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acrowamongsparrows · 3 years

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Day 4 Accomplished/Macabre

His hand ran through the tall grass as he walked through the wood, a slight smile on his face as he felt the dew drops of early morning sticking to his fingers to slide among the scars of his trade. He was hunter and trapper, but not in the sense that many thought. When someone called for a hunter they expected a tall, meaty man covered in furs who spoke little and always had something monstrous to show of his prowess. David was different.

A beard was clear on his face but that only was due to the weather and how much Sara had been enjoying to play with it when the babe was in his lap. Margaret would roll her eyes and smile at her husbands as she busied with their quaint home full of a mixture of hand-me-downs and furniture from Lan Exeter. He was particularly proud of a looking glass he'd bought from a merchant ship from the south, there was something incredible of looking into heavens on a clear night. His family was poor in the eyes of the city but in the eyes of Markhor he was quite the upper class, to almost the extent of Buckenhall if he really wanted to be.

But there was the differences again, David was content. Not in a way that spoke of a man accepting his life, but true contentment and happiness in his small cabin with his girls. He was happy with his steady trade of hunting game and bringing it to the small market or Alina. He was happy to spend an evening in the Leaf, hear a wild tale, and go home to Margaret's arms or walk home hand in hand with Margaret when her mother could watch Sara.

Adjusting his half cape about his shoulders, David began to slow his pace as he peered between the weeds for his catch today. They said he had sixth sense for where the game was hiding, but truthfully he knew he was just patient and could be quiet. His gait grew even slower as he listened, no breeze which was good for him as it meant his scent stayed put. A shake of the grass to the right would bring him to a stop, slowly easing himself down to one knee and breathing in softly through his nose. With well practiced silence, David would slowly pull his crossbow from around his back to hand a bolt already held in place by a clip he'd imagined up himself. He was lucky Candell could forge such a small item and for little cost.

A finger gently moved the metal knob to the right and unlocked it before setting a bolt to the fire lane. David let his breathing grow softer and tell her near held it, craning his ears to the sounds nearby that he knew was his quarry. Speed and efficiency was the key if he hoped to bag his deer today, but knew that any false start or move could be just as disastrous.

Patience.

Patience was his power and he knew how to control it as he waited for one more move to pinpoint the exact spot of the deer's bed.

One breath. Two breath. Three breath. A shift in the grass as autumn decided it needed to let forth a sigh as much as him. A flash of yellow, a blink of black, and now he was pushing up to his feet.

One breath. Two breath. Three breath. The deer was rising, two short antlers rising as fast as him as the black glassy eyes of the deer locked with his own.

One breath. Two breath. Pull. The bolt flew straight and true, the skilled bowman's shot driving deep into the broadside behind the front let. Three breath.

The deer in panic and pain flew, it's heavy legs pulling it straight up and bounding into the tall grass as it caught the flecks of crimson from it's wound as it stumbled back toward the wood. David smiled as he followed the trail of blood, reaching back to reload his crossbow as he walked along behind it. Today was a good day.

Blood flecked the crushed weeds as they grew thinner and broke into the forest edge into the woods. Tuft of grass and scrape of dirt from a drug horn was only a few yards further, the beast was putting up quite a fight as he followed the trail of his prey. The blood was falling faster as he walked, thicker, and more frequent as he sped up his step further into the wood in fear of losing the thing to some other predator. Further he traveled that began to seem more likely what happened as he noticed the darker it grew the deeper he went after.

"You gotta slow down by now," murmured David as he stepped over a large rock and pressed on, noting a torn bit of fur to match the splatter of blood nearby. Still warm. "Where the hell are you going?"

The trees broke again as he marched onward leaving a soft clearing before a copse of trees loomed ahead. David came to slow halt as he looked up at those trees, they sat tall and still. Much like the air around him as he licked his lips and tried to hear something out there in the open air. Nothing. A feeling of dread sat in the pit of his stomach as he stood there staring at the trees. He should cut his losses and go home. They had plenty. Plenty of skins, meat, and money this wasn't worth it. But human nature was an animal unto itself as curiosity burned brightly through logic, springing forward with his loaded crossbow to investigate further.

The yards to the trees took seconds to reach, but the smell in the air hit him far before. Rank and earthy, like rotten meat as he coughed and lifted his sleeve to his mouth in hopes of saving him from the stench. It was like a tide of putrid ilk that was awful and familiar as he wandered these woods for years to know the smell.

Death.

It felt far to poetic to put it in terms like that in his head, but the thick air of stench made him want to vomit as he entered the gathering trees. His eyes falling over the trunks of the trees as he noted a strange tangle of dark veins rising from the earth to dig deep into their bark. They pulsed with an eerie almost breathing motion as he thought better of touching one, knowing his curiosity could only push him so far into this adventure. But he needed to find out what was going on, the village needed to know.

He should have turned back but the blood trail lead into the enclosure.

The circle of trees wasn't large but it felt thicker by the strange rooted trees surrounding the perimeter as David let his eyes move swiftly about for signs of the deer or the thief who had drug it so far. Maybe a wolf or a bear, it was the logical idea of what was out here. His booted feets gently slid through dead leaves, going silent and quiet as he could be in the face of this unknown foe. The crossbow resting in the crook of his shoulder as he looked about in the silent shadows, sweeping the area as he followed the trail. Crimson were dashed by brown and yellow leaves as the blood shined in the dark but were also framed by strange purple fauna.

Crouching down, David let his finger brush the face of one of the violet flowers but never picked it. It felt like any other flower but for some reason he recoiled from it's touch, as if there was something ready to bite him in the face of plain beauty. They felt wrong. Blooming, season, and abundance as he stood back up again to follow his bloody trail again. It felt like hours since he'd begun and by the deep shadows around him the sky was doing little to aid him in reminding it was only maybe early afternoon. Night ruled here.

The trail ended at the base of a tree, violet flowers spread about in a blanket of bright ground stars as they stared at him much as the eyes ahead of him did. So many eyes.

Crows rested in the many empty branches above, their white staring eyes regarding him in silent judgement at his presence within their hold. Where once leaves of green or even red and gold had sat now were the many feathers of the birds. Black and beyond counting, David could already feel his mouth growing drier and chest tighter as he felt a great warning coming from them as he stared up at them.

Run away. Run away if you can. Run away.

Swallowing hard, David pressed on the last few feet in the face of the carrion nightmare that guarded from above and let his eyes settle upon what they surrounded.

His kill lay on the ground before that great tree, but it had not even made it halfway here on it's own thanks to his original bolt. No the thieves were to be thanked for that.

Twisted, crouched, and eyes much like the crows above stared at him from now from below where they surrounded what he hoped was their meal. But that would need mouths. Teeth. Tongues. Taste. Only the blank broken animal skulls with black empty sockets leered at him with their flickering empty witch light. Hands like warped branches wrapped in thorns and vine to hold them split into what appeared as claws had obviously only been random bones split. The bones were clearly just as good to do their work as they carved and ravaged the carcass of his kill, splitting the fur and skin like a ripe tomato to spill the precious dying life of the deer into the soil beneath it. Greed was clear in that earth's hunger as the blood seemed to disappear as quickly as it spilled into the loose dirt. His deer was not the first to litter these monsters table as the jutting hunks of bone and sinew lay strewn about with purple flowers growing in the bed of corpses.

David found he was gasping now, the thick putrid air filling his lungs as his legs grew weak to the sight of the graveyard of the macabre. He wanted to look away from the eaters of the dead but only found his eyes widening as he looked beyond them to the base of the tree.

The picked apart face of men and women sat pierced and hung by the roots of the tree, their bodies splayed for all to see who could see. There was no blood left among those dried husks of humans as their bodies were twisted and pierced by the foliage all around only to leave the slow succor of their bones. Mouths wide in silent screams to match the holes of sharp beaks. An offering to those above still. There were to many faces in that tree.

One breath. Run. Two breath. Run. Three breath. David was running.

The black leaves above moved as one and the collective caw of their hunger rang like thunder to match an ominous high pitched hollow roar from the lungs of some long dead being.

The flowers continued to bloom.

#dwc2021 #day42021 #acrowamongsparrows.tumblr.com #day 4 #accomplished #macabre #david #deer #purple flowers #witcher oc #the witcher #roleplay

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late.

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks.

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.”

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.”

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?”

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road. Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares.

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.”

“A haunted house,” she clarifies.

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed.

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history.

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--”

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked.

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head.

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad.

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.”

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.”

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.”

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know.

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.”

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement.

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots.

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield.

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?”

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple.

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off.

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house.

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.”

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent.

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.”

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car.

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick.

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--”

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!”

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house.

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back.

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?”

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments.

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own.

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side.

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.”

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front.

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork.

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes.

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.”

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head.

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.”

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room.

“What was that?” Sienna whispers.

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.”

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests.

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat.

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn.

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.”

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.”

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request.

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety.

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more.

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.”

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her.

“Yeah, fair point.”

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson.

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns.

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds.

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says.

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight.

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.”

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.”

“Oh.”

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed.

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone.

How goes the ghost hunting?

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips.

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely.

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.”

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath.

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.”

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment.

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.”

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.”

“That’s called being a dork.”

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface.

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure.

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!”

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center.

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.”

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.”

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light.

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head.

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen.

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck.

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.”

She fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses.

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path.

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head.

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery.

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug.

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.”

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back.

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful.

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.

“Bryce?” she chances.

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?”

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static.

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in.

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second.

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.”

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town.

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction.

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights.

“Sloane!”

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning.

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers.

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight.

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.”

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud.

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.”

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead.

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats.

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there.

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern.

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.”

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house.

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live.

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune.

#open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #Kaila writes things #f: the open door

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - “Saving Face” (Rated PG13)

Summary: A gang of bullies use Warlock to trap Adam on Halloween night, herding him towards a big, old, haunted house where no one goes ... and few who enter are ever seen alive again. (3904 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

“Warlock … man,” Adam implores, backing away, hands raised in surrender “... come on. You don’t have to do this.”

Warlock grins at Adam’s trembling voice, his eyes wide with fear reflecting Warlock’s triumphant grin.

“Yeah,” he says, taking measured steps forward, eating up this moment. “I do.”

A pack of five boys in costume creeps up behind Warlock like the jackals they are. They’re not standing with him. They’re there to ensure their plan goes off without a hitch. This initiation into their gang will not only provide them with a minion in Warlock, whose father’s money and connections make the boy more valuable to them than Midas. But it will knock precious prince Adam Young off his popularity pedestal - a position he’s held on to for far too long.

Adam looks from Warlock to his cronies closing in on him, taking their time since they know he’s at their mercy. Talking will not help him, and he can’t fight his way out. Six against one? The odds are not on his side. So he does the only thing he can do.

He runs.

He turns tail and bolts, feet inside his battered trainers pounding the pavement, lungs burning from the strain he’s putting them through. But he has no illusions that he’s getting away, even when he gains a considerable lead. He knows how this gang operates. They’re herding him to one specific place: The Parsons House - an abandoned house at the end of this deserted lane; a monstrous, crooked, ramshackle nightmare overlooking the largest cemetery in their village. It’s the oldest house in this corner of the countryside. A worn, wooden sign attached to a single post that no longer stands upright proclaims it to be so.

No one ever goes there, regardless of the fact that its last known owner, Emily Parsons, lived for over eighty-three years inside, all alone, until the day she died of old age. But it’s been said that her frail body can be seen hanging from a noose in the upper attic window, leading to speculation by local townsfolk that the story of her dying peacefully in her sleep may be nothing but a tall tale.

This gang of boys (sans Warlock) have done this before - chased some poor, frightened soul that they hate to the house and forced them inside …

Kids that never came back to school, who were never heard from again.

In an act that could be described as simultaneously brave and stupid, Adam heads for the house, leaps over its rickety fence, and runs straight for the stairs.

All six boys crow when they see him skid to a stop at the base of the porch.

He’s right where they want him.

Whether he goes in himself or they grab him by his arms and legs and toss him in, he’s going in that house.

“Go on then!” one of the boys yells. “Get yer bony arse in there!”

The boys cackle, lending further to the impression that they are hunchbacked, sharp-toothed predators.

“And what if I don’t?” Adam calls over his shoulder, not fully facing them. Keeping his back turned to this lot is just as foolhardy as seeking safety inside this house, but he can’t turn his back on the house either. It has an essence - something he can feel deep inside his body, into the marrow of his bones.

“I don’t see you have much of a choice,” a different boy yells. “One way or the other, yer going in there. It just depends on whether you’re walking in or crawling in on two broken legs!”

Adam looks at the boys, stopped by the fence, with a slight smirk and a furrowed brow.

“How on earth am I supposed to crawl anywhere on two broken legs?” he asks.

“I …” The boy who made the original comment chokes on the rest of his sentence, realizing then how much that threat doesn’t make any sense. “I don’t know! You’re just gonna!”

