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luluwquidprocrow · 7 months

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like a row of captured ghosts

kit snicket

teen

2,568 words

Kit Snicket visits a house in the city.

for @asouefanworkevent's woevember day 2, the baudelaire mansion! featuring my enduring headcanon that the baudelaire mansion was previously the snicket mansion, and b+b get it when they marry lemony. i am 100% willing to admit it is Unlikely, however let us not forget kit saying “our families have always been close”, so, yknow

title from welcome home by radical face

Kit could get in if she wanted. She’d been given lockpicks expressly for the purpose, because the locks on the house were special, but she didn’t need them. She knew the statue in the back of the garden had a hairline crack in one of the hands – she didn’t remember which one, but it wasn’t as if there were many options – that, when pressure was applied, opened a brick in the patio. Under the brick was a lever. If one were to pull the lever, the little window in the hidden attic opened, roof shingles shifting out of the way, and one could wiggle themselves in, with enough effort. Her grandfather had put a number of clever little secrets in the house, and Kit had gone looking for them when she was very, very young, so she knew a decent amount of them. Few others did.

(The lockpicks confirmed that. If they thought that was the only way someone could get into the house, Kit was not going to correct them. And there were worse things, weren’t there, than simple theft, things for which no real defense existed.)

Night air bit at her ankles, her fingers, her neck. She wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough for November, having grabbed her blue spring jacket in her hurry, but the cold was of little concern to her. The mansion stood across the street, set back from the road, with that winding brick path up to the front doors, the maple trees scattering their leaves around the yard. It was in the heart of the city but in a place one would never know unless explicitly looked for – a turn off an erroneously marked dead end, then another, to an old avenue along a river with more trees than houses. Her grandparents had picked it on purpose. Presumably safe, but close enough.

They had added to the windows. Neat, decorative ironwork, curled into hearts and vines.

Kit put her hands in her pockets and crossed the street, her footsteps the only noise.

The fence out front had been replaced as well. Kit’s grandmother had done most of the architecture, and Bernadette Snicket had favored a simplistic, practical style in her work, but the new fence matched the intricacy of the window grates. That just-too-big space in the bars a person could slide themselves through if they desired, that Kit had, years ago, when she’d – that was gone. Kit walked the length of the fence twice, considering. She couldn’t linger long. There was a light on in a downstairs window, glowing soft behind the drawn curtains. Kit could not put it past them to eventually see her. She walked down the sidewalk one more time, picking up her pace. There was no way around the fence. Climbing over it didn’t seem like an option. The points at the top of each iron bar looked sharp, glinting in a stray hit of light from the streetlamp over near Kit’s car.

(Kit wondered how much was a choice – how much was a needed decision – how much was meant to erase. She couldn’t judge Beatrice and Bertrand for that. Not without damning herself, which Kit was not, overall, in the habit of doing.)

Of course there was a sewer grate nearby, and of course Kit pushed it up soundlessly and slipped down inside.

Her grandfather had three boxes – one Kit had already taken some years ago and given to Bertrand, for reasons better left unsaid. One had been given to Lemony. The third was still in the house and held a very specific map of the city. Headquarters wanted it, among other things. And if Kit came across one of those other things, she was at her liberty to take them.

(She and Beatrice had argued, Kit remembered. The sewer was dark and icy, and Kit shivered hard, grinding her teeth together. They’d argued about those other things, and Kit had not been able to give Beatrice, or herself, a satisfactory answer. It was one of the last conversations they had, if not the last. Most likely the last, if Kit was honest. Beatrice had made it clear where she and Bertrand stood, and where Kit stood, and that it was no longer in the same place. And it never would be.

Kit told herself over and over that she would never do it. There would always be another option, as long as Beatrice and Bertrand were alive to emphatically refuse. Right now, there was this option – Kit was going into the house. She was taking the box back. Nothing else. And the box wasn’t even going to headquarters. There were other plans for that box.)

The box would be in the downstairs office, under a floorboard. Probably Bertrand’s office. The windows were one of the ones her grandmother had put the stained glass in, and shards of blue fell over the green floor when the sun sat just right in the sky. It was a good room for thinking, and Bertrand likely did a great deal of it there. Kit swallowed and hurried further through the sewers, past the names that didn’t matter, and started scanning the curved ceiling. If one knew where to look, there was a sloped hatch up there that led up into the passage between the house and 667 Dark Avenue. Kit would open the hatch, get inside, go into the house, and then leave the same way. And there it was. Tucked in a shadow, just waiting for her. Kit reached up for the wheel, ready to heave the door open. It was going to stick with so little use.

The wheel turned easy under her hands.

Kit jerked back, her whole body seizing up. Someone had been here. Someone who was not her. Someone who wasn’t just checking. Kit spun the wheel frantically and the hatch fell open.

(She’d brought Olaf here. Her grandparents hadn’t cared who knew the location of their house, but their generation had been different, and Kit’s parents had stressed, when they could, the importance of keeping this secret. Her associates thought it was a safehouse, one they could never quite find the location of, and wrote off as another ruse. She’d driven Olaf, pointing out landmarks the whole way, because she’d thought –

Kit was not foolish enough to think she’d get married. But Olaf was important to her, and she was foolish enough to think he’d stay important, and that when Lemony inevitably married Beatrice and they took the house, Olaf would be there too.

They crept in through the fence. Olaf chased her around the maple trees. Kit took him into the house through the font doors and showed him what her grandparents built. And he understood what the Snicket mansion meant, in the way he had to understand what the Count’s mansion meant. Some time later, Kit realized he had not.

Olaf’s memory was shit, except where it mattered. Except in the things she wanted him to forget. He’d remember where this house was and it was only a matter of time before he – before anyone – got their hands on the Baudelaires.)

Kit hoisted herself up into the passageway. She tugged the hatch closed behind her, then felt around in the black for the dip in the center. Her fingers kept slipping, shaking, pushing into metal that wasn’t right, nicking her nails, her heart thudding faster and faster in her chest and rising to a crash in her ears – where was it? There. She found the button and jammed her thumb into it. The metal hissed as it sealed from the inside. It wasn’t enough, Kit knew. Nothing would ever be enough now. But it would have to do.

She ran along the passageway, keeping one hand on the wall. It came to an abrupt end, and Kit had her hand ready to pull open the trap door into the office when her mouth went dry. She swallowed, and then did it again. Once more. She let the trap door fall open and climbed into the Baudelaire mansion.

The office was dark, as expected. Bertrand kept his desk by the windows, because of course he would. Not because Kit’s grandfather had, but because Bertrand would obviously like the view. The bookcases still lined the walls, but the books must surely be different. Kit wondered what he kept there, but there was no time to get into it. She could see the strip of light hovering under the door. It was poetry, probably. He probably kept poetry. Fairy tales he read to his children. The chair at his desk was different than the one her grandfather had there, perfect for sitting in and telling stories. She turned and faced the wall.

The floorboard was in the far left corner, at the front of the room. Kit moved slowly, quietly, barely breathing. Bertrand had covered the whole floor with a thick, heavy carpet, so at least that was in her favor. She bent down, tugging the corner of the carpet up, and lifted the single loose floorboard.

(She always wound up doing this, she thought, in a voice that sounded stunningly like Lemony’s, wry as he ever was. Sneaking into someplace to steal something important. At least now she had experience.)

There it was. Just as it had always been, another secret waiting for its time. The small, jeweled box with the complicated lock with the code her grandfather had taught all three of them. Kit tucked it inside her jacket and replaced the floorboard.

It hit her like a shot, her breath catching in her throat. The sewer hatch locked only from the inside. She couldn’t go back that way. She whirled around, clutching the lump in her jacket to her chest. The best way to leave – the closest way out – that was through the library, two rooms down, through the passageway in the wall and up to the hidden attic. But that meant leaving the room. Standing in the hallway. Walking to the library, unseen.

(She did not have experience. That voice sounded like Jacques, if Jacques had ever been so straightforward in his disappointment. She had to get out of this house before she kept thinking.)

Kit waited. Listened. She couldn’t hear anything from here in the office. She went through the map of the ground floor in her head, the foyer at the front, into the parlor, the living room to the left, the kitchen to the back, the dining room to the right – the hallway behind the kitchen, with the office, the billiard room, the library. The left wall in the library, where the hidden door was. Conceivably, it was easy. Wasn’t it?

She turned the door handle and left the office.

The hallway was half-lit from the living room at the end of the hall. Now she could hear the phonograph, playing a jazz record she didn’t recognize. Beatrice and Bertrand had to be in there, and it was right across from the library. Unless they were in the library. Unless they were – Kit gave herself a shake. She wouldn’t know anything until she moved. She just had to move. She just had to move. Kit just had to move.

