tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73990405692242368302024-03-18T21:09:07.790-07:00THE VAMPYRE BLOGS--Private EditionThis blog is a compilation of short works of fiction by Allan and Helen Krummenacker, authors of the Para-Earth Book Series. The stories contained here take place before our novel "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home", with the idea of introducing you to some of the characters who appear in that book and the upcoming anthology "The Vampyre Blogs - One Day At a Time" coming this November.
So please, sit back and enjoy more glimpses into Nathan's (our vampyre) and his friends' lives. Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-5242250836660273322024-02-10T10:14:00.000-08:002024-02-10T10:14:56.405-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part VIII CONCLUSION – Epilogue<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XiO-3zQcvlpLbRPF2brO_bYQ6SJuueHabe0VvvyxHTIglM_YEY2R5HmF3kSTtzSYbSR-N2ijdTT1cruQ3DN6Ze263VmQ4Rae7YmqlLsN4QbZMc2hsyPDbRqOtT-nTec8v4n2IJ05mwQnz-kvyr27yNPR7xBCv7gq3DFqzY0T6WzW7yRzkjA3UWFA9uJ6/s353/Sold%20Out%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="353" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XiO-3zQcvlpLbRPF2brO_bYQ6SJuueHabe0VvvyxHTIglM_YEY2R5HmF3kSTtzSYbSR-N2ijdTT1cruQ3DN6Ze263VmQ4Rae7YmqlLsN4QbZMc2hsyPDbRqOtT-nTec8v4n2IJ05mwQnz-kvyr27yNPR7xBCv7gq3DFqzY0T6WzW7yRzkjA3UWFA9uJ6/w390-h207/Sold%20Out%202.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">That’s
what we had to splash across the posters outside the theater announcing the release
of Lost Films of Roscoe Fatty Arbuckle.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;">And from what I’ve been told already, we’re sold out for the next three nights as well.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
SOLD-OUT part caused quite the uproar, but since I had a ‘in’ with the owner, I’ve been able to assure everyone that we’re adding as many more runs as the
public demands. And each showing will involve more of the red-carpet treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What
exactly is the red-carpet treatment you ask? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZvhicxcNMAGtZcmf_3zILWb5gobUKZAlaTrPJ8vu4jJwMFuSxsvszuptO7wdWwGqM0iIwX7zoEhwrkYEd0nKLHBcxBVXuD3fI7JApnLQeKqWAo4KSKU1qgVNFssZcRtryYKJQtxIXr6kleZ39A4eGT8J4yLyleIVq7JIIWTdG92wCVJKTCvP8KNzzHMA/s228/Red%20Carpet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="133" data-original-width="228" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZvhicxcNMAGtZcmf_3zILWb5gobUKZAlaTrPJ8vu4jJwMFuSxsvszuptO7wdWwGqM0iIwX7zoEhwrkYEd0nKLHBcxBVXuD3fI7JApnLQeKqWAo4KSKU1qgVNFssZcRtryYKJQtxIXr6kleZ39A4eGT8J4yLyleIVq7JIIWTdG92wCVJKTCvP8KNzzHMA/w346-h202/Red%20Carpet.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Well, it involves a number of celebrities
and officials in attendance (which will vary depending upon the individuals’
availability, as well as other important folk who had not been able to attend
the opening night festivities), along with the red carpet. I’ve also hired a
number of actors and actresses from the local and neighboring theaters, as well
as students from the high school drama departments, to show up in full costume
and make-up as stars from the past to help add to the atmosphere. Those not
walking the red carpet will be in the ‘crowd’ screaming, cheering, and asking
for autographs. And in fairness, we’re rotating members of the “crowd” with the
red-carpet walkers so everyone gets their chance to get the ‘star’ treatment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mind
you, ‘the crowd’ will be mixed in with those in the actual crowd of news media,
and onlookers who show up. We just want to make sure there would be enough
folks on hand to make things seem more authentic. Not that we really needed our
actors/actresses, quite a real crowd showed up and from what I’ve been told,
they’ll be showing up again and again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">From
what everyone has been telling me, the look-alike celebrities are a huge hit alongside
the important guests, who had a ball mingling with Hollywood’s stars of
yester-year. Who knows, maybe a few new stars may be being discovered, or at
least given a chance to make their own names known? I can only hope.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='344' height='286' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx-xI1f9MGRnqwM-xGgAYcNZE9O-XGjBsl6jwJrlEW6ypQpilm9SXXyvnH_Il2TJRor9DFS3AnilUOAc-pjnw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa,
Marisa, Teddy and a few of their friends are certainly becoming better known.