“Adam … buddy …” Warlock grips the pointed tops of the fence posts and leans over “… my friends here are going to make sure you get into that house one way or the other. So you might as well get it over with.”

Adam answers Warlock’s comment with a hard swallow. He doesn’t honestly believe those boys are going to grab him up and toss him into the house. They’re too scared to even come past the fence, standing just beyond the splintered pickets, dressed in an array of stereotypical monster costumes – a werewolf, a vampire, a mummy, Frankenstein’s monster, and a ghost – each one blocking Adam’s escape.

Warlock is the only one among them not wearing a costume, opting for slate gray trousers, a white button-down, and the thick, navy wool coat he wears for school. With the exception of being only twelve, he looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s going on a job interview.

Just an everyday average Joe.

That’s because, he’d explained, serial killers blend in, look like everyone else.

In reality, Adam has the upper hand. He should run inside and hide.

It’s a good plan.

A reasonable plan.

A solid plan.

So why doesn’t he make his feet go?

He searches for a weapon since it seems that fighting might become an option.

The house shifts on its foundation when a particularly forceful breeze passes through it. Adam eyes the graying wood slats falling from the siding, dusty windows clattering while shutters swing off their hinges, smacking dully against one another.

A rock flies in out of nowhere and strikes Adam on the shoulder. He stumbles forward onto the first creaky step. He glares at the house, as if of all the people there meaning to do him harm, it’s the house that decided to throw the first punch.

But it wasn’t the house.

He knows it wasn’t.

And the stakes in this game of cat-and-mouse have just gone up a notch.

“Go on already!” the boy dressed as a mummy yells, tossing a second rock straight up and catching it as it comes down like he’s warming up for baseball practice. “We haven’t got all night! We still have egging to do!”

“Well, why don’t you go do that and come back? I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Adam ducks in time to miss the rock whiz by his head, coming close enough to nick his left ear.

“No more jokes, Adam!” werewolf boy growls. “You either go inside and take your chances, or we pound you into the dirt!”

Adam looks at the faces around him – mean, unfriendly, shrouded by masks and makeup, which makes these boys feel braver.

It also makes them more dangerous.

But they’re far from anonymous. Adam knows who the boys are underneath their masks. The vampire is Vince: the leader of the gang and the eldest, having retaken two grades twice. The werewolf is his younger brother, David. The mummy is Troy, their best friend from birth. Frankenstein’s monster is Leroy, and the ghost, in his thin white sheet, hiding him from absolutely no one, is Devin.

Yes, Adam knows them. He knows an awful lot about them, really. They’ve lived in the same village together their entire lives. They’ve been to each others’ houses at one point or another, hunted for eggs in the courtyard of the church every Easter till they were ten. But he doesn’t appeal to them. Because somewhere down the line, they changed. Rumors about them run rampant all over town. Outlandish rumors.

Still, Adam is far from impressed.

But Warlock … Adam had had high hopes for him. But Vince and his merry band of delinquents got their hooks into him.

Now, it might be too late for both of them.

Adam looks at the four short stairs leading to the porch. He knows the devils that wait for him if he doesn’t go up those stairs. He might as well try his luck contending with the unknown.

As a former Antichrist, a murderous spirit might be easier to reckon with.

He climbs unsteadily to the second step, ticking it off in his head.

Three more to go.

Somewhere above him, a shutter slams, causing him to skip step three and fall face-first onto step number four.

In the space of a second, he went from starting to nearly done.

He lifts a foot and plants it on the stair beneath him, raising himself up slowly as the plank bends in the middle. He brings his other leg up to the fourth step.

One more, and he’ll be standing on the porch.

Another breeze blows. The front door swings open, making all the kids present jump. Adam finds himself at a crossroads.

Whether he likes it or not, there’s only one way out of this.

He can’t make it past. He has to go through.

Adam flies into the house, the front door slamming shut the second he’s inside, as if receiving him.

Or swallowing him.

Then … everything grinds to a halt.

The wind ceases to blow.

The shutters hang limply, no longer bang.

The house stops its listing.

And from the pits of the boys’ stomachs to the tips of their toes, the earth stops spinning.

“What … what just happened?” David asks in a hoarse whisper.

“I think he went in there,” Leroy says.

“Went in, or was pushed?” Troy asks.

“Who would have pushed him? We’re all out here! Not a one of us has moved!”

“Maybe it wasn’t us,” Devin offers.

“Who was it then? Who was it!?” Troy asks, becoming unhinged. “Tell me!”

The sound of Adam screaming silences their arguing.

“Help! Help me! Vince! Troy! Devin! Warlock! Help me!”

“A … Adam?” Leroy says. “Is that …?”

“Yeah,” David answers quietly. “Yeah, that’s …”

“David! Leroy! Please!”

The boys have heard kids scream in this house before. And they’ve enjoyed it. It’s part of what they live for, why they do this every Halloween. But something about the way Adam is screaming is different. He isn’t just begging for help.

He’s calling out to them, each one by name.

Not only is it unsettling to hear Adam’s fearful voice calling for them, the thought of this house knowing their names sends chills up each of their spines.

Except for Warlock, who looks bored out of his mind.

Silence falls over the house again. A silence that drags on by the skin of its teeth and goes on for far too long.

Right when three of the boys summon up the courage to organize a search party, they hear another scream, this one worse than the last.

Adam again, but his screams have changed.

He’s beyond asking for help, gone from panicked, to bloodcurdling, to strangled, as if someone is pouring cupfuls of sand into his mouth. Above the sound of Adam choking for air comes a hollow, evil laugh, rising in volume and pitch, echoing around the walls and shaking the whole house.

“Vince!” it mimics, chuckling in between. “Troy! Devin! Warlock! David! Leroy!”

The boys stand up straight when they hear it, stepping back as the sound grabs at their insides and squeezes tight.

“We … we should go check on him … maybe?” Devin suggests.

“Yeah,” Leroy agrees. “Why don’t you go ahead and check on him, Vince?”

Vince glares at the boys flanking him side-to-side. “Nu-uh! I’m not opening that door for shite!”

“This was your brilliant idea!” Devin argues. “You’re the one who wanted to bring him here, despite the fact that we could end up dead! Or worse!”

“What’s worse than dead?” Vince asks.

“My mum could find out! I could be grounded till I’m married!”

Vince’s eyebrows snap in the middle. “B-but … you’re gay!”

“Marriage equality exists, Vince!” Devin crosses his arms. “Don’t be an arse, all right?”

“Point is,” Troy intervenes, “this was your plan from the start, so you should go check on him! Man!” He kicks at the pebbles beneath his feet. “I just want for one year to get some tricks or treats! I’m so tired of this shite!”

“Same here!” Leroy chimes in.

The five boys bicker back and forth. Warlock watches, gaze bouncing between them like he’s at a football match - a dull football match, one destined to end in a stalemate. He rolls his eyes.

He’s definitely done with this.

“Oh, I’ll do it!” Warlock says, blowing through the lopsided gate and trudging up the steps. “Ya bunch of pansies …”

“Yeah,” Vince says, visibly relieved. “Yeah, Warlock should go. It’s his initiation.”

“Oh, shut the eff up!” Troy says, unamused.

Warlock stomps up the stairs without a care, daring whatever is in the house that grabbed Adam to grab him as well. “Adam!” he yells, hand cupped to the side of his mouth to ensure he can be heard. “Adam! Where the hell are you?”

When Adam doesn’t answer, Warlock does the unthinkable.

He knocks on the front door.

The gang takes another step back.

“A-dam!” Warlock calls in a teasing, sing-song voice. “Come out here, ya coward! You trynna pull one over on us? Well, it won’t work. I’m gonna count to five, and then Vince is gonna come in and beat the crap out of you!”

“What!?” Vince yelps, his next step backward twice the size of the rest. “Oh, heck no! No no no no no no no!”

Warlock stops knocking. He puts an ear to the door. The boys watch, completely engrossed but prepared to run if anything else should happen.

If anything should eat him, then come for them next.

“Well?” Leroy calls up after a minute. “Do you hear anything?”

“I hear … something,” Warlock moves his ear from the center of the door to the seam. “It sounds like a …”

“Like a what? Like a what?” Troy screams, one creaky floorboard away from losing it entirely.

“I don’t know,” Warlock says, “but it sounds kind of like a … a …”

“A …?”

“... a … burp.”

The boys stare at one another, expressions wasted underneath their disguises.

“A burp?” David says. “Warlock, man! I’m gonna …”

The door breaks off its hinges and flies over their heads. The five boys duck down to avoid being beamed. When the coast is clear, and the cacophony of the door cartwheeling down the street dies down, they stand back up and look to the spot where Warlock had been standing, hoping to get an answer …

… but he’s not there anymore.

Not a scrap of him.

The gaping doorway stands open like a giant mouth breathing in the twilight air.

And Vince can’t stand it anymore.

“Warlock! Adam!” he bellows, then waits for an answer. When he doesn’t get one, he leaps over the fence and storms up to the house. “WARLOCK! ADAM! Come on out, all right? This isn’t funny anymore!”

Vince isn’t necessarily concerned with whether or not Warlock or Adam is alive or dead. He’s much more concerned with his sanity. He’s been to this house dozens of times, and nothing even close to this has ever happened. They have to be making this up. They had to have gotten together before tonight and planned on pranking him, probably hoping to see him mess himself.

Well, that’s not gonna happen!

He makes his way to the doorway with none of his gang behind him. He leans in, looks left and right.

“Warlock?” he calls out. “Adam? Where are you guys?”

He turns back to his crew, all of whom have migrated further down the walkway, preparing to run for their lives.

“They’re not … they’re not in there,” Vince says.

“You’re going to have to go inside then.”

“No way! Fuck that!”

“Vince …!”

“Don’t Vince me! They went into that house on their own! Ain’t no one to blame for that!”

“Adam went in because we threatened him!” Leroy points out.

“He wouldn’t have even come here if Warlock hadn’t invited him,” Vince counters.

“We helped! That makes us accessories!” Devin argues.

“Accessories?” Vince snickers. “What? Are you a solicitor now?”

“Just get in there, Vince!” Leroy says. “Or are you chicken?”

“I’m not chicken! I’m smart! I’m not gonna go in there and die because of fucking peer pressure, and not a one of you can make me!”

A tortured howl shakes the loose boards on the house, pulling the boys’ attention. But it doesn’t sound like Adam this time.

It sounds like Warlock.

“H-holy shit! Holy shit! Vince!” David yells, pointing at the house.

Pointing at Adam, standing in the doorway, two feet in front of Vince, his shirt front drenched in blood. None of the boys can tell if that blood belongs to him or not. Not even Vince, looking him dead in the eye.

But he doesn’t look too much worse for wear.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Vince cries, stumbling backward, missing the stairs altogether and falling straight off the porch onto his tailbone. He lands with a resounding thud, sprays of liquid hot pain shooting up his back.

“What … what happened to you, A---Adam?” Leroy asks.

“I was given a choice,” Adam growls in a new voice as he steps out onto the porch. An inhuman voice. “To submit … or die. And I chose …” He lifts his arms and his body follows, rising into the air above the boys’ heads as Adam grins down at them “… to conquer.”

“Wh-where is Warlock?” David asks.

Adam laughs. “You mean him?” With a sweep of his arm, the limp body of a young boy flies out one of the windows, landing on the ground inside the fence. The five boys scream, staring into the open and unseeing eyes of Warlock Dowling, his face ashen, his mouth opened wide, locked in a horrified scream so that the only conclusion they can come to is that he was literally scared to death.

“L-let’s get out of here!” Leroy yells.

“Oh …” Adam chuckles “… you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here … with us!”

“U-us?” Troy whimpers. “Who’s us?”

A fist busts through the floorboards of the porch, then an arm clad in rags and the shredded remains of what was once a flannel shirt. Another hand emerges, clawing through the wood to hoist up the rest - the head and torso of a corpse tearing themselves from the earth to do Adam’s bidding. Adam’s eyes - blistering red orbs glowing in their sockets - stare down at his tormentors, so frightened for their lives, they can barely scream. Vince scuttles backward to avoid the eruption. A hand explodes through the dirt beside him, grabbing hold of his ankle, and Vince launches to his feet. He manages a shrill wail as he flips over the gate and sprints off down the street, his four compatriots hot on his heels, one urinating noticeably.

Not until the boys are out of sight does Adam begin to laugh in earnest, his body lowering to the ground, carried gingerly by angelic power. He looks down as the glamour fades – the stain withdrawing, his eyes returning from the spell that made them transform. He pulls at the hem of his shirt, watching as the last remaining blood disappears from the fabric.

Warlock climbs up off the filthy ground. He was never really hurt, helped out the window and through the air by demonic intervention. “That was fun.”

“Better than what we did last year,” Wensleydale groans, clambering out of his hole in the porch.

“Hey!” Brian yelps, pulling off his sweaty mask and sucking in a breath of fresh air. “Last year’s costume contest was epic!”

“That’s because you won it!” says Pepper, pulling off her own oppressive mask.

“Yeah. And that was because your mum was one of the judges!”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have the best costume!”