She couldn’t see the green floors. Beatrice and Bertrand had rugs everywhere, in elegant red and ivory. Kit tiptoed over it, hesitating. Paintings hung in groups down the hallway, flowers and little portraits and framed children’s drawings, scribbles of the garden hung with the same care as the art. They must be Violet’s. The jazz record kept going. Kit’s grandmother had liked oil paintings of flowers. She’d had a few in the hallway herself in her time.

(Katherine, Bernadette Snicket had said.

No, Kit insisted. How old was she then? Four? Just Kit. And her grandmother had looked pleased, like Kit had passed a test. Everything was a test and always had been, tests she’d completed perfectly, and why did it hurt? How far had Kit gone down the hall? The box sat against her ribs like another heart, heavy. Everything ached, especially her jaw, clenched shut like her life depended on it. And it did. This life around her she wasn’t a part of anymore, this family, this safety, Kit’s life existing outside of this place, everything depended on Kit, on her walking out of here alone, back to her apartment. The whole series of events spooled out in front of her as a nightmare unraveling. Was she crying? Why was she crying?)

Kit took another step, then another. The library was one foot away on the right, a mile away, mere inches, an eternity. The passthrough to the living room on her left gaped open.

Bertrand hummed a bar of the jazz record. And then –

“What’ve you got there?”

Kit froze.

“I knew I left it somewhere in here – ha! That book I was looking for, for Violet and Klaus.”

“You really want to do the cob, don’t you?” The smile was clear in his voice, and Kit pictured Bertrand leaning forward in his chair, his hand on his chin, gazing at Beatrice and bursting with delight.

“I absolutely do! I get to do a fake death scene and everything. How many kids books are going to give me that kind of opportunity, Bertrand?”

They were alone. Their voices were far enough into the room that they shouldn’t see her at the doorway. They joked like she remembered, exactly like she remembered. Did they joke like that with their children? Would they have joked like that with Lemony, here, like they used to? With her? Would Olaf have – would her grandparents – wasn’t Kit supposed to be here too, not because it was hers, that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was –

Kit held her breath and didn’t let it out until she’d slipped into the library, until she’d rushed to the wall, until she’d nearly slammed her hand into the door hidden in the dark wallpaper, until she was safe in the narrow passageway. She wanted to run, to keep running. But they’d hear her in the wall. She took it step by step with her chest burning, traveling up two floors to the hidden attic. There was the little window in the roof, waiting for Kit to wiggle her way out. She did. The climb over the roof and down the trellis was harder, with her whole body trembling, but she made it.

She stumbled through the garden, racing over the brick path back to the road, to the fence – she shoved her heels into the ironwork, scrambling over it, the tip of a bar slicing into her calf and her palms. She slipped on the way down the other side and her hip met the sidewalk, pain skittering through her leg and up her side. Get up. Get up, Kit. And Kit did, back to her car across the street, into the driver’s side.

Kit took long and deep breaths. In and out, until her head was back on straight, with the plan set right in her thoughts, as it was supposed to be. Everything was as it should be. She set the box down gently on the passenger seat. She did not look at the Baudelaire mansion. She would patch herself up later, when she had time. She took another breath and put the key in the ignition.

She had to go back home.

#asoue #woevember #no you do NOT see my unformated dashes shhhhhhhh i am so tired okay :) i'm not fixing them i'm going to bed :)#uh. this fic is a Time. in many ways. like.................#kit snicket and the terrible horrible no good very bad evening of Situations. by lulu vandelay #where is this in canon????? uhhh. tentatively violet and klaus are like toddlers i think. yeah?#i struggled with the title. frantically scrambled for a new one bc my original one. look i thought it was tonally too creepy. i think that #was what was freaking me out about it.#AT. 1:56 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING #the next day 2:23 pm update -- changed some words/smoothed some things/left a lot of the passive voice bc i think it's needed here

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songsinmysketchpad · 11 months

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erron's attic

#erronsattic #erron #esz #art #logo #fashion

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thevagabondexpress · 10 months

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some thoughts on the genderbent grace i never used (and what he might look like)

okay, so in the genderbent universe, unlike in the original canon, tobias doesn't look to adopt until after jackie is dead. grace never knows her as a living person. unlike tatiana, tobias wasn't looking for a spy to use to get things he wants out of people. he lost the one still-living person he actually cared about. for him grace is more a coping mechanism: he adopts another daughter to replace the one he lost, thinking erroneously that it will ease his grief. it has unexpected added benefits—his villainous sources have told him that if they can't put jackie back into her own body they could fuse her consciousness with grace's and create something new. using grace on judith isn't tobias's idea, and i think it's unlikely he'd independently think of something like that—pscipolnitsa came up with it and she had to work around tobias to do it.

but. it occurs to me that tobias looking for a boy would make sense in this way: perhaps he might find the thought of adopting another daughter, when the child he lost was a daughter, to be too painful. it would bring back too many lost hopes, too many memories. he thinks, if i choose a son this time, maybe every time i look at him i won't see jackie's face. i won't see the child i lost and wonder what she could have been, had she not been reduced to a bound ghost. it doesn't work. he sees jackie anyway. and so this boy's life becomes defined entirely by his existence as a product and personification of his father's grief, second-best to the daughter who was lost. and it makes me wonder if perhaps, unlike grace who never did, he might have actually fallen in love with judith at least a little. maybe they even had a genuine relationship at one point, and then other people got ahold of it and twisted it. because she looked at him and actually saw a real person with a past and a future, when to his father he was little more than a once-hopeful figment wandering the attic of tobias's imagination.

on that note, i feel like there wouldn't be any need for a mind-bending hex in this case. i think that, given what we know of judith, a messed-up mystery man from the woods on his own would be enough. there are ways to draw a person in and bind them without magic.

can you see this guy has crawled into my skull and wants to be let out now?

#delusions (and terrible fictions)#genderbent tsc #genderbent tlh

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ericmorseblog · 10 months

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For our next profile for Writers in Horror Month 2023 we have Edogawa Ranpo…

Born Tarō Hirai

October 21, 1894

Mie, Empire of Japan

Died July 28, 1965 (aged 70)

Occupation Novelist, literary critic

Language Japanese

Nationality Japanese

Alma mater Waseda University

Genre Mystery, weird fiction, thriller

Tarō Hirai (平井太郎, Hirai Tarō, October 21, 1894 – July 28, 1965), better known by the pen name Edogawa Ranpo (江戸川乱歩)[a] was a Japanese author and critic who played a major role in the development of Japanese mystery and thriller fiction. Many of his novels involve the detective hero Kogoro Akechi, who in later books was the leader of a group of boy detectives known as the "Boy Detectives Club" (少年探偵団, Shōnen tantei dan).

Ranpo was an admirer of Western mystery writers, and especially of Edgar Allan Poe. His pen name is a rendering of Poe's name. Other authors who were special influences on him were Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, whom he attempted to translate into Japanese during his days as a student at Waseda University, and the Japanese mystery writer Ruikō Kuroiwa.

Biography

Before World War II

Tarō Hirai was born in Nabari, Mie Prefecture in 1894, where his grandfather had been a samurai in the service of Tsu Domain. His father was a merchant, who had also practiced law. The family moved to what is now Kameyama, Mie, and from there to Nagoya when he was age two. At the age of 17, he studied economics at Waseda University in Tokyo starting in 1912. After graduating in 1916 with a degree in economics, he worked a series of odd jobs, including newspaper editing, drawing cartoons for magazine publications, selling soba noodles as a street vendor, and working in a used bookstore.

In 1923, he made his literary debut by publishing the mystery story "The Two-Sen Copper Coin" (二銭銅貨, Ni-sen dōka) under the pen name "Edogawa Ranpo" (pronounced quickly, this humorous pseudonym sounds much like the name of the American pioneer of detective fiction, Edgar Allan Poe, whom he admired). The story appeared in the magazine Shin Seinen, a popular magazine written largely for an adolescent audience. Shin Seinen had previously published stories by a variety of Western authors including Poe, Arthur Conan Doyle, and G. K. Chesterton, but this was the first time the magazine published a major piece of mystery fiction by a Japanese author. Some, such as James B. Harris (Ranpo's first translator into English), have erroneously called this the first piece of modern mystery fiction by a Japanese writer,[3] but well before Ranpo entered the literary scene in 1923, a number of other modern Japanese authors such as Ruikō Kuroiwa, Kidō Okamoto, Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Haruo Satō, and Kaita Murayama had incorporated elements of sleuthing, mystery, and crime within stories involving adventure, intrigue, the bizarre, and the grotesque.[4] What struck critics as new about Ranpo's debut story "The Two-Sen Copper Coin" was that it focused on the logical process of ratiocination used to solve a mystery within a story that is closely related to Japanese culture.[5] The story involves an extensive description of an ingenious code based on a Buddhist chant known as the "nenbutsu" as well as Japanese-language Braille.

