violent acts a person can; obliteration of the head. "Zombies are an uncommon class of people, but a group worthy of consideration nonetheless. We come from all backgrounds and we didn't choose to be here. It could've easily been any of you standing here today. And because it's not, you just think of me as a smelly monster. "I just want to hold my wife again."

Prompt: [WP] A zombie sues the movie industry for negative depiction of their kind.

#reddit #writingprompts #shortstory #fantasy #zombie

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