“Don’t you children think that was a little much?” Aziraphale asks, walking out on to the porch from where he and Crowley had been hiding in the living room, peeking out through a downstairs window. He’d disapproved of this scheme from the start, back when the Them found out what those bullies were concocting for Halloween night, how they had strong-armed Warlock into helping them. “Wouldn’t it have been better to approach their parents about their brutish behavior?”

“Nah,” Crowley says, slipping an arm around his husband’s waist. “Woulda done no good. Most of the time, the parents are no better than the kids. Who d’ya think the blighters get it from?”

“Isn’t this all going to be moot when they find out that Adam hasn’t been possessed by the devil, and Warlock did not, in fact, get devoured by bloodthirsty zombies?” Aziraphale asks, grimacing at the absurdity.

“No,” Adam assures him, “because no one is going to find out until school on Monday after they’ve already called everyone they know and told them about it. I can’t imagine the amount of trouble they’re going to get into!”

“Yeah!” Wensleydale agrees. “Look at all of the rules they’re breaking! Bullying, assault, trespassing. With any luck, they’ll get grounded for life!”

“Or at least three months.” Aziraphale shoots his husband a significant look that takes Crowley a moment to catch.

“Oh! Yeah, right.” Crowley snaps his fingers, performing the truly demonic miracle of making sure five bastards get their comeuppance.

“Besides, something good is coming out of all this,” Pepper reminds them. “Mrs. Parsons’s grandniece will have a brand new house after we help get this wreck fixed up. It was nice of her to let us borrow it for the night. We must have sounded bonkers when we asked.”

“Not at all. She understood,” Aziraphale assures them. “She was glad that after years of people using her great aunt’s house to scare people that someone asked permission for a change.”

“I think things turned out exactly the way they were meant to,” Pepper says.

“Yup!” Brian concurs. “Let the punishment fit the crime, I always say.”

“When do you say that?” Wensleydale asks, beating dirt and cobwebs out of his ear.

“All the time,” Brian argues.

“I’ve known you my entire life, and I’ve never once heard you say that!”

“Then you haven’t been listening hard enough!”

“Pepper? Have you ever heard him say that?”

“Don’t know. I tend to ignore every third word that comes out of his mouth.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“You were right, Warlock. Go big or go home,” Adam says over the argument ensuing.

“Yeah.” Warlock smiles at his new friends. They were never angry at him for the part he almost played in conspiring against their leader. They offered to help him out with no arguments given. It was Pepper's idea to pretend to turn into the undead. Brian got their costumes together. Wensleydale found out about Mrs. Parsons's grandniece and suggested they give her a call. Then they spent most of Halloween night hiding out in this creepy old house when they could have been roaming the neighborhood begging for candy.

But the best thing they did was let him join their group even though he probably didn't deserve it.

“We went big." Warlock smirks, watching the five boys clamor down the street and, unbeknownst to them, to a two-hour lecture and three months in solitary confinement. “Let’s go home.”

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

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begitalarcos · 5 years

Text

100+ Years of Horror

This is not a definitive list. These are just the films I believe every Horror fan should see at least once. I’ve excluded any sequels that I didn’t feel needed including. I hope you enjoy.

For @mechamag

1922 – Nosferatu

1925 – The Phantom of the Opera

1927 – The Cat and the Canary

1931 – Dracula, Frankenstein

1932 – Freaks

1933 – The Invisible Man

1934 – The Black Cat

1935 – The Bride of Frankenstein

1939 – The Cat and the Canary

1941 – The Black Cat, The Wolfman

1942 – Cat People

1945 - Dead of Night

1953 – House of Wax

1954 – Creature from the Black Lagoon

1955 – Night of the Hunter, Les Diaboliques

1956 – Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Bad Seed

1958 – The Blob, Macabre, The Fly

1959 – House on Haunted Hill, The Tingler, The Killer Shrews

1960 – 13 Ghosts , Black Sunday, Eyes without a face, Peeping Tom, Psycho, Village of the Damned

1961 – The Pit and the Pendulum

1962 – What ever happened To Baby Jane?

1963 – The Birds, Black Sabbath, The Haunting

1965 – Repulsion

1966 – Island of Terror

1967 – Wait until Dark

1968 – Night of the Living Dead, Rosemary’s Baby, Spider Baby

1970 – Mark of the Devil, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage

1971 – The Cat O’ Nine Tails, Let’s scare Jessica to Death, What’s the matter with Helen? A Bay of Blood, Play Misty for Me

1972 – Ben, Children shouldn’t play with dead things, Deathdream, Don’t torture a Duckling, The last house on the left, Night of the Lepus, What have you done to Solange?

1973 – The Crazies, The Exorcist, The Legend of Hell House, Sisters, The Wicker Man, Don’t look now

1974 – Black Christmas, Deranged, It’s Alive, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Vampyres

1975 – Shivers, Trilogy of Terror, Jaws, Deep Red, The Stepford Wives

1976 – Alice Sweet Alice, Burnt Offerings, Carrie, Eaten Alive, The Omen, Squirm, To the devil a daughter, The town that dreaded sundown, The Tenant

1977 – Audrey Rose, Day of the Animals, Demon Seed, Eraserhead, Exorcist 2: The Heretic, The Hills have Eyes, Rabid, The Sentinel, Shock, Suspiria

1978 – Damien: Omen 2, Dawn of the Dead, Halloween, I Spit on your Grave, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Jaws 2, The Legacy, Magic, Martin, Piranha

1979 – Alien, The Amityville Horror, The Brood, Phantasm, Prophecy, Tourist Trap, When a Stranger Calls, Zombi2, Nosferatu the Vampyre, Salem’s Lot

1980 – Alligator, Altered States, The Changeling, City of the Living Dead, Fade to Black, The Fog, Friday the 13th, Hell of the Living Dead, The House on the Edge of the Park, Humanoids form the Deep, Inferno, Maniac, Motel Hell, Prom Night, The Shining

1981 – An American Werewolf in London, The Beyond, The Black Cat, The Burning, Dead and Buried, The Entity, The Evil Dead, Friday the 13th Part 2, The Funhouse, Galaxy of Terror, Halloween 2, Happy Birthday to Me, Hell Night, The House by the Cemetery, The Howling, My Bloody Valentine, Omen 3: The Final Conflict, The Pit, Possession, The Prowler, Wolfen, Scanners, Blow Out, Ghost Story

1982 – Alone in the Dark, Basket Case, The Beast Within, Cat People, Creepshow, Friday the 13th Part 3, Halloween 3: Season of the Witch, Madman, Pieces, Poltergeist, Q: The Winged Serpent, Tenebrae, The Thing, Visiting Hours

1983 – A Blade in the Dark, Christine, Cujo, Curtains, The Deadly Spawn, Eyes of Fire, The House on Sorority Row, The Hunger, Mortuary, Nightmares, Sleepaway Camp, Videodrome, The Dead Zone, Twilight Zone: The Movie

1984 – C.H.U.D., Children of the Corn, The Company of Wolves, Gremlins, Night of the Comet, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Razorback, Silent Night Deadly Night, Firestarter, Starman, Ghostbusters

1985 – Cat’s Eye, Day of the Dead, Demons, Fright Night, Ghoulies, LifeForce, Phenomena, Re-Animator, The Return of the Living Dead, Silver Bullet, The Stuff, Cut and Run, The New Kids

1986 – Aliens, April Fools Day, Chopping Mall, Critters, Deadly Friend, The Fly, From Beyond, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, The Hitcher, House, Invaders from Mars, Little Shop of Horrors, Maximum Overdrive, Monster Dog, Night of the Creeps, Poltergeist 2: The Other Side, Rawhead Rex, Terrorvision, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Trick or Treat, Troll, Vamp, The Wraith

1987 – Angel Heart, Bad Taste, Creepshow 2, Dolls, Evil Dead 2, The Gate, Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night 2, Hellraiser, The Hidden, House 2: The Second Story, The Outing, The Lost Boys, The Monster Squad, Near Dark, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, Opera, Prince of Darkness, Predator, Stage Fright, The Stepfather, Street Trash, The Witches of Eastwick, Lady Beware, Fatal Attraction

1988 – Bad Dreams, The Blob, Child's Play, Dead Heat, Elvira Mistress of the Dark, Fright Night Part 2, Hellbound: Hellraiser 2, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, The Lair of the White Worm, Maniac Cop, Night of the Demons, Phantasm 2, Pin, Prison, Pumpkinhead, Return of the Living Dead Part 2, The Serpent and the Rainbow, Uninvited, Watchers, Waxwork, They Live

1989 – 976-Evil, The Church, Grim Prairie Tales, The Horror Show, Intruder, Leviathan, Night Life, Pet Sematary, Shocker, Society, Warlock, Dead Calm, The Forgotten One, DeepStar Six

1990 – Braindead, Bride of Re-Animator, Child’s Play 2, The Exorcist 3, Frankenhooker, Graveyard Shift, The Guardian, Hardware, IT, Jacob’s Ladder, Misery, Night of the Living Dead, Nightbreed, Predator 2, The Reflecting Skin, Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat, Tales from the Darkside: The Movie, Tremors, Two Evil Eyes, Arachnophobia

1991 – Body Parts, Cape Fear, The People under the Stairs, The Pit and the Pendulum, Popcorn, Scanners 2: The New Order, The Silence of the Lambs, Sometimes they Come Back

1992 – Army of Darkness, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Candyman, Demonic Toys, Dolly Dearest, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Innocent Blood, Sleepwalkers, Spilt Second, Man Bites Dog

1993 – Body Bags, Carnosaur, Cronos, The Dark Half, Leprechaun, Return of the Living Dead 3, Trauma, Kalifornia, Man’s Best Friend

1994 – Brainscan, Cemetery Man, The Crow, Death Machine, Hellbound, In The Mouth of Madness, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, The Stand, Wes Cravens New Nightmare, Wolf, Interview with the Vampire

1995 – Castle Freak, Demon Knight, Lord of Illusions, The Mangler, Mosquito, The Prophecy, Species, Village of the Damned, Screamers, Dolores Claiborne

1996 – Bad Moon, The Craft, The Frighteners, From Dusk till Dawn, Jack Frost, Scream, Tremors 2: Aftershocks, Mary Reilly

1997 – An American Werewolf in Paris, Anaconda, Campfire Tales, Cube, The Devils’ Advocate, Event Horizon, I know what you did last Summer, Mimic, The Night Flier, Nightwatch, The Relic, Quicksilver Highway, The Ugly, Wishmaster, Kiss the Girls, Se7en, Perfect Blue

1998 – Blade, Deep Rising, The Faculty, Ringu, Strangeland, Urban Legend, Vampires, Sphere

1999 – Audition, The Blair Witch Project, Deep Blue Sea, The Haunting, House on Haunted Hill, Lake Placid, The Mummy, Ravenous, Sleepy Hollow, Stigmata, Virus, The Sixth Sense, Idle Hands

2000 – American Psycho, Bless the Child, Blood: The Last Vampire, Cherry Falls, Final Destination, Ginger Snaps, Hollow Man, Ju-On, Pitch Black, Python, Versus, What Lies Beneath, The Gift, The Cell, Shadow of the Vampire

2001 – The Attic Expeditions, Brotherhood of the Wolf, Dagon, Jeepers Creepers, Mulholland Drive, The Others, Session 9, Thir13en Ghosts, The Devil’s Backbone, Frailty, From Hell, Hannibal

2002 – 28 Days Later, Blade 2, Bubba Ho-Tep, Cabin Fever, Dog Soldiers, Eight Legged Freaks, Ghost Ship, May, Queen of the Damned, Resident Evil, The Ring, They, The Mothman Prophecies, Red Dragon

2003 – Darkness Falls, Dream Catcher, Final Destination 2, Freddy Vs. Jason, Haute Tension, House of 1000 Corpses, A Tale of Two Sisters, Undead, Underwold, Willard, Wrong Turn

2004 – Alien Vs Predator, Club Dread, Dawn of the Dead, Dead & Breakfast, Exorcist: The Beginning, Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed, Godsend, Saw, Shaun of the Dead, The Village, Taking Lives, The Forgotten, Enduring Love

2005 – 2001 Maniacs, The Amityville Horror, Constantine, Dark Water, The Descent, The Devils’ Rejects, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, Land of the Dead, Wolf Creek, Hard Candy

2006 – Abominable, All the boys love Many Lane, Black Sheep, Fido, Final Destination 3, Hatchet, The Hills have Eyes, Slither, The Woods, The Host, Silent Hill, The Tripper, Wild Country

2007 – 28 Weeks Later, 30 Days of Night, 1408, Grindhouse, I am Legend, The Mist, My Name is Bruce, Nature of the Beast, Paranormal Activity, Primeval, REC, Skinwalkers, Teeth, Trick r’ Treat, An American Crime, Rogue, Funny Games

2008 – Book of Blood, Cloverfield, Deadgirl, Diary of the Dead, Let the right one in, The Midnight Meat Train, Mirrors, Quarantine, The Ruins, Splinter, The Strangers, Eden Lake, Outlander