Over the course of the next several years, Edogawa went on to write a number of other stories that focus on crimes and the processes involved in solving them. Among these stories are a number of stories that are now considered classics of early 20th-century Japanese popular literature: "The Case of the Murder on D. Hill" (D坂の殺人事件, D-zaka no satsujin jiken, January 1925), which is about a woman who is killed in the course of a sadomasochistic extramarital affair, "The Stalker in the Attic" (屋根裏の散歩者, Yane-ura no Sanposha, August 1925), which is about a man who kills a neighbor in a Tokyo boarding house by dropping poison through a hole in the attic floor into his mouth, and "The Human Chair" (人間椅子, Ningen Isu, October 1925), which is about a man who hides himself in a chair to feel the bodies on top of him Mirrors, lenses, and other optical devices appear in many of Edogawa's other early stories, such as "The Hell of Mirrors".

Although many of his first stories were primarily about sleuthing and the processes used in solving seemingly insolvable crimes, during the 1930s, he began to turn increasingly to stories that involved a combination of sensibilities often called "ero guro nansensu", from the three words "eroticism, grotesquerie, and the nonsensical" The presence of these sensibilities helped him sell his stories to the public, which was increasingly eager to read his work. One finds in these stories a frequent tendency to incorporate elements of what the Japanese at that time called "abnormal sexuality" (変態性欲, hentai seiyoku). For instance, a major portion of the plot of the novel The Demon of the Lonely Isle (孤島の鬼, Kotō no oni), serialized from January 1929 to February 1930 in the journal Morning Sun (朝日, Asahi), involves a homosexual doctor and his infatuation for another main character.

By the 1930s, Edogawa was writing regularly for a number of major public journals of popular literature, and he had emerged as the foremost voice of Japanese mystery fiction. The detective hero Kogorō Akechi, who had first appeared in the story "The Case of the Murder on D. Hill" became a regular feature in his stories, a number of which pitted him against a dastardly criminal known as the Fiend with Twenty Faces (怪人二十面相, Kaijin ni-jū mensō), who had an incredible ability to disguise himself and move throughout society. (A number of these novels were subsequently made into films.) The 1930 novel introduced the adolescent Kobayashi Yoshio (小林芳雄) as Kogoro's sidekick, and in the period after World War II, Edogawa wrote a number of novels for young readers that involved Kogoro and Kobayashi as the leaders of a group of young sleuths called the "Boy Detectives Club" (少年探偵団, Shōnen tantei dan). These works were wildly popular and are still read by many young Japanese readers, much like the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew mysteries are popular mysteries for adolescents in the English-speaking world.

During World War II

In 1939, two years after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident and the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War in 1937, Edogawa was ordered by government censors to drop his story "The Caterpillar" (芋虫, Imo Mushi), which he had published without incident a few years before, from a collection of his short stories that the publisher Shun'yōdō was reprinting. "The Caterpillar" is about a veteran who was turned into a quadriplegic and so disfigured by war that he was little more than a human "caterpillar", unable to talk, move, or live by himself. Censors banned the story, apparently believing that the story would detract from the current war effort. This came as a blow to Ranpo, who relied on royalties from reprints for income. (The short story inspired director Kōji Wakamatsu, who drew from it his movie Caterpillar, which competed for the Golden Bear at the 60th Berlin International Film Festival.)

Over the course of World War II, especially during the full-fledged war between Japan and the US that began in 1941, Edogawa was active in his local neighborhood organization, and he wrote a number of stories about young detectives and sleuths that might be seen as in line with the war effort, but he wrote most of these under different pseudonyms as if to disassociate them with his legacy. In February 1945, his family was evacuated from their home in Ikebukuro, Tokyo to Fukushima in northern Japan. Edogawa remained until June, when he was suffering from malnutrition. Much of Ikebukuro was destroyed in Allied air raids and the subsequent fires that broke out in the city, but the thick, earthen-walled warehouse which he used as his studio was spared, and still stands to this day beside the campus of Rikkyo University.

Postwar

In the postwar period, Edogawa dedicated a great deal of energy to promoting mystery fiction, both in terms of the understanding of its history and encouraging the production of new mystery fiction. In 1946, he put his support behind a new journal called Jewels (宝石, Hōseki) dedicated to mystery fiction, and in 1947, he founded the Detective Author's Club (探偵作家クラブ, Tantei sakka kurabu), which changed its name in 1963 to the Mystery Writers of Japan (日本推理作家協会, Nihon Suiri Sakka Kyōkai). In addition, he wrote a large number of articles about the history of Japanese, European, and American mystery fiction. Many of these essays were published in book form. Other than essays, much of his postwar literary production consisted largely of novels for juvenile readers featuring Kogorō Akechi and the Boy Detectives Club.

In the 1950s, he and a bilingual translator collaborated for five years on a translation of Edogawa's works into English, published as Japanese Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Tuttle. Since the translator could speak but not read Japanese, and Edogawa could read but not write English, the translation was done aurally, with Edogawa reading each sentence aloud, then checking the written English.[3]

Another of his interests, especially during the late 1940s and 1950s, was bringing attention to the work of his dear friend Jun'ichi Iwata (1900–1945), an anthropologist who had spent many years researching the history of homosexuality in Japan. During the 1930s, Edogawa and Iwata had engaged in a light-hearted competition to see who could find the most books about erotic desire between men. Edogawa dedicated himself to finding books published in the West and Iwata dedicated himself to finding books having to do with Japan. Iwata died in 1945, with only part of his work published, so Edogawa worked to have the remaining work on queer historiography published

In the postwar period, a large number of Edogawa's books were made into films. The interest in using Edogawa's literature as a departure point for creating films has continued well after his death. Edogawa, who had a variety of health issues, including atherosclerosis and Parkinson's disease, died from a cerebral hemorrhage at his home in 1965. His grave is at the Tama Cemetery in Fuchu, near Tokyo.

The Edogawa Rampo Prize (江戸川乱歩賞 Edogawa Ranpo Shō?), named after Edogawa Rampo, is a Japanese literary award which has been presented every year by the Mystery Writers of Japan since 1955. The winner is given a prize of ¥10 million with publication rights by Kodansha.

Works in English translation

Books

• Edogawa Rampo (1956), Japanese Tales of Mystery and Imagination, translated by James B. Harris. 14th ed. Rutland, VT: Charles E. Tuttle Company. ISBN 978-0-8048-0319-9.

• Edogawa Ranpo (1988), The Boy Detectives Club, translated by Gavin Frew. Tokyo: Kodansha. ISBN 978-4-0618-6037-7.

• Edogawa Rampo (2006), The Black Lizard and Beast in the Shadows, translated by Ian Hughes. Fukuoka: Kurodahan Press. ISBN 978-4-902075-21-2.

• Edogawa Rampo (2008), The Edogawa Rampo Reader, translated by Seth Jacobowitz. Fukuoka: Kurodahan Press. ISBN 978-4-902075-25-0. Contains many of Rampo's early short stories and essays.

• Edogawa Rampo (2009), Moju: The Blind Beast, translated by Anthony Whyte. Shinbaku Books. ISBN 978-1840683004.

• Edogawa Rampo (2012), The Fiend with Twenty Faces, translated by Dan Luffey. Fukuoka: Kurodahan Press. ISBN 978-4-902075-36-6.

• Edogawa Ranpo (2013), Strange Tale of Panorama Island, translated by Elaine Kazu Gerbert. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. ISBN 978-0824837037.

• Edogawa Rampo (2014), The Early Cases of Akechi Kogoro, translated by William Varteresian. Fukuoka: Kurodahan Press. ISBN 978-4-902075-62-5.

• Edogawa Rampo (2019), Gold Mask, translated by William Varteresian. Fukuoka: Kurodahan Press. ISBN 978-4909473066.

Short stories

• Edogawa Ranpo (2008), "The Two-Sen Copper Coin," translated by Jeffrey Angles, Modanizumu: Modernist Fiction from Japan, 1913–1938, ed. William Tyler. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. ISBN 978-0-8248-3242-1. pp. 270–89.