2009 – Case 39, Grace, The Haunting in Connecticut, Heartless, The House of the Devil, Jennifer’s Body, The Loved Ones, Orphan, Pandorum, Splice, Triangle, Zombieland, Carriers, Dread

2010 – Black Swan, The Crazies, Exorcismus, Frozen, Insidious, The Last Exorcism, Let me in, Primal, Tucker & Dale Vs Evil, The Wolfman, Troll Hunter, Devil

2011 – The Awakening, Don’t be afraid of the Dark, The Innkeepers, Livid, The Thing, The Woman, The Rite

2012 – American Mary, Bait, The Cabin in the Woods, The Devil Inside, The Possession, Prometheus, Sinister, Byzantium, Compliance

2013 – The Conjuring, Evil Dead, Jug Face, Mama, Under the Skin, Only Lovers Left Alive, Warm Bodies, Horns, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, Contracted, Stoker

2014 – Annabelle, As Above So Below, The Babadook, Deliver us from Evil, A Girl walk home alone at Night, Life after Beth, Starry Eyes, Tusk, It Follows, Goodnight Mommy, The Voices, Digging up the Marrow, When Animals Dream, Gone Girl ,The Remaining, Late Phases, Cub

2015 – Crimson Peak, Krampus, The Lazarus Effect, Maggie, The Visit, The Witch, Bone Tomahawk, Green Room, Regression, The Devil’s Candy, The Lure

2016 – The Autopsy of Jane Doe, The Belko Experiment, The Boy, The Conjuring 2, Don’t Breathe, The Eyes of my Mother, Split, The Forest, The Love Witch, The Neon Demon, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Raw, Train to Busan, The Void, What We Become, 10 Cloverfield Lane, A Cure for Wellness, The Shallows, Pet, Hounds of Love

2017 – IT, Get Out, Mother!, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, The Ritual, Thelma, Veronica, It comes at Night, Life, Gerald’s Game, Revenge, 1922

2018 – Annihilation, Halloween, Hereditary, Mandy, Mom and Dad, The Nun, Overlord, Possum, A Quiet Place, Suspiria, The House that Jack Built, Bird Box, Apostle, The Meg

2019 – Brightburn, IT Chapter 2, Midsommar, Ready or Not, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Us, I am Mother, Crawl, The Dead Don’t Die, Extremely Wicked Shockingly Evil and Vile, Glass

#begita #Horror #I'll probably add more #but these are the ones that come to mind first off

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hayatranslates · 3 years

Photo

Fiction stories: from “once upon a time “to “Sci-Fi”

With the first “once upon a time” said by some teller gathering around a small crowed, entertaining them with his imagination. With every story, tales became an essential part of entertainment. From anecdotal tales passing on through generations, to fictional tales that are purely imaginative.

Stories became a way of entertaining as well as educating. For instance, stories of bravery are told in time of crisis and war, stories of brave soldiers as a way to give people hope. Furthermore, another type of story is told, stories of ordinary daily life, to cope with responsibilities. Folklore tales with humorous style, in which the protagonists is an ordinary person, that might be witty, or foolish and pedantic, in such stories the protagonist often uses tricks, wit or sometimes cunningness to avoid troubles and solve problems. Stories like, Juha, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, the adventures of Sindbad, and Aladdin.

Tales of pure imagination made children exited to lose their teeth, so a fairy would put money under their pillows as they sleep. Myths that terrified but also disciplined generations, and taught them not to mess around without their mothers, a myth such as, “Humarat Alqayla”, which literary translates to the donkey of the afternoon, a creature that has some part human and some donkey like that comes on hot afternoons to get disobedient kids, it originated in the Arabic gulf with some origins leading back to Najid, the image of that mythical creature is still present to those who were threatened by it, a story that they deny at times, and dread in another.

Fiction is considered as an attempt to answer pressing existential questions, this conclusion is clear in Mesopotamian myths, in the epic of Gilgamesh for instance, which is an epic poem that revolves around Gilgamesh, the son of an immortal goddess and a mortal human. The most intriguing aspect of this epic is that it is an attempt to understand human nature, as the story unfolds, Gilgamesh tries to understand life and death as a way to accept the inevitability of both as seeks his own immortality.

Using fictional stories to create a myth, a folk tale, has been and still is a way of education, of understanding, a way of self-discipline, as well as a coping mechanism to calm the dread of existence, while also serving the value of cultural legacies. All these myths and tales of dark ghost stores merging in human life, of tooth fairies that treat kids for not crying their lost teeth, is nothing but a glimpse of our curious nature, our imagination that is the gemstone of our intellectual capacity.

With all this huge collection of creative writing and imaginative abilities, we wonder about this genre of literature in our modern time. At the rise of technology there’s a great need for literature that discusses the latest inventions of modern-day science, topics such as, robots, artificial intelligence, space travel, time travel, etc.

Several novels of these topics have been published and critics called them “science fiction literature” which is a genre that caught the interest of readership, film directors, and cinema fans.

Looking at cinema we see examples such as, Theodor, the depressed letter writer in “Her” the story was written by Spike Jonze to represent the loneliness of Theodor’s life, who gets attached to Samantha, the artificial intelligence program with a feminine voice. She listens to him; she understands and knows him. Jones succeeded in depicting this complex and strange love story, as a science fictional prediction.

This mysterious film, although depressing and boring to some, has a serenity to it, a slow burn that overwhelms you with a clear feeling of being focused, as you watch these confused characters find and understand their crisis, their identity, and their limits.

“Theodore represents a futuristic Everyman, the result of human experience enshrouded and infused by technology. What promises to give us connection results in precisely the opposite — the illusion of relationships.” ― Spike Jonze

In 2050, which is a science fiction novel with a plot that revolves around the protagonist, M, an officer that struggles with his purpose in life, he seeks the companionship of a robotic doll, in a time that lacks human connection. M tries to find himself, in an attempt to understand the world he’s living in, as he wanders around overwhelmed with the huge world he lived in.

“The temperature was forty degrees, .. below zero. moderate.. what was called skyscrapers thirty years ago doesn’t compare to these massive buildings, M used to pay attention to them, even when he flew clouds and clouds above, he used to be surprised by one or two of those buildings, he doesn’t have to be cautious now, he knows the sky like the palm of his hands, no one flies on his lane, only him and authorised people, his car now danced between those skyscrapers until he reached a big building, it was a local machine doll company, he looked at the fifty feet glass frontier that projected a changing image of dolls, taking different faces bodies and voices every minute. He looked closer, the doll was talking to him, he deactivated his noise control, stood at the heart of the sky, listening. Hey there captain, you look like an important man.”. 2050

M here, wanders around like Gilgamesh in his epic, looking to calm this troubling need of answers, he feels lost, the same way Theodore is lost, between his letters, his attachment to Samantha with her softly spoken ways.

Are these emotions real? Are they just a matter of programming … while Samantha knows she is programmed with these emotions, M’s doll understands that her awareness of human emotions is not programmed but rather naturally obtained. “Do I exist?.... Like you living, am I a part of the world?”

Through fiction, and fiction only. We are able to reflect on our present, predict our future, with the goal of understanding ourselves, our values and behaviours. Fiction is the soul of literary work, and through fiction, readers reach imaginations beyond their own expectations. Through imagining only, the reader escapes the realms of reality to new horizons and endless possibilities of captivating worlds in which science, technology, myths, and legends are all intertwined.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

― Albert Einstein

References

Anonymous. (2009). 1001 Arabian nights - The complete adventures of Sindbad, Aladdin and Ali Baba - Special edition. Special Edition Books.

Watts, Linda S. (2007). Encyclopedia of American folklore. NY, NY, United States of America: Facts on file Inc. page 386. ISBN 0-8160-5699-4.

Mesopotamia. (2018, March 14). Retrieved from https://www.ancient.eu/Mesopotamia/

The epic of Gilgamesh. (1973). Penguin UK.

Jonze, S. (Director). (2013). Her [Motion picture].

Einstein, A., & Shaw, G. B. (1931). Einstein on cosmic religion and other opinions and aphorisms.

Mohammad Al-Ahmadi. (2020). 2050.

#articles #arabic literature #1001 arabian nights #imagination #science fiction #novels

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beatdisc · 5 years

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RSD 2019 LIST

Record Store Day, our favourite day! Because we love celebrating with all our beloved regular customers and new friends. This year we're planning to make it the biggest and best day ever! Here's what's happening this year. > HUGE RANGE OF RSD EXCLUSIVE RELEASES (list below) < > LIMITED EDITION BEATDISC COFFEE MUG! < > 500+ OF PRE-OWNED LPs HITTING THE RACKS < > THOUSANDS OF 45s & CDs FROM THE ARCHIVE ** < > 20% OFF AUDIO-TECHNICA TURNTABLES (2019 RANGE) ** < > TWO A-T LP60 TURNTABLES TO WIN < > MARK-DOWNS** GIVEAWAYS, PIZZA, PARTY! < > COFFEE VAN FROM 6AM (see below) < ** = SAT & SUN

OUR LIST OF RSD EXCLUSIVE TITLES

This year we have 192 TITLES! A few things to note for the morning rush. If you're here first thing please join the line and we'll serve everyone in order. One copy per RSD title per person & no holds. AUS LIST TITLES Bob Evans - Suburban Songbook [LP] Broderick Smith – Suitcase [LP] Jebediah - Of Someday Shambles [2LP] Johnny Diesel & The Injectors - Johnny Diesel & The Injectors [2LP] The Amity Affliction – Youngbloods [LP] The Birthday Party - Mutiny/Bad Seed [2LP] The Hard Ons - Harder & Harder [7”] The Loved Ones - Magic Box [LP] The Mint Chicks - Screens [LP] The Reels - The Reels [LP] US LIST TITLES Ace Frehley - Spaceman [LP] Adrenalin O.D. - Let's BBQ [LP] Alien Weaponry - Tu [LP+7''] Anderson .Paak - Bubblin' [7''] Angelo Badalamenti, David Lynch - Twin Peaks: Season Two Music And More [2LP] Aretha Franklin - The Atlantic Singles 1967 [5x7'' Boxset] AxCx (Anal C**t) - Picnic Of Love [LP] B-52's, The - Mesopotamia [LP] Bad Religion - My Sanity [7''] Basement - Be Here Now [7''] Benjamin Gibbard - Me And Magdalena / The Concept [7''] Bill Hicks - Revelations: Variations [2LP] Billy Joel - Live At Carnegie Hall 1977 [2LP] Bingo Hand Job (R.E.M. w/ Bragg, Hitchcock & Holsapple) - Live At The Borderline 1991 [2LP] Bone Thugs-N-Harmony - E. 1999 Eternal [2LP] Broken Social Scene - Let's Try The After Vol. 1 & 2 [LP] Buari - Buari [LP] Buffalo Tom - Buffalo Tom (30th Anniversary) [LP] Canned Heat - Remember Woodstock [LP] Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band - Trout Mask Replica [2LP] Charlatans, The - Us And Us Only [LP] Chris Robinson Brotherhood - Dice Game And Let It Fall [10'' Chuck Mosley - Joe Haze Session #2 [7''] Courtney Barnett - Everybody Here Hates You [12''] Craig Mack & The Notorious B.I.G. - B.I.G. Mack (Original Sampler) [LP+Cassette] Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - 4 Way Street (Expanded Edition) [3LP] Culture - The Nighthawk Recordings [LP] Curren$y, Freddie Gibbs and The Alchemist - Fetti [LP] Czarface - Double Dose Of Danger [LP] David Bowie - Pin Ups (2015 Remastered Version) [LP] David Bowie - The World Of David Bowie (Compilation) [LP] David Bowie / Marlene Dietrich - Revolutionary Song / Just A Gigolo [7''] Death Grips - Steroids (Crouching Tiger Hidden Gabber Megamix) [LP] Def Leppard - The Story So Far, Vol. 2 / B Sides [2LP] Desmond Dekker & The Aces - Pretty Africa [LP] Devo - This Is The DEVO Box [6LP] Doors, The - London Fog [10''] Dr. Dog - Live 2 [LP] Dr. Dre - Nuthin' But A ''G'' Thang [12''] Duran Duran - As The Lights Go Down (Live) [2LP] Ed O.G. & Da Bulldogs - Life Of A Kid In The Ghetto [LP] Elton John - Live From Moscow [2LP] Elvis Costello & The Imposters - Purse EP [LP] Elvis Presley - Live At The International Hotel, Las Vegas, NV August 23, 1969 [2LP] Eric Clapton - One More Car One More Rider [3LP] Fatlip - The Loneliest Punk [LP] Flaming Lips, The - King's Mouth: Music And Songs [LP] Fleetwood Mac - The Alternate Fleetwood Mac [LP] Frank Black - Frank Black [LP] Frank Black - Teenager Of The Year [2LP] Frank Zappa - The Guitar World According To Frank Zappa [LP] Golden Earring - Moontan [LP] Gorillaz - The Fall [LP] Grateful Dead - The Warfield, San Francisco, CA 10/9/80 [2LP] Green Day - Woodstock 1994 Live [LP] Green Jelly - Cereal Killer Soundtrack [LP] Green River - Live At The Tropicana 1984 [LP] Greta Van Fleet - From The Fires [LP] Hawkwind - The 1999 Party: Live At The Chicago Auditorium 21st March, 1974 [2LP] High On Fire - Bat Salad [LP] Hockey Dad - Dreamin' [LP] Idles - Meat / Meta [EP] Iggy Pop - Hippodrome - Paris 77 [2LP] Iggy Pop - The Villagers b/w Pain & Suffering [7''] Insurgence DC - Broken In The Theater Of The Absurd [LP] James Brown - Sho Is Funky Down Here [LP] Janis Joplin - Woodstock Sunday August 17, 1969 [2LP] Jeff Buckley - In Transition [LP] Jeff Tweedy - WARMER [LP] Jethro Tull - North Sea Oil [10''] Joe Strummer - The Rockfield Studio Tracks [12''] John Cage Meets Sun Ra - John Cage Meets Sun Ra: The Complete Film [7''+DVD] John Lennon - Imagine: The Raw Studio Mixes [2LP] Julien Baker - Red Door / Conversation Piece [7''] Justin Courtney Pierre (frontman of Motion City Soundtrack) - Open Mic At The Lo-Fi Vol. 1 [LP] Kooks, The - Live At The Moth Club [LP] Kool Keith - Complicated Trip [12''] Kristin Hersh - Crooked [LP] L7 - Burn Baby [7''] Lemonheads, The - Can't Forget / Wild Child [7''] Lou Reed - Ecstasy [2LP] Louis Armstrong - Disney Songs The Satchmo Way [LP] Madonna - La Isla Bonita: Super Mix [LP] Madonna - True Blue (Super Club Mix) [LP] Mark Lanegan Band - Stitch It Up [7''] Mark Ronson - Nothing Breaks Like A Heart [12''] Mastodon - Stairway To Nick John [10''] Matthew Sweet - Pleasure Island, Live [LP] Menzingers, The - No Penance b/w Cemetery's Garden [7''] Midnight Oil - Breathe Tour '97, Live [LP] Mission Of Burma - Peking Spring [LP] Mo-dettes, The The Story So Far [LP] Monty Python - Monty Python's Life Of Brian [LP] Morrissey - Lover-To-Be [7''] Moses Sumney - Black In Deep Red, 2014 [12''] Motorhead - Overkill / Bomber [2x7''] Motorhead - Rockaway Beach [7''] Mumford & Sons - Delta Acoustic Sessions | Live From Electric Lady [10''] My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade Is Dead! [2LP] Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds - Wait & Return [LP] Ol' Dirty Bastard - Intoxicated [LP] Olafur Arnalds - Re:member + String Quartets [LP+7''] Otis Redding w/Booker T. & The M.G.'s + The Mar-Keys - Just Do It One More Time! Live At The Monterey Pop Festival [LP] Parliaments, The - Baby I Owe You Something Good [LP] Pearl Jam - Live At Easy Street [LP] Pelican - Midnight & Mesaline [7''] Peter Howell & John Ferdinando - Ithaca, Agincourt And Other Psych-Folk Fairy Tales [2LP+CD] Pink Floyd - A Saucerful Of Secrets (Mono) [LP] Police, The - Message In A Bottle [2x7''] Prince - His Majesty's Pop Life / The Purple Mix Club [2LP] Procol Harum - Procol Harum (50th Anniversary USA Edition) [2LP] Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody (Soundtrack) [2LP] Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody / I'm In Love With My Car [7''] Ramones, The - Live At The Palladium, New York, NY (12/31/79) [2LP] Robert Johnson - Kind Hearted Woman Blues / Terraplane Blues [10''] Robyn - Body Talk [2LP] Rolling Stones, The - Big Hits (High Tide And Green Grass) (UK) [LP] Rolling Stones, The - She’s A Rainbow / Live At U Arena, Paris / 25.10.17 [10''] Rolling Stones, The - Through The Past, Darkly (Big Hits Vol. 2) (UK) [LP] Roxy Music - Roxy Music - Remixed [2LP] RZA - Birth Of A Prince [2LP] Salvation Army, The - Live From Torrance And Beyond [LP] Santigold - I Don't Want: The Gold Fire Sessions [LP] Serj Tankian - Harakiri [LP] Sherman Brothers, The - Simply Sherman: Disney Hits From The Sherman Brothers [LP] Shocking Blue - Single Collection (A's & B's), Part 2 [2LP] Sly & The Family Stone - Woodstock Sunday August 17, 1969 [2LP] Soccer Mommy - For Young Hearts [LP] Sublime - Nugs: Best Of The Box [LP] SUNN O))) - Life Metal [2LP] Tangerine Dream - Le Parc [2LP] Tangerine Dream - Machu Picchu [LP] Ten In The Swear Jar (Xiu Xiu) - Fort Awesome: Complete Recordings [2LP] Teyana Taylor - Gonna Love Me / WTP (Remixes) [12''] Thrice - Deeper Wells [LP] Todd Rundgren - The Complete U.S. Bearsville & Warner Bros. Singles [4LP] Too $hort - The Pimp Tape [2LP] Townes Van Zandt - The Best Of Townes Van Zandt [2LP] U2 - The Europa [LP] Van Morrison - Astral Weeks Alternative [10''] Various Artists - Boy Meets Girl: Classic Stax Duets [2LP] Various Artists - Brazil Classics 30th Anniversary Box Set [3LP] Various Artists - Coneheads (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Folk And Pop Sounds Of Sumatra Vol. 2 [2LP] Various Artists - Ghost World (Soundtrack) [2LP] Various Artists - I Am Sam (Soundtrack) [LP Various Artists - Lost In Translation (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Malcom X (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Mickey Mouse Disco [LP] Various Artists - New Jack City (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Office Space (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Poppies: Assorted Finery From The First Psychedelic Age [LP] Various Artists - Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions Of Weezer [LP] Various Artists - South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (Soundtrack) [2LP] Various Artists - Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse (Soundtrack) [LP] Various Artists - Stax Does The Beatles [2LP] Various Artists - Sugar Hill Records: The 12'' D.J. Boxset [6x12'' Boxset] Various Artists - The Crow (Soundtrack) [2LP] Various Artists - Where The Action Is! Los Angeles Nuggets Highlights [2LP] Various Artists - Woodstock 3 Days Of Peace Music (Mono PA Version) [3LP] Violent Femmes - Hallowed Ground [LP] Vitamin String Quartet - VSQ Performs Bjork [2LP] Weezer - Dusty Gems: The B-Sides [LP] Weezer - Weezer (Teal Album) [LP] Wes Montgomery - Back On Indiana Avenue: The Carroll DeCamp Recordings [2LP] Wipers, The - Alien Boy [7'' EP] Wonder Years, The - The Wonder Years Live From Maida Vale [10''] Yes - Yes [LP] UK LIST TITLES Dexys Midnight Runners - At The BBC 1982 [2LP] Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five - The Message [2LP] Mighty Boosh - The Complete Radio Series [3LP] Ronnie Lane & The Band Slim Chance - At The BBC [2LP] Sigur Ros - Lunar Halo 22° [LP] Sigur Ros - Variations In Darkness [LP] Thin Lizzy - Black Rose [2LP] Various Artists - The Freakbeat Scene [2LP] Various Artists - The Mod Scene [2LP] Various Artists - The Northern Soul Scene [2LP] Various Artists - The Psychedelic Scene [2LP] Various Artists - The R&B Scene [2LP] Venom - Manitou [7" picture disc] Yazoo - Reconnected: Live [2LP]

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docrotten · 3 years

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DARK NIGHT OF THE SCARECROW (1981) – Episode 183 – Decades of Horror 1980s

"Official? Who do you think you are? The only thing official you've ever done is lick stamps! Now get off my place!" That should get rid of Otis P. Hazelrigg, right? Join your faithful Grue-Crew - Crystal Cleveland, Chad Hunt, Bill Mulligan, and Jeff Mohr - as they watch a misguided band of vigilantes get their just deserts in Frank De Felitta’s Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981).

Decades of Horror 1980s Episode 183 – Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

In a small Southern town, a wrongfully killed man exacts revenge from beyond the grave on those who murdered him.

IMDb

Director: Frank De Felitta

Writers: J.D. Feigelson (teleplay) (story), Butler Handcock (story)

Cast

Charles Durning as Otis P. Hazelrigg

Robert F. Lyons as Skeeter Norris

Claude Earl Jones as Philby

Lane Smith as Harliss Hocker

Tonya Crowe as Marylee Williams

Larry Drake as Bubba Ritter

Jocelyn Brando as Mrs. Ritter

Tom Taylor as D.A. Sam Willock

Richard McKenzie as Judge Henry

Ivy Jones as Mrs. Willams

James Tartan as Mr. Williams (as Jim Tartan)

Ed Call as Defense Attorney

Alice Nunn as Mrs. Bunch

John Steadman as Mr. Loomis

Ivy Bethune as Mrs. Hocker

Dennis Robertson as Ray

Jetta Scelza as Mrs. Whimberly

Robert J. Koster as the Scarecrow (uncredited)

Jeff originally chose The Nest (1987) for this episode but it was not to be. Instead, based on recommendations from several Grue-Believers, he opted for Dark Night of the Scarecrow, a Halloween TV movie directed by Frank De Felitta. Unfortunately, Crystal did not get the message about the movie switch because Jeff neglected to correct the Grue-Crew’s calendar. Doh! Even so, she contributes with questions about Dark Night of the Scarecrow’s story and comments on the excellent cast in this film.

The music is perfect, according to Jeff, and though there isn’t much for onscreen gore, the implied violence in Dark Night of the Scarecrow is chilling. In fact, he watched the film three times and liked it better each time. Bill instantly got into it, calling it his favorite horror-related TV-movie (after The Nightstalker (1972), of course), and he crows about the beautiful print resulting from the restoration for the Blu-ray edition. Dark Night of the Scarecrow is a happy surprise for Bill and he highly recommends it. The only one of the Grue-Crew who saw Dark Night of the Scarecrow when it first ran on TV is Chad and he compares it to an extended episode of Tales from the Crypt (1989-1996). This time around, he reveled in the darker undertones he didn’t pick up as a kid and loves the ambiguous conclusion. Chad, Bill, and Jeff all loved the direct cut from the woodchipper to Large Marge (actually Alice Nunn as Mrs. Bunch) dropping a large dollop of red jam onto a white plate.

Your Decades of Horror 1970s Grue-Crew highly recommends Dark Night of the Scarecrow. The film is currently available for streaming on Amazon Prime and on physical media as a Blu-ray from VCI Video.

Every two weeks, Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1980s podcast will cover another horror film from the 1980s. The next episode’s film, chosen by Bill will be Lucio Fulci’s The Black Cat (1981). You won’t want to miss that one!

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: leave them a message or leave a comment on the Gruesome Magazine Youtube channel, on the website or email the Decades of Horror 1980s podcast hosts at [email protected]

Check out this episode!

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blogkrunchieee · 3 years

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The Perfect Storm

I. Trivia about the perfect storm Sebastian Junger wrote a best-selling book about the horrific true story of a confluence of storms devastating the Andrea Gail and its crew off the coast of Gloucester, Massachusetts. Then it became a hit film starring George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, John C. Reilly, and Diane Lane, which was released 15 years ago today. Hurricane Grace's remnants created the storm in the film in late October and early November 1991. None of the fish in the film were real; they were either rubber (dead fish) or animatronic (animated fish) (alive fish). Wolfgang Petersen, the director, is an animal rights activist. As George Clooney narrates the film at the end, he says, "Blow your air horn and you throw a wave to the lighthouse keeper's kid on Thacher Island." The lighthouse seen in this scene is actually The Eastern Point Lighthouse, not Thacher Island's. The Twin Lighthouses on Thacher Island are nothing like the ones depicted in the movie.

II. CAST OF CHARACTERS & DIRECTOR

Wolfgang Petersen the director of the movie “The Perfect Storm”.

G.Michael Ironside as “Bob Brown” the Andrea Gail is owned by Bob Brown. Despite his success as a self-made businessman, Gloucester residents have nicknamed Bob "Suicide Bob" for his penchant for taking risks while fishing.

George Clooney as “Billy Tyne” as captain of the Andrea Gail from Charlie Reed. Billy grew up in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Billy, a divorced father of two, is one of those rare fishermen who loves what he does.

Mark Wahlberg as “Bobby Shatford” is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. Bobby was raised in Gloucester, Massachusetts, by his mother, Ethel. He was engaged to Chris Cotter at the time of the boat’s last voyage. He is divorced from his ex-wife, with whom he has two daughters. He wanted to take a job on the Andrea Gail to help pay off his expenses after being brought to court for non-payment of child care.

John C. Reilly as “Dale “Murph” Murphy”. Murph is one of the Andrea Gail’s crew members. He is 30 years old and hails from Bradenton Beach, Florida. He adores his three-year-old son Dale and his ex-wife Debra. He buys his son toys as one of the last items he does before embarking on Andrea Gail's final adventure.