• Edogawa Ranpo (2008), "The Man Traveling with the Brocade Portrait," translated by Michael Tangeman, Modanizumu: Modernist Fiction from Japan, 1913–1938, ed. William Tyler. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. ISBN 978-0-8248-3242-1. pp. 376–393.

• Edogawa Ranpo (2008), "The Caterpillar," translated by Michael Tangeman, Modanizumu: Modernist Fiction from Japan, 1913–1938, ed. William Tyler. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press. ISBN 978-0-8248-3242-1. pp. 406–422.

Major works

Private Detective Kogoro Akechi series

Main article: Kogoro Akechi

• Short stories

o "The Case of the Murder on D. Hill" (D坂の殺人事件, D-zaka no satsujin jiken, January 1925)

o "The Psychological Test" (心理試験, Shinri Shiken, February 1925)

o "The Black Hand Gang" (黒手組, Kurote-gumi, March 1925)

o "The Ghost" (幽霊, Yūrei, May 1925)

o "The Stalker in the Attic" (屋根裏の散歩者, Yaneura no Sanposha, August 1925)

o "Who" (何者, Nanimono, November 1929)

o "The Murder Weapon" (兇器, Kyōki, June 1954)

o "Moon and Gloves" (月と手袋, Tsuki to Tebukuro, April 1955)

• Novels

o The Dwarf (一寸法師, Issun-bōshi, 1926)

o The Spider-Man (蜘蛛男, Kumo-Otoko, 1929)

o The Edge of Curiosity-Hunting (猟奇の果, Ryōki no Hate, 1930)

o The Conjurer (魔術師, Majutsu-shi, 1930)

o The Vampire (吸血鬼, Kyūketsuki, 1930) First appearance of Kobayashi

o The Golden Mask (黄金仮面, Ōgon-kamen, 1930)

o The Black Lizard (黒蜥蜴, Kuro-tokage, 1934) Made into a film by Kinji Fukasaku in 1968

o The Human Leopard (人間豹, Ningen-Hyō, 1934)

o The Devil's Crest (悪魔の紋章, Akuma no Monshō, 1937)

o Dark Star (暗黒星, Ankoku-sei, 1939)

o Hell's Clown (地獄の道化師, Jigoku no Dōkeshi, 1939)

o Monster's Trick (化人幻戯, Kenin Gengi, 1954)

o Shadow-Man (影男, Kage-otoko, 1955)

• Juvenile novels

o The Fiend with Twenty Faces (怪人二十面相, Kaijin ni-jū Mensō, 1936)

o The Boy Detectives Club (少年探偵団, Shōnen Tantei-dan, 1937)

Standalone mystery novels and novellas

• Available in English translation

o Strange Tale of Panorama Island (パノラマ島奇談, Panorama-tō Kidan, 1926)

o Beast in the Shadows (陰獣, Injū, 1928)

o The Demon of the Lonely Isle (孤島の鬼, Kotō no Oni, 1929-30)

o Moju: The Blind Beast (盲獣, Mōjū, 1931)

• Novels and novellas which have not been translated into English

o Incident at the Lakeside Inn (湖畔亭事件, Kohan-tei Jiken, 1926)

o Struggle in the Dark (闇に蠢く, Yami ni Ugomeku, 1926-27)

o The White-Haired Demon (白髪鬼, Hakuhatsu-ki, 1931-32)

o A Glimpse Into Hell (地獄風景, Jigoku Fūkei, 1931-32)

o The King of Terror (恐怖王, Kyōfu Ō, 1931-32)

o Phantom Bug (妖虫, Yōchū, 1933-34)[15]

o The Great Dark Room (大暗室, Dai Anshitsu, 1936)

o Ghost Tower (幽霊塔, Yūrei tō, 1936) Based on the adaptation of the Meiji-period adaptation of Alice Muriel Williamson's A Woman in Grey by Ruikō Kuroiwa (黒岩涙香).

o A Dream of Greatness (偉大なる夢, Idainaru Yume, 1943)

o Crossroads (十字路, Jūjiro, 1955)

o Petenshi to Kūki Otoko (ぺてん師と空気男, 1959)

Short stories

• Available in English translation

o "The Two-Sen Copper Coin" (二銭銅貨, Ni-sen Dōka, April 1923)

o "Two Crippled Men" (二癈人, Ni Haijin, June 1924)

o "The Twins" (双生児, Sōseiji, October 1924)

o "The Red Chamber" (赤い部屋, Akai heya, April 1925)

o "The Daydream" (白昼夢, Hakuchūmu, July 1925)

o "Double Role" (一人二役, Hitori Futayaku, September 1925)

o "The Human Chair" (人間椅子, Ningen Isu, October 1925)

o "The Dancing Dwarf" (踊る一寸法師, Odoru Issun-bōshi, January 1926)

o "Poison Weeds" (毒草, Dokusō, January 1926)

o "The Masquerade Ball" (覆面の舞踏者, Fukumen no Butōsha, January–February 1926)

o "The Martian Canals" (火星の運河, Kasei no Unga, April 1926)

o "The Appearance of Osei" (お勢登場, Osei Tōjō, July 1926)

o "The Hell of Mirrors" (鏡地獄, Kagami-jigoku, October 1926)

o "The Caterpillar" (芋虫, Imomushi, January 1929)

o "The Traveler with the Pasted Rag Picture" aka "The Man Traveling with the Brocade Portrait" (押絵と旅する男, Oshie to Tabi-suru Otoko, August 1929)

o "Doctor Mera's Mysterious Crimes" (目羅博士の不思議な犯罪, Mera Hakase no Fushigi na Hanzai, April 1931)

o "The Cliff" (断崖, Dangai, March 1950)

o "The Air Raid Shelter" (防空壕, Bōkūgō, July 1955)

• Short stories which have not been translated into English

o "One Ticket" (一枚の切符, Ichi-mai no Kippu, July 1923)

o "A Frightful Mistake" (恐ろしき錯誤, Osoroshiki Sakugo, November 1923)

o "The Diary" (日記帳, Nikkichō, March 1925)

o "The Abacus Tells a Story of Love" (算盤が恋を語る話, Soroban ga Koi o Kataru Hanashi, March 1925)

o "The Robbery" (盗難, Tōnan, May 1925)

o "The Ring" (指環, Yubiwa, July 1925)

o "The Sleepwalker's Death" (夢遊病者の死, Muyūbyōsha no Shi, July 1925)

o "The Actor of a Hundred Faces" (百面相役者, Hyaku-mensō Yakusha, July 1925)

o "Doubts" (疑惑, Giwaku, September–October 1925)

o "Kiss" (接吻, Seppun, December 1925)

o "Scattering Ashes" (灰神楽, Haikagura, March 1926)

o "Monogram" (モノグラム, Monoguramu, July 1926)

o "A Brute's Love" (人でなしの恋, Hitodenashi no Koi, October 1926)

o "The Rocking-Horse's Canter" (木馬は廻る, Mokuba wa Mawaru, October 1926)

o "Insect" (虫, Mushi, Jun-July 1929)

o "Demon" (鬼, Oni, November 1931-February 1932)

o "Matchlock" (火縄銃, Hinawajū, April 1932)

o "Pomegranate" (石榴, Zakuro, September 1934)

o Horikoshi Sōsa Ikkachō-dono (堀越捜査一課長殿, April 1956)

o "The Wife-Broken Man" (妻に失恋した男, Tsuma ni Shitsuren-shita Otoko, October–November 1957)

o "Finger" (指, Yubi) January 1960

Adaptations of Western mystery novels

• The Demon in Green (緑衣の鬼, Ryokui no Oni, 1936) Adaptation of The Red Redmaynes by Eden Phillpotts

• The Phantom's Tower (幽鬼の塔, Yūki no Tō, 1936) Adaptation of The Hanged Man of Saint-Pholien by Georges Simenon

• Terror in the Triangle-Hall (三角館の恐怖, Sankaku-kan no kyōfu, 1951) Adaptation of Murder among the Angells by Roger Scarlett

Essays

• "The Horrors of Film" (1925)

• "Spectral Voices" (1926)

• "Confessions of Rampo" (1926)

• "The Phantom Lord" (1935)

• "A Fascination with Lenses" (1936)

• "My Love for the Printed Word" (1936)

• "Fingerprint Novels of the Meiji Era" (1950)

• "Dickens vs. Poe" (1951)

• "A Desire for Transformation" (1953)

• "An Eccentric Idea" (1954)

These ten essays are included in The Edogawa Rampo Reader.

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blue-opossum · 2 years

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An Incredibly Unrealistic Wrong House

1 minute 28 seconds to read.

Sunday morning, 4 September 2022.

An Incredibly Unrealistic Wrong House

Dream # 20,348-05.

False synthetic temporary "memories" in illogical, unrealistic dream scenarios have fascinated me all my life, especially their distinctive forms of compartmentalization with their exclusion of specific details replaced by random fill-in-the-blank errors, often nonsensical.

In this dream, Zsuzsanna and I are living in Cubitis, Florida. However, it is not the real-world Cubitis house (or even an erroneous version of it) but part of a series of wooden houses reminiscent of an urban area rather than near Highway Seventeen.

(Although Zsuzsanna has never been to America, she often appears with me in a house we have never lived in together in reality, but which I had. In contrast, the places I have lived with her in Australia hardly ever have her "missing" from other types of virtual amnesia.)

Virtual amnesia is always unique. I have no associations with living in Cubitis throughout my youth. Even so, an influence here is an indirect recall that my parents and I moved to Wisconsin from Cubitis because of claims of the impending widening of Highway Seventeen (which turned out to be false). The removal of our large front yard was an issue. (Instead, they built a highway beyond the Cubitis house's backyard east of the railroad tracks.)

In my dream, two houses south of the fictitious version of the Cubitis house have a strange appearance. It looks like someone is building a new roof and a couple of external walls while the tenant's indoor belongings are visible and exposed to the elements. They widened the highway. It is close to the fictitious house where Zsuzsanna and I live. I wonder if we will have to move. All the buildings have two floors and an attic, unlike the original ones in Cubitis - or the one we live in now.

At one point, I realize I am walking north through the front yards of other houses for an unknown reason and that I should go back to where "my" residence is, so I turn around to go back.

I start to focus on all our various shelves full of towels, clothes, and other belongings in different parts of the backyard and front yard without realizing the scene is nonsensical.

#dream journal #meaning of dreams

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lakegear06 · 2 years

Text

Issues with Your Attic Insulation Found by Inspections

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#Attic Insulation

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pronouncedeasy · 4 years

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#erronsattic #erron's attic #e crookedletter z #ecrookedletterz #e crooked letter z

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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victorianwhitechapel · 4 years

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Joseph Merrick - Part 2

Joseph Carey Merrick (5 August 1862 – 11 April 1890), often erroneously called John Merrick, was an English man with severe deformities. He was first exhibited at a freak show as the "Elephant Man", and then went to live at the London Hospital after he met Frederick Treves, subsequently becoming well known in London society.

[Part 1]

~ LIFE AS A CURIOSITY ~

Merrick concluded that his only escape from the workhouse might be through the world of human novelty exhibitions. He knew of a Leicester music hall comedian and proprietor named Sam Torr. In 1884 Merrick wrote to Torr, who came and visited him at the workhouse. Torr decided he could make money exhibiting Merrick; although, to retain Merrick's novelty, he would have to be a travelling exhibit. To this end, he organised a group of managers for Merrick: music hall proprietor J. Ellis, travelling showman George Hitchcock, and fair owner Sam Roper. On 3 August 1884, Merrick departed the workhouse to start his new career.

The showmen named Merrick the Elephant Man, and advertised him as "Half-a-Man and Half-an-Elephant". They showed him around the East Midlands, including in Leicester and Nottingham, before moving him on to London for the winter season. George Hitchcock contacted an acquaintance, showman Tom Norman, who ran penny gaff shops in London's East End exhibiting human curiosities. Without a meeting, Norman agreed to take over Merrick's management and in November, Hitchcock travelled with Merrick to London.

When Tom Norman first saw Merrick, he was dismayed by the extent of his deformities, fearing his appearance might be too horrific to be a successful novelty. Nevertheless, he exhibited Merrick in the back of an empty shop on Whitechapel Road. Merrick had an iron bed with a curtain drawn around to afford him some privacy.

[The shop on Whitechapel Road where Merrick was exhibited, in the 20th century. Wikipedia.]

Norman observed Merrick asleep one morning and learnt that he always slept sitting up, with his legs drawn up and his head resting on his knees. His enlarged head was too heavy to allow him to sleep lying down and, as Merrick put it, he would risk "waking with a broken neck". Norman decorated the shop with posters that had been created by Hitchcock, depicting a monstrous half-man, half-elephant. A pamphlet titled "The Autobiography of Joseph Carey Merrick" was created, outlining Merrick's life to date. This biography, whether written by Merrick or not, provided a generally accurate account of his life. It contained an incorrect date of birth but, throughout his life, Merrick was vague about when he was born.

Norman gathered an audience by standing outside the shop and drawing a crowd through his showman's patter. He would then lead his onlookers into the shop, explaining that the Elephant Man was "not here to frighten you but to enlighten you". Drawing aside the curtain, he allowed the onlookers—often visibly horrified—to observe Merrick up close, while describing the circumstances leading to his present condition, including his mother's alleged accident with an elephant. "Ladies and gentlemen ... I would like to introduce Mr Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man. Before doing so I ask you please to prepare yourselves—Brace yourselves up to witness one who is probably the most remarkable human being ever to draw the breath of life." —Tom Norman.

The Elephant Man exhibit was moderately successful, and made money primarily from the sales of the autobiographical pamphlet. Merrick was able to put his share of the profits aside, hoping to earn enough to one day buy a home of his own. The shop on Whitechapel Road was directly across the road from the London Hospital, an excellent location, as medical students and doctors visited the shop, curious to see Merrick. One visitor was a young house surgeon named Reginald Tuckett. Like his colleagues, Tuckett was intrigued by the Elephant Man's deformities and told his senior colleague Frederick Treves.

[Merrick's cap and hood. Wikipedia]

****

Frederick Treves first met Merrick that November at a private viewing, before Norman opened the shop for the day. The viewing lasted no more than 15 minutes after which Treves returned to work. Later that day, he sent Tuckett back to the shop to ask if Merrick might be willing to come to the hospital for an examination. Norman and Merrick agreed. To enable him to travel the short distance without drawing undue attention, Merrick wore a costume consisting of an oversized black cloak and a brown cap with a hessian sack covering his face, and rode in a cab hired by Treves.

At the hospital, Treves examined Merrick, observing that he was "shy, confused, not a little frightened, and evidently much cowed". He measured Merrick's head circumference at the large size of 36 inches (91 cm), his right wrist at 12 inches (30 cm) and one of his fingers at 5 inches (13 cm) in circumference. He noted that his skin was covered in papillomata (warty growths), the largest of which exuded an unpleasant smell. The subcutaneous tissue appeared to be weakened and caused a loosening of the skin, which in some areas hung away from the body. There were bone deformities in the right arm, both legs, and, most conspicuously, in the large skull. Despite the corrective surgery to his mouth in 1882, Merrick's speech remained barely intelligible. His left arm and hand were not large and were not deformed. His penis and scrotum were normal. Apart from his deformities and the lameness in his hip, Treves concluded that Merrick appeared to be in good general health.

Norman later recalled that Merrick went to the hospital for examination "two or three" times and during one of their meetings, Treves gave Merrick his calling card. On one of the visits, Treves had photographs taken, and he provided Merrick with a set of copies which were later added to his autobiographical pamphlet. On 2 December, Treves presented Merrick at a meeting of the Pathological Society of London in Bloomsbury. Eventually, Merrick told Norman that he no longer wanted to be examined at the hospital. According to Norman, he said he was "stripped naked and felt like an animal in a cattle market".

During this time in Victorian Britain, tastes were changing in regard to freak show exhibitions like the Elephant Man. Shows like Norman's were a cause for public concern, both on the grounds of decency and due to the disruption caused by crowds gathering outside them. Not long after Merrick's last examination with Frederick Treves, the police closed down Norman's shop on Whitechapel Road, and Merrick's Leicester managers withdrew him from Norman's care. In 1885, Merrick went on the road with Sam Roper's travelling fair. He befriended two other performers, "Roper's Midgets"—Bertram Dooley and Harry Bramley—who on occasion defended Merrick from public harassment.

~ EUROPE ~

The dampening of public enthusiasm for freak shows and human oddities continued and the police and magistrates became increasingly vigilant in closing down shows. Merrick remained a horrifying spectacle for his viewers and Roper grew nervous about the negative attention the Elephant Man drew from local authorities. Merrick's group of managers decided he should go on tour in continental Europe, with the hope that authorities there would be more lenient. Merrick's management was assumed by an unknown man (possibly named Ferrari) and they left for the continent. The Elephant Man was no more successful there than in Britain, and similar action was taken by authorities to move him out of their jurisdictions. In Brussels, Merrick was deserted by this new manager, who stole Merrick's £50 (2018 equivalent £5,400) savings. Abandoned, Merrick made his way by train to Ostend, where he attempted to board a ferry for Dover but was refused passage. He travelled to Antwerp and was able to board a ship bound for Harwich in Essex. From there, he travelled by train to London and arrived at Liverpool Street station.