Allen Payne as “Alfred Pierre”. Alfred Pierre is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. He was the ship's only black crew member, having been born in Jamaica and raised in New York City

F.William Fichtner as “David Sullivan”. Andrea Gail’s crew member when another fisherman accidentally pulled out, he signed up for the trip at the last minute.

John Hawkes as “Michael “Bugsy” Moran Bugsy”. Moran is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. In Gloucester, he has long hair and a wild reputation. During the storm, he, along with the rest of the crew, disappears.

Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as “Linda Greenlaw”. Linda is the captain of the Hannah Boden, the Andrea Gail’s sister boat, which is also owned by Bob Brown.

Diane Lane as “Christina Cotter “. Bobby Shatford’s fiancée is Chris Cotter. She is in her early forties when The Perfect Storm takes place. She is divorced and has three children from a previous marriage. Chris is distressed by Bobby's fishing trips, and she drinks to cope with his long absences.

Christopher McDonal as “Todd Gross” a Boston meteorologist for WNEV-TV.

Sebastian Junger the Perfect Storm is written by Sebastian Junger. Since witnessing the storm's damage firsthand and reading a news story about the Andrea Gail's supposed demise.

III. Summary of The Perfect Storm Five fishermen and their captain boarded the Andrea Gail, a long liner boat used for sword fishing, in A True Tale of Men Against the Sea. Their intention was to sail from Gloucester, Massachusetts, to the Grand Banks off the coast of New England. Each fisherman planned to earn up to $5,000 depending on how many fish he caught. Bobby Shatford and Albert Pierre are the only two fishermen who have a girlfriend. They spend the days leading up to the trip saying their final farewells. The others are mainly loners who say their goodbyes to fellow fishermen at a nearby bar named "The Crow's Nest." Two of the men decide not to board the Andrea Gail at the last minute because they both have a bad feeling about the trip. Even though the crew is putting in twenty-hour workdays, the fishing yields nothing for their efforts over the first three weeks. The captain, Billy Tyne, is ready to return to Gloucester. He seeks assistance from his sister ship, the Hannah Boden, the only female-helmed fishing vessel. After a few days of successful fishing, the Andrea Gail is filled with 40,000 pounds of sword fish – enough to make it financially viable to return home. Storms in the Grand Banks are notoriously dangerous during the last week of October. The Banks are a shelter for thriving marine life, but they are also notorious for gale force winds and hurricanes. On October 27, the National Weather Service issued an alert that a major storm system was forming. And seasoned meteorologists are amazed and excited by this storm. Three weather systems appear to be convergent and would form "the perfect storm." A storm that occurs only once every hundred years or so. On the Hannah Boden, Captain Linda Green law warns Billy Tyne of the impending storm. He continues to continue driving home, despite the fact that he will be in the path of the bad weather. His ice machine is broken, and if he does not return home, his fish will spoil in a matter of days. Tyne meets with Tommy Barrie, the Allison's captain, and is never seen or heard from again. Green law discovers barrels labeled "AG" three weeks later when the Andrea Gail washes up on Sable Island. The ship most likely sunk after being struck by a monster wave. After two weeks, searchers called it quits on finding the Andrea Gail. The Perfect Storm is filled with nautical knowledge about ocean waves, storms, marine life, and shipbuilding. It also offers a comprehensive overview of the New England fishing industry, as well as a look at the subculture of fishermen and their villages.

IV. Review The Perfect Storm is very well example of a sensational film. It's about ships being knocked around by a violent storm. The film lacks complex and engaging characters, but they are not needed. It does not tell a complex story and does not need to; the key events are revealed to the majority of the audience before the film starts. All is dependent on the storm. I won't deny that I was enthralled. We hear about the economic strains on the sword fishing industry, we meet the crew members and their women, we learn a bit about their stories, and then the film is about the ship, the hurricane, and the people waiting for news in port. A parallel story about a luxury sailboat in distress heightens the suspense even further. The Andrea Gail's crew members are a mishmash of standard movie styles. We have Captain Billy Tyne (George Clooney), whose pride has been wounded because his catch has lagged this season. Bobby Shatford (Mark Wahlberg), who is in love with Diane Lane; Murph (John C. Reilly), whose seafaring life has resulted in a pleasant yet sad separation from his wife and son; Bugsy (John Hawkes), the type of character who gets overlooked in crowds; Alfred Pierre (Allen Payne), a Jamaican who has traveled into northern waters for the paycheck; and a last-minute addition, Sully is an abbreviation for Sully (William Fichtner). He and Murph don't get along. What's the harm? Jealousy over Murph's mom, according to the film. My assumption is that the story would benefit from onboard tension. We just think about their outward signs and characteristics; we don't know or care what makes them tick. That isn't a fatal flaw in the film because "The Perfect Storm" is about the storm, not the people. Except for urgently yelled words, the film's best scenes are largely devoid of dialogue. They are about men who are caught in a whirlwind of overwhelming powers. They respond heroically because they have no choice; they are not heroes; their motivation is necessity. They had a bad season, made one last risky journey, and ventured beyond the familiar Grand Banks fishing grounds to the perilous Flemish Cap. Quentin, the salty old dog who sits at the bar in Gloucester and offers color commentary, fills us in: "I was last there in '62." There are a lot of fish. There is a lot of weather.” They have good fortune: A swordfish catch weighing 60,000 pounds. And disaster strikes: the ice machine fails. If they return to port soon, the catch will spoil. A storm is brewing, according to reports. Billy lays out their options: "We can either hang out here or say screw it and drive on through." The crew decides to ride out the storm and earn their paychecks. Of course, they have no idea how severe the storm is, and when another fishing boat skipper, Linda Greenlaw, attempts to inform them, their antenna has blown overboard. Scenes at sea compete with scenes in the pub, which appears to be frequented by the majority of the Gloucester fishing industry and is conveniently situated right at the end of the dock. This is about right; I have no doubt that during a hurricane, the owners, retired sailors, mothers, girlfriends, and drinking buddies all stand watch in a saloon, ordering rounds and watching the Weather Channel. There are fantastic set pieces even before the hurricane, such as when Murph is yanked overboard by a fishing line and two men dive in to save him (Sully, his enemy, is the first in the water). The ordeal of two ships trapped in a storm, however, is at the heart of the film. The skipper tries to cut loose and anchor as the men of the Andrea Gail fight wearily against their fate. He clings to a swaying beam while carrying an acetylene torch; it's a miracle he doesn't burn a hole in himself in the process. The parallel story involving a Coast Guard rescue of the sailboat is even more thrilling. A passenger (Cherry Jones) begs the ship's owner (Bob Gunton) to take the ship to safer waters, but he is a pigheaded millionaire yachtsman with little regard for nature. A helicopter rescue is attempted, and the tension increases as the chopper attempts to continue to the Andrea Gail, a mid-air refueling is attempted, and finally men risk their lives in what appears to be a doomed battle (at one point, a Guardsman who is safe goes back into the sea after a crew mate). We understand mentally that we are watching special effects. Tanks and wind turbines are included, as well as computer graphics and models. This isn't important. The story's momentum propels us forward, and by the end of the film, I was drained. It's possible to condemn the shady characters, but doing so is pointless. The film portrays the harrowing experience of battling for your life in a small boat in a massive storm. If that's what you're looking for, you'll see it done just as good as it can be done here.

V. Reaction The first time I watched the movie “The Perfect Storm,” I felt happy and relaxed because I saw people out there excited to see their love once again, but by the middle of the film, I started to feel weird and anxious about what would happen to the fisherman's. Before the hurricane struck, I was anxious and shocked at how unpredictable my reaction was. It occurred to me that what if I encountered something similar to that hurricane? I thought my tears would fall before the boat sunk and the six fisherman were lost and dead, but I only suppressed them. Hands down to the cast and director, this is one of the best movies for anybody who wants to cross the sea to see what life is like for fishermen.

VI. Lessons Learned The movie "The Perfect Storm" taught me that none of us know if we would be alive tomorrow. Life is too short to not make the most of each day. Take some time each day to focus on how fortunate you are to be alive. Don't be afraid to pursue your passions; you could just save someone's life one day. Life is full of surprises and ups and downs, but note that you never know what tomorrow will bring.

VII. Reference

Junger, S. (1997). The perfect storm: A true story of men against the sea. New York: Norton.

Gardiner, S. M. (2011). The perfect storm: The ethical tragedy of climate change. New York: Oxford University Press.

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starlighttales · 1 year

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Starlight Tales Campaign Timeline

We've got some new faces in the crowd who are journeying the Astral Sea with us for the first time, so here's a helpful campaign timeline so you know what happened and when! We try to keep our campaigns as beginner-friendly as possible so viewers can dive in to whatever game strikes their fancy!

#starlight tales #tales from the starlight ocean #tales from the hearth #tales from beyond #crow lane #starfarers #ant farm #ttrpg #dnd #queer

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sussex-nature-lover · 3 years

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Sunday 27th December 2020

What Have We Seen?

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When I was a little girl, as an only child, my Christmas Day evening and the days afterwards were spent diligently writing. It was all about the Thank You cards and filling in my new diary (remember them?) This year the house has been equally quiet, just me and Crow and it set me thinking that as I’ve been using this Blog as a kind of journal, documenting our weekly life, I should try and make a definitive list of all the birds we’ve seen in our Sussex garden and on our walks straight out of the front door, all within half an hour’s gentle amble. I’m going to include birds seen flying overhead as well as in the trees and on the ground.

As of the 30 November 2020 update, the British lists of species seen stands at 622, so we have a very long way to go.

The UK List from the British Ornithologists’ Union - check the site for further qualifications on the categories below.

Now yesterday was a super exciting day for us here and we didn’t even leave the house. It wasn’t to do with forgotten Christmas presents or stuffing ourselves with left overs either.

I’d got this Blog entry partly drafted out (and annoyingly lost everything I wrote earlier, so am having to start again, boo hoo) but I’m going to take the opportunity to start at the end instead of the beginning.

You might remember that last week I reported seeing a Tree Creeper for the first time. I used an illustration as I just didn’t manage to get a photo. After a shout out on Twitter two friends supplied me with personal pictures and said I could use them. Here’s one and the other will be showcased again soon. It’s great to be able to use friends’ photos if I haven’t got one rather than rely on the reference sites.

Tree Creeper in Sefton Park by Dave Edwards ‘ Lifelong LFC Fan. Proud Scouser. Lakeland walker, lover of all wildlife. Photography lover’ Thanks Dave

Yesterday morning I was looking out of a front bedroom window and could tell there was a huge amount of activity in the field across the lane (Babs the Buzzard’s Field) but this time it was tiny activity, dwarfed by the Rooks and Crows over there.

First off there was a big flock of Pied Wagtails. I’d guesstimate more than 20. The most I’ve ever seen before (in Real Life) would be eight or nine. They were really, really busy little birds. Lovely.

They’re quite hard to make out and were over a fair area. I just wanted to offer a bit of proof I hadn’t seen about four and told a Fisherman’s Tale.

Peer closely and they are there I promise

Then I noticed that right at the back along the tree line where the Deer usually linger, what might have been leaves blowing in the wind, was actually something totally different.

I do believe (and my Guru will soon put me right if I’m mistaken) that there was a huge number of both Redwing (above) and Fieldfare (below) - the so called Winter Thrushes.

Link includes video which gives you more of an idea what I saw.

They were hard to snap as well because they were so active, leaping up on the wing and dancing about.

What I’ve lost in clarity I’ve gained by showing scale

We’ve never seen either of these birds for ourselves before, so that’s another first - three within a week or thereabouts.

BUT...We weren’t done yet - brace yourselves.

I was on the phone to Ms NW tE and didn’t have the binoculars to hand. A huge bird caught my eye. The Heron? Oooh, no, TWO huge birds and then a third smaller bird flying behind.

I managed to get a very poor photo with which to tease my Guru. I actually gave him the pic that looked like a spec of dust on the screen, but he knows my modus operandi by now and politely enquired if I had anything a little better? Tee Hee.

Still not the best, but I offered up what I have. Through a process of enquiry and thought, we identified what the two large birds are. See Link Here.

RECONNECTING PEOPLE AND LANDSCAPES

A group of private landowners and nature conservation organisations are working together to help the white stork return home to South East England for the first time in several hundred years.

These large birds, symbolic of rebirth, are native to the British Isles and evidence suggests that they were once widely distributed. Whilst it is unclear why this spectacular and sociable bird failed to survive in Britain, it is likely that a combination of habitat loss, over-hunting and targeted persecution all contributed to their decline. A contributory factor may be that it was persecuted in the English Civil War for being associated with rebellion. The white stork is a migratory bird species, and there have been many sightings in the UK over recent years, but conservationists identified that the species would need a helping hand to re-establish a breeding population in Britain.

Read more at The White Stork Project

I think we agreed there’s no doubt as the project is 4-5 miles away by road and a friend from another nearby village also confirmed sightings here last week (of several, circling) I wish I’d known.