Merrick arrived at Liverpool Street Station on 24 June 1886, safely back in his own country, but with nowhere to go. He was not eligible to enter a workhouse in London for more than one night and would be accepted only by Leicester Union, where he was a permanent resident. Leicester was 98 miles (158 km) away. He approached strangers for help, but his speech was unintelligible and his appearance repugnant. He drew a crowd of curious onlookers until a policeman helped him into an empty waiting room, where he huddled in a corner, exhausted. Unable to make himself understood, his only identifying possession was Frederick Treves's card. The police contacted Treves, who went to the station. Recognising Merrick, Treves took him in a hansom cab to the London Hospital. Merrick was admitted for bronchitis, washed, fed and put to bed in a small isolation room in the hospital's attic.

[Part 3]

***

TO KNOW MORE

Wikipedia

Biography

Britannica

All that's Interesting

BBC

History

BONDESON, Jan (2018), Strange Victoriana: Tales of the Curious, the Weird and the Uncanny from Our Victorian Ancestors.

DRIMMER, Frederick (1985), The Elephant Man.

DURBACH, Nadja (2009), The Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture.

GRAHAM, Professor Pete W.; & OEHLSEHLAEGER, Fritz H. (1992), Articulating the Elephant Man: Joseph Merrick and His Interpreters.

GROVE, Milford (2018), The Secret Life of The Elephant Man.

HOWELL, Michael (2001), The True History of The Elephant Man.

LAMONTAGNE, James (2018), Merrick.

MONTAGU, Ashley (1971), The Elephant Man: A Study in Human Dignity.

SHERMAN, Kenneth (1983), Words for Elephant Man.

SITTON, Jeanette; & STROSHANE, Mae Siu-Wai (2015), Measured By The Soul: The Life of Joseph Carey Merrick.

SPARKS, Christine (1986), The Elephant Man.

TREVES, Frederick (1923), The Elephant Man and Other Reminiscences.

VIGOR-MUNGOVIN, Joanne (2016). Joseph: The Life, Times and Places of the Elephant Man.

WOOLF, John (2019), The Wonders: Lifting the Curtain on the Freak Show, Circus and Victorian Age.

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thehuggamugcafe · 4 years

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Christmas Drabble #2: Christmas Cake

“You may open your eyes now.”

With a mental roll of your eyes, you did as your visitor requested of you.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, taking a few moments to allow your sight to adjust to the light that came from the bare bulbs that were strewn around the ceiling.

It was the same attic you had slept in since early April.

It was the same attic that your feline companion, Morgana, had likened to an abandoned house upon his first time being there.

It was the same attic you had invited your friends over to watch movies, to play video games on the old-school game system that was plugged into the old-fashioned TV that sat on the table, and to laugh and bond over hot pot.

It was the same attic where you crafted infiltration tools, under the watchful cat-like eyes of your tutor, Mona.

It was the same attic where you and your companions discussed your missions in Mementos, as well as Palaces.

However, now…

It was the same attic where a very special man sat with you—or sat across from you, rather.

The telltale creak of the old, lumpy couch you and your visitor sat on shifted as he moved, peering at you as a soft smile curled his lips.

He was dressed in a way that made you think he was a butler who hailed from the early 1800s.

A crisp button-up blue tailcoat with its collar folded over a black shirt covered his upper torso, and a black silk tie was neatly tucked into the buttoned tailcoat. A golden V was pinned to the man’s right-hand breast pocket, and there was a soft shuffle as the man raised his hands; black gloves covered his fingers, his palms as he sat straight. Black pants, black shoes, and a gold-rimmed monocle that rested in front of his right eye polished off his appearance.

One gloved hand rested on his knee, and his free arm was draped over the back of the couch, gloved fingertips idly toying with the fleece hoodie that you wore.

“Arsène,” you said, lazily drawling the Velvet Room’s warden name, smiling sweetly.

A bit too sweetly, in fact.

The platinum blond-haired servant noticed, and you knew that he knew that you noticed.

He breathed a chuckle as from behind the monocle, a golden iris stared as the hand slowly moved from your shoulder, choosing instead to rest on your hand.

“My apologies, ma belle voleur. I was merely teasing you.”

You breathed a hum, sparing a glance down at the table in front of you and the Velvet Room warden, blinking once as he asked you a simple, to-the-point question.

“…How does it look?”

You eyed the small shortcake that was set down in front of you, silently appraising it with a stare.

Small strawberries dotted the small round cake, sitting on small mounds of whipped cream. The smile that curled your lips twitched, threatening to widen as you took notice that the strawberries weren’t lopsided; they’d been placed on the cake with great care.

Truthfully, if he cared to know of your honest opinion, it looked delicious. A surprise, considering how fascinated Arsène was with modern technology and the human world in general.

It took everything you had to will back a small bout of chuckles, recalling the time Arsène—as a separate “self” of his personality—had tried to appease a “fountain spirit” by dumping at least a million yen into the fountain, much to your chagrin and the confusion of the people who watched.

“...The girls helped you, didn’t they?” you asked, sparing the marigold-eyed warden a glance.

The way his right eye pinched the monocle as he smiled confirmed your suspicions; the expression was polished off with a laugh that was so soft, you had to strain your ears to hear it.

“Yes, and Sakamoto’s mother was also happy to assist us.”

Arsène paused, blinking his eyes as his marigold gaze fell on the beautifully decorated cake.

“Of course,” he paused again, but to breathe a sigh. “This was our fourth attempt.”

“I can only imagine why,” you said, snickering while tossing in your own two cents.

“Mon dieu… How rude of you to say so.”

“Oh stop it. You know I’m only teasing,” you said as you rolled your eyes, watching him as he held a hand to his heart, feigning distress.

For a few moments, a few moments that seemed to stretch on into eternity, silence permeated the attic. Silence that was broken only by the low howl of the wind outside, and the soft humming of the small heater until, finally, you decided to voice the question that bounced around in your head.

“…So… How do you find the human world?”

Arsène didn’t reply right away, and judging by the way his brows lightly pinched the slant of his eyes, the way his lips pursed as he breathed a hum, you knew he was deep in thought.

“It is very…”

Again, the warden paused, but it wasn’t as lengthy as the previous one was.

“Dual-natured. As I expected it to be, but… Seeing it in person is… surreal.”

You stayed silent, watching the daffodil-eyed man as he raised his head, staring you in the eyes as he spoke.

“…I have not… expressed my thanks.”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking once.

“For what?”

“Many things. For rescuing me. For realizing there was a traitor in your midst. For saving humanity. Truly, I…”

Arsène shook his head, platinum blond hair brushing against his cheekbones along with the motion.

“…The world owes you a great debt… No, every man, woman, and child are indebted to your friends as well, and none of you will receive recognition for it. Does it not bother you? Does it not bother your allies?”

Smiling, you shook your head as well; bangs of hair tickled your neck, danced across your forehead with the motion.

“Hmm… I suppose to some extent, yes; I won’t deny that it’s a bit frustrating. However… As a whole? No. I think I’ve had enough of public acknowledgement to last me a lifetime. I can’t speak for my friends, but… I don’t think they would disagree.”

Arsène’s lips quirked, his smile stretching a bit wider, but he did not laugh.

“Even so… My master was not wrong. You, one who possesses the wild card… Empty, yet holding infinite potential within… You really are special.”

You couldn’t hold back a dry laugh, no more than you could help the wry smile that pulled at your lips, shaking your head.

“…Me? No, I’m nobody special. I’m just a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. And…”

You paused, furrowing your brows as you thought.

Honestly... Sometimes, you couldn’t help but ask yourself where would you be if you had not done what you did on that fateful evening?

If you hadn’t stopped Masayoshi Shido that night.

If you hadn’t stopped to help that woman.

You wouldn’t have wound up in Tokyo; you were certain of that much, if nothing else.

The thought of being stuck in your hometown all your life was more than you could bear.

The thought of not having friends—true friends, who would be there for you, for the good and bad times—was so painful to you, in fact, that it was almost suffocating.

“I…”

You paused, taking in a slow, deep breath before exhaling it as you rubbed your sweaty palms on your knees.

“…I would not be here right now, if it wasn’t for my friends. And… You…”

You blinked, staring at the golden-eyed warden sitting on your right as you talked.

“…When you were them… Akira and Ren… I honestly didn’t know what to make of you as ‘you’ were, not back then. Akira was like a warm, crackling fire, and Ren was brisk like a winter’s eve, but… I… I miss them. Is that wrong of me?”

“…It is not erroneous to think so, but do not worry. They are reunited as one; I am Akira as much as I am Ren. If nothing else, I hope it reassures you that you have saved them as much as you have aided me. For that you have my thanks, bearer of the wild card.”

“…Is that so? I’m glad.”

You blinked, nodding and smiling, but glanced up as several things happened in the time frame of a few seconds.

The clatter of a knife as it struck a tray made you look at the cake, noticing that a single piece was missing.

You glanced at the Velvet Room assistant, a question at the ready.

“Arsène, what are you—mph.”

The fluffy texture was the first thing that hit you, a sensation that was quickly followed up by the sweet hint of whipped cream gracing your taste buds as you instinctively bit down on the sweet treat that was in your mouth, half-stuffed with cake.

In no time at all, the fat strawberry’s sweet juices mixing with the fluffy whipped cream splashed over your tongue, and you closed your eyes as you chewed and swallowed.

Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow.

The ritual of chewing and swallowing was repeated until you had finished the slice of cake, and there was a flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick at your lips, scooping up the crumbs and bit of whipped cream that lightly coated your mouth.

“…How is it? Delicious?”

You glared as Arsène chuckled, but you nodded.

However, you smirked soon after, quickly mimicking Arsène’s motions.

It was certainly worth it to watch as his warm daffodil eyes widened, his mouth opening to object—only to find that his cheeks were stuffed with cake, too.

Giggling, you cooed, “You should enjoy the fruits of your hard work too, warden~.”

Arsène glowered as he chewed and swallowed until the cake slice was gone, staring at you as you all but glowed with accomplishment where you sat.

However…

Your eyes widened when you felt the soft warmth of lips pressing against your forehead.

It was fleeting, and could be classed as a ghostly kiss with how brief, how light it was.

You stared, bug-eyed, as you breathed one word—or rather, one name.

“Arsène…”

The warden simply grinned, apparently quite pleased with himself.

“Be thankful I did not kiss you properly, my lady. A gentleman does not take a woman’s first kiss without her permission.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled slightly.

“And who are you to say that I haven’t already had my first kiss?”

“Truly? But… I was sure that you hadn’t—”

He was cut off from speaking, but not by half a mouthful of cake.

It was your lips pressing against his.

Honestly, you were expecting him to object, to chastise you for catching him off-guard, however…

That wasn’t the reaction your cheeky stunt earned.

Your eyes widened as you felt cool leather touch your cheeks, and you felt heat crawling up your neck to shamelessly colour your cheeks with a rosy hue as ten fingers and two palms gently cupped your face.

“I… I was kidding,” you murmured, whispering awkwardly in-between kisses.

“So I noticed, my lovely wild card.”

His kind compliment only made you blush harder, and you swore that he could feel your cheeks burning through the black leather gloves he wore because he chuckled.

“I’m… I’m sorry for doing that… Without your permission.”

“I do not mind.”

He kissed you.

“You don’t?” you asked, astonished.

He kissed you again.

“Not at all.”

“O-Okay,” you muttered, mentally flinching at the clear stutter in your voice.

“After all… You have room to practice tonight.”

Your cheeks were the hue of red roses, you were sure of it.

And yet… And yet…

It was what Arsène said next that honestly and truly captured your attention. It made your cheeks burn with renewed heat, and what he said in a whisper that made the rate of your heart quicken as it beat in your chest, fluttering as wildly as a hummingbird’s wings.

“I love you, my dear Trickster. You are truly the world’s greatest woman.”

#Persona 5 #Arsène Lupin #Reader #Velvet Room attendant!Arsène #wild card!Reader #Christmas Drabble #Christmas Cake #sfw

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airconditioningservicecontr-blog · 4 years

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Air Conditioning Parts and Service my Area in Vancouver

What're your opinions on Furnace Installation Near Me?

HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE?

Air circulation in your home

If you have central heating, the furnace (also known as an air handler) in your home will heat your air in the winter while the blower motor circulates the air throughout your home. The AC evaporator coils for your air handler remove heat and humidity in summer. After your furnace heats or cools your air, it is then supplied to the duct system and the air begins flowing through your registers.

How many air systems run in your home?

Your thermostat is what sets the temperature in your home for your comfort. The number of thermostat(s) determine how many systems work to regulate your indoor air for heating and cooling.

Improve IAQ with Duct cleaning

Air duct cleaning can help reduce allergies from dust and other pollutants. Pollen, dust, and mold spores can get trapped in your duct work, which means that it's being continuously circulated throughout the air you breathe at home.

According to the U.S. Department of Energy (DOE), 25 to 40 percent of the energy used for heating or cooling a home is wasted. Contaminants in the heating and cooling system cause it to work harder and shorten the life of your system. Although filters are used, the heating and cooling system still gets dirty through normal use.

The National Air Duct Cleaners Association (NADCA) recommends air duct cleaning for improvement of Indoor Air Quality (IAQ). A certified duct cleaning will include cleaning of the furnace, the main trunk line [for air circulation] and all vents (including supplies and returns) each cleaned out individually.

Where is a furnace/air-handler typically located in a home?

Typically your furnace is centrally located in the home. It is usually located in an area such as a utility closet (by a cold air return), garage, attic, basement, or crawlspace; in the case of a heat-pump (a dual-system) it will be located outside of the home. When your system is run with a heat pump, it is likely a typical duct cleaning will include cleaning of evaporator coils with full system cleanings. Your furnace is usually located by other mechanical equipment such as the hot water heater, a [permanently installed] central vacuum cleaner, or a water softener, if this equipment is installed in your home.

https://www.advantaclean.com/blog/2014/november/how-to-locate-your-furnace/

Pioneer Plumbing has built a reputation of honesty with our long time returning customers. We’ve found that “doing the right thing” in all aspects of our company has brought us to where we are today, and will continue to guide us into the future. Don’t hesitate to call and ask us any plumbing, heating, ventilation, or gas related questions. Chances are if you have a tricky issue, we can solve it.

We have a few goals for our clients. One is to be available for you. It is very uncommon that when you call us we are unable to make it within the same day. We give our repeat customers priority service so if you’ve used us before and you have an emergency, we are going to do what we need to, to get someone there.

Two is to be upfront and honest. From our quotes to our service techs on site, we don’t like to beat around the bush. We will let you know our concerns, our recommendations, and our opinions on how we would handle each situation as if it were our own residence where the problem occurred. We won’t tell you the job is only a 2 hour repair when we have had situations where it turned into an all day repair.

Three is to stand behind our installations and repairs. With mechanical work, it is very common for jobs to get larger or go sideways as you get into them. If we give you a quote we will stand true to the price, if we complete a job for you and you are unhappy with the finished product, we will come back and make it right. In return, all we ask is that you communicate with our office respectfully and honestly so that we can make sure at the end of the day you are happy with our services!

So next time you have a plumbing, heating, cooling, or gas question, repair, or installation you would like quoted, give us a call! Were here to help.

HVAC in Vancouver

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Heating Repair And Seasonal Upkeep Tips

There are a few ways to maintain your furnace system. Odds are, during winter months your heater runs throughout the day attempting to keep the home warm. furnace systems generally run more than needed, because of erroneous controls. There there are various areas in your heating section to take a look at when troubleshooting for performance.

Replace The Air Filter

This is what you typically hear people talking about most often, but so few people take the recommendation and do anything about it. If there is a blockage, you either run the chance of not circulating heat properly or perhaps igniting a fire.When the air conditioner filter gets dirty air will not flow through as well which means the furnace must work overtime and will also mean a risk of fire. When a furnace works too much, it costs more to run. The fire issue is obviously self-explanatory. In both cases it is not good for peace of mind or your funds.

Test The Blower

Look at your blower blades and clean them. A dirty fan will work overtime to blow air around and naturally use higher energy to preserve the thermostat level you choose it at. Therefore the system is overworking and costing extra money to run.

Check To See That The Fire Damper Works

Next, focus on the fire damper to ensure it is running correctly. This will ensure that the risk of fire is lowered and that the system works more proficiently.

Look For Holes In The Flex Duct

Air ducts get bumped into over time. If a duct has flattened or become stopped up, the system will think that the proper temperature has been achieved, which will be false. When this happens the furnace works harder to do its job but is going to be incapable to reach the desired temperature range.