To say that I am BEYOND EXCITED (yes - shouting, sorry) is an understatement. This was our first sighting and now we know, we’ll definitely be on the look out. Sometimes I find it hard to identify a new bird because it just doesn’t occur to me that I’m going to see something unusual - which is odd because I do know the science and always advise other people that you just don’t know what’s out there. My mind boggles at all the spottings I’ve missed because I wasn’t looking out at the right time...but then sometimes you just get lucky.

I’ve only ever seen a Stork in real life once before and that was in South Africa. I’ll embarrass myself here and confess that neither of us thought it was real. We came straight out of the Lodge (in the open Land Rover) with our Ranger and Tracker and there it was. We actually thought someone had made a giant painted cut out as some kind of way marker.

Saddle Billed Stork at 5′ approx, the tallest Stork in the world, with a wing span of between 8-9′ Incredible. Click link for all the details

To be fair to us that was in the fairly early days of our interest in bird watching and they are usually shy and somewhat reclusive.

So that’s four new to us sightings within a week or 10 days. What an end to the year that is, not that it’s over yet. I’ll sign off now and start over on the full Sightings Blog that I’d written earlier. Back to Square One it is.

LOCAL NEWS:

Just down the lane this morning. The post and wire fence on the right is where I took the Goldfinch photos in the Summer. Luckily our house is on a slope down from the village towards this point. Apparently the roads all around are flooded, some can’t be used at all and it goes as far as St Leonard’s (towards the coast)

Photo Credit: a fellow villager

And a couple of villages along, a friend’s view at the end of the garden - there is no river there as a rule.

Photo credit: friend * permission has been requested. Will remove if not forthcoming

NOTE FROM LAST NIGHT’S KITCHEN:

I was quite the Domestic Goddess. We have some beautiful large Majool Dates. They were £4 for two packs on offer from Morrisons.

I really recommend you read that link.

I made a slit in them and inserted a Pistachio Nut and drizzled some melted dark chocolate over them, sprinkling it before it set with some more finely chopped nuts.

I was also prepping on the off-chance our power got cut off later because of Storm Bella revving up outside. There’s been some awful flooding around the country and I could hear high winds. I slept with ear plugs in last night, which did help, but woke about 6ish and my goodness it was still raging. There are rail and road disruptions all over and goodness knows what it was like out at sea. A friend said around Brixham container ships and an empty cruise liner were clinging in close to shore for what shelter they could get. It’s around 9am as I type and it just about seems to be calming down here.

More weather reports.

I’d got some cous cous with mixed spices and so we made that up, steamed some plain potatoes to make into a potato salad with chives from the freezer and have been making my favourite olive and preserved lemon Tagine recipe, which has been marinating for a day already.

I got that all ready for an emergency reserve supper but as it happened we were ok. The camping stove was on standby, but it wasn’t needed. Phew. Pity the hundreds of people who did lose power though

Decoration from the Standen Courtyard Christmas Trees

a colourful hand crafted tree with leaves and blossom - very cheery for a dull day

Today’s Carol from the Vienna Boys’ Choir

with the London Symphony Orchestra

‘Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly’

youtube

#nature photography garden birds ornithology #Storks Saddleback Stork carols supper #flooding

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Sailing in Treacherous Waters to Alaska. With Toddlers for Crew.

This was the third time I’d sailed up the Inside Passage in a boat. The third time I’d watched surf explode from the rocky headlands of northern Vancouver Island, the swell rhythmically shifting my view of the horizon. The umpteenth time I’d listened to the weather forecast on the VHF radio while gulls catapulted past me in the wind. But it was the first time I’d done a trip like this with young children on board.

Last June, in the lengthening days of summer, my husband, Pat, and I launched north from Bellingham, Wash., on a 32-foot sailboat with our sons for crew. In 15 years together, we’d learned that we were happiest when we were outdoors; now, we were applying these same lessons as a family. We set out, like we had so many times before, in search of wilderness, adventure, and the thrill that comes when we push beyond our comfort zones. Under the tutelage of a barely-4-year-old and a not-quite-2-year-old, in a floating home the size of a child’s bedroom, we soon discovered that the best rewards were those we’d never imagined.

“Mommy, when I pee in the ocean it gets fuller,” Huxley announced. My older son gazed back at me with serious dark eyes as he shared his latest observation. With one hand, I held onto the back of his life jacket while he relieved himself over the lifeline of our sailboat; with the other arm, I balanced my younger son on my bent knee. Pat was adjusting the sails while keeping watch for a flailing child. We juggled between single-handing the boat and managing kids. Each shift, Pat and I drew straws. The winner got the boat.

But on this day, I was the lucky one. As I helped Huxley pull up his rain pants, a humpback whale surfaced 40 feet from us. Huxley heard the whale before he saw it; his eyes widening at the whale’s loud “whoosh” as he turned instinctively toward the sound. Grinning, he pointed to its enormous silvery back as a plume of breath rose into the sky. So close I could make out the barnacles and unique markings on its skin, I held my boys tight and we peered together into a magical, underwater world. A moment later, the whale was gone, leaving only a stream of bubbles in its wake.

Once we’d finished with bathroom duties and whale watching, we moved on to our next task: breakfast. The boys sat in the boat’s cockpit gripping their steaming bowls of oatmeal, trusting us, and the universe, to watch over them. Our sails stood full and proud in the south breeze that blew steadily from behind. In the gently rolling sea we listed back and forth, our mast dancing against the steely gray sky. For my two sons, clad in yellow and orange rain pants and matching blue jackets, this was just another ordinary day. Like most children, they accepted the world as it came, even if it meant eating breakfast with a whale in the rain.

“Look, daddy, gull!” Huxley yelled.

“Dook, daddy, dull!” Dawson echoed. The boys pointed to a flock of mew gulls foraging near our boat, taking turns plucking tiny silver fish from the frothy surface. The birds played rather than battled with the wind, catching the edge of a gust with one silvery wing, dipping the other to bank steeply as they circled and dove. It was a lesson in the basic laws of physics balanced against the magical principles of flight. The boys laughed and shouted as they watched the birds whirl around us. Dawson tried to stand up for a better view. Instead, he toppled over and Pat caught him by the strap of his life jacket before he landed on his brother. The oatmeal ended up in a pile at our feet.

So far, it had been a typical toddler morning: spilled food, a few tears, an argument about who got the orange polka-dot bowl. We were short on sleep, like most parents are, as we juggled tasks to get ready for the day. The key difference was in the setting. We were three weeks into a 10-week sailing expedition up the Inside Passage, a 1,200-mile stretch of islands and coves that extends along the North Pacific coastline from Washington State to southeast Alaska.

This passage transits some of the most scenic northern waterways in the world, and, if one dares to venture off the main shipping lanes, some of the most remote. It’s a trip that many passengers now take by cruise ship, others by ferry. Versions of this route have been traveled for centuries — by indigenous residents, fishermen, loggers and explorers.

Still, for all of its seeming popularity, the Inside Passage is a far cry from being a busy thoroughfare. In one’s own boat it’s possible to explore granite-walled fjords and secluded inlets, to visit moss-draped forests where old-growth cedar trees whisper their ancient secrets to anyone who will listen. The only crowds to be found are of the wild sort: rowdy sea lions, playful porpoises, rafts of sea ducks that gather in the thousands. Cellphones work poorly, if at all, and sensational news headlines matter little here. We spent most nights in the company of rattling kingfishers and curious seals. Besides the volume of our own noisy crew, this coastline offered the sort of quiet that has become exceedingly scarce.

Despite its often serene backdrop, the Inside Passage is fraught with hazards. Each year, there are reports of drownings and capsized vessels, tales of unlucky sailors who perished in these unforgiving northern waters. Currents turn to roaring rivers if the tides are timed incorrectly, anchors drag along rocky bottoms, and winds blow up channels with hurricane force. Storms arrive, like most things in Alaska, bold and fierce and often without warning. Although Pat and I spent many months preparing for this journey and have two decades of boating experience between us, we knew that these facts wouldn’t guarantee a safe passage. It was prudence that mattered. Each day we woke up and reminded ourselves that we are small and the ocean is big.

Pat and I are sailors. We are adventurers. We are also parents. It’s a dilemma we all must face: how to reconcile our many different identities into a life that feels true, and good, and, in the end, responsible. Into an existence that leaves room for others. Spending the summer on a boat was our attempt to knit the disparate parts of our lives together. On both of our previous journeys up this coastline (by sailboat and rowboat, respectively), our days were distilled to the simplest of objectives: sail, row, eat, sleep, breathe. There were only ourselves, and each other, to look after as we traversed thousands of miles alone. On this trip, many of the elements remained the same: the ocean, the wind, the waves. Yet there had been a fundamental shift; we had two young companions to remind us of the stakes, and of the joy.

We were here on a calm day in a larger boat yet our crossing of Queen Charlotte Strait, in northern British Columbia, felt more difficult. Perhaps it was because there was so little time to focus on the task at hand. Or that my mind was traveling in a dozen different directions at once. Manage sails. Read the chart. Dawson wants Legos. Huxley needs a snack. Prepare the lines to tack. Check that the radar is on the correct setting. It looks like a rain squall is coming; where have I put our rain bibs? Now one boy is biting. The other has spilled his water. Do I smell a dirty diaper? And how can this boat feel so impossibly cramped? Or perhaps it was simply that the physical act of keeping two little boys safe and entertained in a liquid world was by turns exhausting and terrifying.

Before we left, I knew only to expect one thing: chaos. The more practical aspects of our lives on the water were harder to envision. I assumed, foolishly, that five pairs of underwear would be enough for a potty-trained 4-year-old. I packed a dozen novels that sat on the damp bookshelf and collected mildew while I overlooked the ear plugs I needed to temper the volume of small voices amplified in an even smaller space. I brought favorite recipes that mocked me from their corner of the galley as I struggled to cook the most basic, one-pot meals in a kitchen the size of a coat closet. I failed to consider the problem of toy truck wheels rolling back and forth on the table as we sailed, sending me repeatedly on hands and knees to pick up the pieces. Ours was a topsy-turvy existence indeed.

There are plenty of reasons sailing in a 32-foot boat with young children isn’t on the top of most people’s travel itineraries. Many days, it was impossible not to question our motivations, and our sanity. Like when one child, and then the next, spilled milk all over the cushions that couldn’t be washed, while yelling mommy, mommy! (as though I was the one who caused the cup to tip). Or when first one child, and then the other, vomited all over the inside of our boat, spewing into the cracks and crevices of multiple hatches. Or when I wanted desperately to wake up and stretch and fix myself a cup of coffee, alone. But when I tiptoed the three steps to the stove, the floor creaked and I accidentally banged the teakettle and soon the whole boat was awake. There were no doors, no privacy. In fact, there was barely enough room to turn around.

But I’ve also learned why this was precisely the sort of trip that belonged on our bucket list. Each night, peering into the V-berth, the triangular-shaped bed in the bow of the boat, I watched my two sons sleeping, bottoms raised, hands draped across their faces in that deep slumber that comes after a day of playing hard. In the quiet morning fog, I felt a soft warm body curl itself against mine, burrowing under my sleeping bag. I saw my children discover that sea anemones squirt if you poke them. We sat together in the bowsprit as the waves passed beneath us in a swirl of green and white. I watched Huxley encounter death up close for the first time in the form of a flattened crow and heard him say, “I wish it would fly away.” I tuned my ears to a cacophony of voices, wavering between toddlers squealing from the beach, an eagle calling from a cedar snag, and thunder pounding its drum in the sky. I slowed down long enough to realize that our time together was precious, and ever so fleeting.

We dropped anchor one night in a forested cove, where spruce and hemlock branches dangled over the high tide line, ravens watched us from the treetops, and the only sounds were the soft sloshing of water against our hull and the chortles of song sparrows foraging on the beach. All four of us nestled in our sleeping bags, breathing in time with the waves. In those quiet moments there was no place I would rather have been, no adventure better than the one we were experiencing. Never mind the smelly diapers and spilled spaghetti sauce, or the constant echo of “Mommy, mommy, I NEED … milk or sandwiches or that toy RIGHT NOW.” When two brown-eyed boys peeked out of the V-berth, arms open, eyes wide, bodies tuned to the jostling of the sea, it became achingly clear that we were exactly where we were meant to be, as a family.

One afternoon, in the last week of our trip, halfway between Glacier Bay and the northern terminus of the Inside Passage, we loaded into the dinghy for a trip to shore. Pat rowed, I sat with Dawson in the stern, and Huxley took his usual position in the bow.

As we approached the beach, Huxley asked, “Is that a bear?” Sure enough, a shiny-coated, two-toned grizzly had just wandered down to the coast. We wouldn’t be landing there any more. Instead, for the next hour, we floated in our tiny wooden rowboat in a quiet cove and enjoyed the rare pleasure of watching a bear do what bears do. It turned over driftwood logs in search of ants, rolled on its back in the grass, and, to the boys’ great delight, pooped on the sand. The latter was an unusually good performance, with the bear dropping enormous piles of scat on the ground as it walked. The boys started giggling, in that contagious way of kids, and soon all four of us were laughing so hard we were nearly crying. This was our farewell gift: a reminder to hold onto a bit of wildness, and laughter, always laughter.

There was a time for each of us when the wild felt infinite and the horizon might have been the edge of the earth. A time when we didn’t need to be reminded that the present is all that matters. Because somewhere, a bear is cruising the shoreline. Because at any moment, a whale might appear from below. Because life, in all of its messy glory, is there to be seized. For my children these moments were now. And if I was willing to climb on, their magic carpet had room for me, too. “Come on, mommy,” they said. “Let’s go.” And so we did.

Caroline Van Hemert, based in Alaska, is a wildlife biologist and author of the memoir, “The Sun is a Compass,” published in March.

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itscraziilala-blog · 6 years

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SPIRITED AWAY

film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki

PART I:

Chihiro and her parents are moving to a small Japanese town in the countryside, much to Chihiro's dismay. On the way to their new home, Chihiro's father makes a wrong turn and drives down a lonely one-lane road which dead-ends in front of a tunnel. Her parents decide to stop the car and explore the area. They go through the tunnel and find an abandoned amusement park on the other side, with its own little town. When her parents see a restaurant with great-smelling food but no staff, they decide to eat and pay later. However, Chihiro refuses to eat and decides to explore the theme park a bit more. She meets a boy named Haku who tells her that Chihiro and her parents are in danger, and they must leave immediately. She runs to the restaurant and finds that her parents have turned into pigs. In addition, the theme park turns out to be a town inhabited by demons, spirits, and evil gods. At the center of the town is a bathhouse where these creatures go to relax.

PART II:

Question 1:

Find a quote that stands out to you and explains why you chose it.

1. Make a review of the book/film.

- Spirited away is an anime movie from Hayao Miyazaki one of the greatest Japanese animation directors. His movies are full of imaginations, thoughtful messages, and they always have a happy ending. Spirited away is not an exception. It is a great anime movie that will take viewers on a journey beyond their imagination with a very beautiful ending, and it also contains a meaningful message about the relationship between human and nature.

2. List three facts about this book/film. Then, list three opinions about it.

(FACTS)

* Chihiro was inspired by the daughter of one of the director’s friends

* Disney wasn’t the first American studio to try to court Ghibli

* Spirited Away broke box-office records

(OPINIONS)

* Set primarily in an abandoned theme park that transforms each night into a bathhouse for weary spirits, the movie is a parade of unusual creatures (who often change shape) and bizarre rituals.

* 10-year-old Chihiro gets trapped in the bathhouse after her nosy parents are turned into pigs – but that mostly seems like an excuse for Miyazaki and his animators to explore every recess of their imaginations. And so we get a boy-dragon named Haku, a silent, hooded specter called No-Face and a spider-like boiler operator who goes by the name of Kamaji.

* Yubaba, best described as a demonic grandmother. Her giant head crowned with a sensible bun (at least until it unravels to reveal tentacles), Yubaba runs the bathhouse with a greedy fist and occasionally takes the form of a screeching crow. Did I mention that she’s often accompanied by three ghoulishly green, decapitated heads? Part Alice in Wonderland and part Hansel and Gretel, Spirited Away eventually generates enough imaginative oddities to qualify as a landmark fairy-tale fantasy of its own.

3. Did this book/film make you laugh? cry? cringe? smile? cheer? Explain.

- Spirited Away is not a simple movie — it has many layers into it. At first, it’s a short story about a young girl and their parents moving to a new place. Chihiro is just a girl that is still growing up and doesn’t have a lot of responsibilities. The movie also shows that keeping your due and doing what you have to, despite temptations, is always worth it. It shows as well that being pure of heart is what matters the most, and Chihiro comes as someone quite pure and pretty much ends saving everyone in the movie, for me my emotions is like a roller coaster it makes me laugh, sad, happy etc.

#literarylog

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wecappbah · 7 years

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SENEGAL PARROTS: Five Things They Love Doing and Some Other Behavioural Traits

It is a pleasure for me to write in detail about five things which our Senegal parrot loves to do after many years of close observation of his antics. Some things, I hope, may still surprise other owners and I hope that I can, at the most, encourage people to own a Senegal and, at the least, add to the overall collective knowledge in praise of these little rays of Senegalese sunshine.

Senegal Parrot (Poicephalus senegalus) at Philadelphia Zoo. Photograph shows front upper body. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Firstly, if I may, a quick background note as to how we came to own our green and yellow feathery-beak of fun, aka Choi, for 15 years. He was the type of case wherein he was passed from owner to owner until my partner brought him home one day as the result of a rescue mission. No cruelty involved, fear not, but he had seen him (and we call him 'him' because to this day we still don't know what sex he is) at his friend's flat, whistling and walking upside down in his cage. He knew there and then that he would be the one to give him his final home as he had been passed 'from pillar to post' more often than any parrot should be and, fortunately, his friend gave his consent as he was really too busy to care for him properly. As it happened, I could not believe this was the same parrot I had seen in a cage hanging up in a fruit shop in the high street (in yet another previous ownership), whose legs were constantly shaking (now I realise with cold or fright, for they never shook once he was ours) and earned him the 'then' name of 'Shaky'. Little could I have imagined at the time that we would end up owning the very same little parrot. So, in short, our ownership of him was quite serendipitous.

Here are Choi's five fun things that he loves doing:

1. Getting Up Early On Sunny Mornings He instinctively knows it is a bright sunny morning despite being covered up in a dark room overnight. Just in the same way, he knows when it is a cold, dull morning and his enthusiasm to come out is as damp as the day. He absolutely loves sunny mornings, no doubt because he is from Senegal, so get out of bed, let him out fast and let him whistle, screech, fly around like a helicopter for all he is worth! He will dive-bomb you incessantly with his exuberance of greeting the bright day, so watch out, but it is all great fun and he will raise your spirits too. Garden birds at the window are at their liveliest in the morning too, so there is quite some 'party' going on what with all the noise from him and 'his' birds.

We decided early on that he was going to have a lot of freedom out of the cage during the day so we never have a problem with him flying around the room. Actually, we have found that he does not excrete all over the place as you might expect, but has his 'favourite' few perches where he lands with old newspaper placed on the floor at the ready, of course. It is worth giving him the freedom of the room to fly around and, actually, I would be concerned if someone owned a parrot that was confined to a cage all the time.

2. Chewing Cardboard He adores chewing through small boxes of cardboard - his favourite is an egg box. It must be that particular chewy consistency. We make a tent on top of his cage, like a sort of 'house extension', by putting his feeder pole in the middle to form a peak and then hanging his night blanket over it. He often walks in there like a Tyrannosaurus Rex (and those of you who have a Senegal will be familiar with that particular gait!) and lurks in the shadows, hiding behind residual bits of other cardboard. If you so much as tentatively touch a bit of cardboard box with the end of a pencil he will 'crash out' at you like a T Rex as well - yes, you know he can be very scary! One particular time, we noticed he was 'on a roll' with his cardboard chewing and kept bringing him in an ever-so-slightly bigger box to chew than the last time we came in, which he continually made an enthusiastic grab for.

They started to get beyond the bounds of what you would expect he could cope with chewing. It actually got to the point where we came in with quite a substantial size of cardboard box and we knew when he eyed it up in readiness that this had gone too far! He was actually prepared and waiting to take this huge thing on board and start dismantling it! Suffice to say we diverted him with a monkey nut as you will appreciate when we discuss that much-loved item further down the list below. He also loves these heavy-duty whiskey bottle cardboard containers. If you dislodge the end bits it gives him the toughest chew ever and, even better, a tunnel to run through back and forth. It adds a particular challenge for him if you put your face at the other end of the tunnel and gives him extra impetus to 'charge'! This leads nicely onto his next fun thing to do...

3. Looking into Dark Tunnels I would never have believed how hypnotised he becomes with the sight of a dark tunnel. In this instance, I mean a certain 'shaping into a dark hole' of the neck or sleeve of a jumper you can achieve while it is innocuously lying on the back of a settee. If you open up the neck of an idle black sock into a shape of a tunnel or manage to shape a dark entrance to a hat when not in use, he will fly down and approach them with stealth, rattling into entrance of said dark holes and tunnels and stand guard by them ferociously. We can't get near these items when this obsession has overtaken him! He has absolutely no fear of dark tunnels. There could be all sorts of beasts lurking inside for all he knows but it makes no difference. We have only discovered this peculiarly fun trait in him in the last couple of years and it is something we would never have dreamt would turn out to be so absorbing for him. Now we enjoy propping up hats, jumpers and socks in tunnel-shaped formats for his amusement (so long as it amuses us enough at the time too!)

4. Eating Monkey Nuts If we were to put three parrot-type tantalising foodstuffs in a row, let's say, a slice of tangerine, a monkey nut and any other kind of nut or fruit - there is no question that he would pick the monkey nut - the monkey nut wins hands down every time! It would not matter what the choices were, it is the monkey nut or nothing! I have tried to offer him all sorts of luxury nuts from Christmas packs but nothing else will do. He is very fond of cashews but, you guessed it, monkey nuts rule supreme.

5. Looking at Mirrors He has an extraordinary obsession with mirrors and he will roost beside his reflection contentedly for hours on end, after an introductory fight or flight session with his reflection of course. He has his own mirror noises. If we were blindfolded we would know by the noises that he makes that he had landed on a mirror in the room somewhere. Word of warning here though - don't let him land on a big vanity mirror on your wall for long or he will start chewing the frame. The same warning goes for pictures as he is attracted to the reflection of the glass within the frame, so beware. One of these fun activities that has to be supervised, I'm afraid.

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It has to be mentioned at this point that if it had not been for his love of the last two items we would grievously not got him back down out of the trees when he flew up one branch too many one fateful day. It was actually Midsummer's Day - the shortest night of the year thankfully - when we took him down the country lane on a picnic with us. Stupidly, we were delusional about how well-behaved he would be with regard to staying close to his cage in our company. Of course, he was only used to the closeness of a room in the house and didn't know that he could really - really - stretch his wings out here. He had been sitting on top of his cage for a short while, not knowing any better than to do such, but when we leveraged a branch-type stick at him to climb on, it 'spooked' him a little as it was unfamiliar material and he flew up onto a nearby branch above us. Of course, he flew on up to another, then another until he positively revelled in the fact that we couldn't even see him through the thick greenery of the high-summer tree foliage.

It was the longest remainder of the day - a nightmare situation. There were endless periods of him ignoring our entreaties to come down when we did catch sight of him, then horror-filled moments of crows chasing him and I could not believe the number of birds of prey that were nesting about the trees at that time. We actually had to leave him overnight, believing him to have crossed over the river and never believing that he would cross back again. However, I heard him screech very early in the morning, after a blessedly short night, from far down in the field again and we hurried there with his cage. Suffice to say, after relentless flashing upon flashing with mirrors and long held-out monkey nuts he circled precariously downward towards us from the very tree I had last seen him in. God knows how he crossed back over the river to it and, seriously, God does know because I do consider it a miracle when I think about the horror of seeing some crows chasing him.

The point of this cautionary but thankfully uplifting tale is that, again, if it had not been for his love of mirrors and monkey nuts it would have been doubtful if he could have trusted his perspective to fly from the tree down to the cage again. Luckily he was extremely hungry. With one foot in the cage and the other holding onto the door he had the cheek to act as if we were the Monkey Nut Men and he would just fly on upwards again after he had eaten his fill. A swift, smooth, firm, forward pressure manoeuvred him into the cage, however, and a similarly swift, smooth, firm closure of the cage door followed forthwith - as you can well imagine! He spent a full night and day asleep up on the curtain rail to recover. We remain humbled and chastened by the event to this day as to how we could have endangered him so by our stupidity. May I also add what an extremely brave little bird he proved to be by outflying his pursuers and surviving this episode, finding himself so suddenly out of his comfort zone? Such incredible courage. How on earth did he find his way back over that river? It made me believe in miracles.

Two final endearing factors... I don't know of a better 'Sir Jimmy Savile OBE' impersonation given by bird or mammal. You know the gorilla-thumping-chest type 'uh-ah-uh-ah-uh-ah' noise he used to make on 'Top of the Pops' (UK residents only perhaps!)? We still intend to shoot a video of it if we can ever get him to do it on cue.

Also, he never, ever gives up trying to land on my partner's head or back, while flapping his wings furiously (very funny to watch!) when he sees a good 'strike' opportunity. It's taken in good spirit because actually he is a one man parrot and my partner is the only one who can stroke him behind the ears, under his chin and is generally the hand that feeds him and 'feathery' knows it. However, I love the way you can actually see him plotting and thinking, 'I'm going to get him today..yes, today...'

Suffice to say, I could never go back to a 'budgie' (budgerigar) after a Senegal parrot. We have no idea how old he is but we feel blessed to have him in our lives for however long we all shall live!

By Gillian Naismith Article Source: EzineArticles

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