Band Insulation

Insulation is usually overlooked but is among the most regular reasons why an furnace system malfunctions. Take take time to focus on the insulation in between the duct work and the exterior to make sure it has not worked itself loose. If this happens, your equipment will not reach optimal temperatures and work overtime to attempt to accommodate.

Ductwork Needs To Be Connected

See that the ductwork has not become detached from the next section. Disconnected ductwork will allow hot air leak out and of course add to the running costs.

Return Air Inlets And The Zone Dampers

Be sure that that return air intakes are free of the dust and dirt so air can easily flow. Examine the zone dampers to see if they are in the right spot. Throughout the year we could change the position of the damper for a lot of reasons (i.e. getting into a tight space or making room for storage). For a properly working system, check to see that the dampers are actually in the best place.

If this is a tad too much to handle yourself, we propose you hire an area plumbing contractor certified for furnace and heating repair. There will be numerous heating specialists close to you who can care for all of this quite competently. For the right results you could set up annual up-keep for furnace and your heating people will call yearly to deal with it.

https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16109373416364653742 https://vancouver-plumber.business.site/

https://www.pioneerplumbing.com/

Pioneer Plumbing & Heating Inc

626 Kingsway, Vancouver BC, V5T 3K4 Phone: (604) 872-4946

Business Hours: Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours

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As a keen reader on Gas Furnace Installation Cost, I imagined sharing that topic was really useful. I beg you take the opportunity to distribute this blog posting if you enjoyed reading it. Thanks a lot for your time invested reading it.

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Air Conditioning Parts and Service my Area in Vancouver

#Heating #HVAC #Heater

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songsinmysketchpad · 4 years

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Liquor & Emotions - EsZ

#erron's attic #erron #e crooked letter z #ecrookedletterz #EsZ #drank #drinking to remember #drinking to forget #soul #hip hop #music #fashion #life #pain #heartbreak #text #heart #love #miss you

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heating297-blog · 4 years

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Heating Repair Companies Close by in Vancouver

So next time you have a plumbing, heating, cooling, or gas question, repair, or installation you would like quoted, give us a call! Were here to help.

HVAC in Vancouver

How do you actually feel with regards to Boiler Repair?

HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE?

Air circulation in your home

How many air systems run in your home?

Your thermostat is what sets the temperature in your home for your comfort. The number of thermostat(s) determine how many systems work to regulate your indoor air for heating and cooling.

Improve IAQ with Duct cleaning

Where is a furnace/air-handler typically located in a home?

https://www.advantaclean.com/blog/2014/november/how-to-locate-your-furnace/

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How One Can Avoid High Heating Repair Costs

You can maintain an furnace system numerous different ways. Chances are good that the system shall be running all day long during the cold months. furnace systems normally run more than needed, because of erroneous controls. There there are various areas in your heating section to look at when trouble shooting for efficiency.

The Air Filter

This is the part you typically hear people speaking about most frequently, but so few people take the advice and do anything about it. If there is a obstruction, you either run the chance of not circulating heat properly or perhaps igniting a fire.When the filter becomes dirty air will not flow through as well which suggests the furnace must work harder and could also mean a risk of fire. When the furnace works overtime, it costs more to run. You want eliminate any risk of fire. In both cases it is not suitable for peace of mind or your budget.

Try The Blower

Check the blower blades and clean them up. A messy fan will work harder to blow air around and of course use more energy to preserve the thermostat level you choose it at. This implies strain on your furnace system and your wallet since more energy is required to constantly run the blower.

Check To See That The Fire Damper Works

Be sure to check your fire damper for correct functioning. The fire damper explains itself so take note of this component.

Look For Holes In The Flex Duct

Air ducts can get damaged over the years. If there are blockades or if the duct has flattened anywhere the furnace system will think the correct temperature has been achieved, which will be wrong. When this happens the furnace works harder to do its job but will be unable to attain the right tempurature.

Band Insulation

Insulation is usually forgotten but is among the most frequent explanations why an furnace system malfunctions. Take take time to look at the insulation between the duct work and the outside to make sure it has not worked itself loose. If this has happened, your system will not reach optimal temperatures and will work overtime to try and accommodate.

Air Ducts Need To Be Sealed

Make sure the ductwork is hooked up in all places to all sections. These detachments may cause space in the circulation and result in a loss of heated air in your house, since it will be leaking out through the gaps.

Return Air Inlets And The Zone Dampers

Be certain to check that return air intakes are dirt free and in good shape or your system will be out of balance. Check out the zone dampers to see if they are in the correct position. Every so often a damper will get moved in error like when you fit by it, or create space for storage. Check to notice that the dampers are actually in the correct position too.

If these tasks are beyond what you are confident with, it would be a good idea to hire a local heating company licensed for furnace and gas furnaces. There will be a number of heating specialists around you who will take care of this all quite skillfully. The most sage advice we can offer is to set up annual maintenance for this appliance.

https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16109373416364653742 https://vancouver-plumber.business.site/

https://www.pioneerplumbing.com/

Pioneer Plumbing & Heating Inc

626 Kingsway, Vancouver BC, V5T 3K4 Phone: (604) 872-4946

Business Hours: Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours

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Heating Repair Companies Close by in Vancouver

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Boiler Companies For Hire in Vancouver

So next time you have a plumbing, heating, cooling, or gas question, repair, or installation you would like quoted, give us a call! Were here to help.

HVAC in Vancouver

Just about every person may have their private piece of advice about Heating And Furnace Repair.

HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO LOCATE YOUR FURNACE?

Air circulation in your home

How many air systems run in your home?

Your thermostat is what sets the temperature in your home for your comfort. The number of thermostat(s) determine how many systems work to regulate your indoor air for heating and cooling.

Improve IAQ with Duct cleaning

Where is a furnace/air-handler typically located in a home?

https://www.advantaclean.com/blog/2014/november/how-to-locate-your-furnace/

youtube

We were shown that write-up on Heating And Furnace Repair through an acquaintance on another website. Appreciated our posting? Please share it. Let somebody else check it out. Thanks a bunch for your time. Come back soon.

Ways To Avoid High Heating Repair Bills

There are a few ways to maintain your furnace system. Chances are good the system shall be running full-time in the winter. furnace systems normally run more than needed, due to erroneous controls. There there are various areas in the heating section to look at when troubleshooting for proficiency.

Change The Air Filter

This part is what gets mentioned the most in chats about furnace maintenance, but is sometimes neglected. When there is a obstruction, you either run the chance of not distributing heat adequately or perhaps igniting a fire.When the filter gets dirty air will not flow through as well which suggests the unit must work overtime and could also mean a likelihood of fire. When a furnace works too much, it is more expensive to run. You want to obviously remove any likelihood of fire. Neither scenario is good for your bank account or your peace of mind..

Try The Blower

Examine the blower blades to make sure they are free of crap. A messy fan will work harder to blow air around and of course use more energy to maintain the thermostat level you choose it at. Therefore strain on your furnace system and your budget since more energy is required to constantly run the blower.

Fire Damper Function

Be sure to check your fire damper for proper functioning. This will ensure that the risk of fire is minimal and that the system will work more proficiently.

The Flex Duct

Air ducts can get damaged over the years. If there are obstructions or the duct has flattened somewhere the furnace system will think the correct temperature has been reached, which will be wrong. When this will happen the furnace works harder to do its job but is going to be unable to reach the desired tempurature.

Make Sure The Insulation Is Secure

It is easy to overlook the insulation, but is probably the most typical reason behind a system malfunctioning. Be sure to check the insulation and validate it has not become loose and prompted gaps involving the ductwork and of course the outside. If this happens, your equipment will not reach optimal temperatures and work too much to attempt to accommodate.

Air Ducts Need To Be Sealed

See that your ductwork has not become separated from the next section. Disconnected ductwork will permit hot air to escape and naturally increase the running costs.

Check For Leaks In The Return Air Inlets And The Zone Dampers

Ensure that that return air intakes are free of dust and debris so air can easily flow. Examine the zone dampers to check if they are in the correct position. Throughout the year we may change the positioning of the damper for many reasons (i.e. getting into a tight space or making room for storage). Check to see that the dampers are actually in the correct position too.

If that is a little too much to handle on your own, we suggest you hire a local plumbing contractor certified for furnace and heating repair. You should manage to locate a good heating company who will take care of this for you. The best advice we can offer is to establish annual upkeep for this appliance.

https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16109373416364653742 https://vancouver-plumber.business.site/

https://www.pioneerplumbing.com/

Pioneer Plumbing & Heating Inc

626 Kingsway, Vancouver BC, V5T 3K4 Phone: (604) 872-4946

Business Hours: Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours

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