As I had promised Roscoe, I decided to showcase some of the talents I’d learned
over the decades from him. Tonight, we recreated a scene from Roscoe’s
“The Cook”, which involved perfect timing as I (as the Cook) tossed various
items across the stage to Teddy the waiter as he was coming into the kitchen.
This in turned into a dance number. We also recreated several other scenes from some of Roscoe's other movies we were showing tonight. And everybody was right on cue. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This was mostly thanks to Lisa. Roscoe had shown up several time during rehearsal to help give her advice and instructions on how to help the others get their timing down just right. But even with his guidance,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> more than a few plates, cups, and other breakables (although we started
out with plastic ones) met unfortunate ends during those rehearsals. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;">And because I’m such a swell guy, I did permit people to film and record our routines. Why? Because having our antics shown all over the internet is going help build interest in this wonderful crew of talented young people. Who knows? Maybe it will lead to some radio, television, commercials, or streaming service projects for some of them down the road.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">In the meantime, I already have a few Keystone Cop routines in mind for Teddy and the rest of this little band of actors. After all, I want to do some more silent film festivals in the near future. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But what I’ve enjoyed most was seeing more of Roscoe, and
knowing it was really him. For so long, one of my greatest regrets in having
such a long life was knowing I’d have to say goodbye to so many wonderful
people I came to know and love. Of course, new people keep entering my life,
but it’s still very having to eventually have to let go of the ones you’ve already known and loved for so long.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve not had the courage to ask Roscoe anything about the afterlife. But
just knowing one does exist is reassuring. And even more importantly, knowing that 'some' of my older friends from long ago will show up every now and then to spend some
more time with me, makes what I assume (based on my already extremely long life) my <i>many</i> years ahead a little less scary. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>- THE END</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><i>We hoped you enjoyed this not-so-short tale about Nathan and company. We've wanted to do a story like this that demonstrates how in spite of his already long existence and research, there's still so much our hero does not know about his condition. And we're looking forward to exploring and finding out more of what those possibilities are, with all of you.</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>In the meantime, more re-runs of older past stories will appear here for a while. Allan has a new novel (which does not involve Nathan or the Para-Earths) to release in the next two months. </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Also, we are hoping to release a new anthology titled "The Vampyre Blogs - Two For the Road" coming later this year. At the moment we're aiming for a late September/early October release to coincide with the Halloween season. After all, what better time of year to release stories about a vampyre and his friends? </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>As always we thank you for coming and reading our tales, and supporting our efforts. Please remember to share this site and tell others about the Vampyre Blogs and the Para-Earth book series. We have much more coming and are looking forward to entertaining you with many more stories and adventures.</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Take care and happy reading everyone!</i></b></span></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-39210890293028847712024-01-19T14:32:00.000-08:002024-02-10T08:40:11.154-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part VII<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sypYcrPUvtbotMkuPa7O-Ht-k0s89HRYrg8kyjW4AURA52BK83tPTbrKl1lgEXTjC-dqhWPqCcIK4rJ2hyphenhyphenkiPSL_RiuKsBcZs1L4USET9_Cmlrj_gm7UucPc6gmDo4T4JsaS3sTwmCTHoB636LxXA7rCs29w417WmTl29aGE53_exBOL0WgLmeo-9UCr/s1600/Roscoe%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sypYcrPUvtbotMkuPa7O-Ht-k0s89HRYrg8kyjW4AURA52BK83tPTbrKl1lgEXTjC-dqhWPqCcIK4rJ2hyphenhyphenkiPSL_RiuKsBcZs1L4USET9_Cmlrj_gm7UucPc6gmDo4T4JsaS3sTwmCTHoB636LxXA7rCs29w417WmTl29aGE53_exBOL0WgLmeo-9UCr/w391-h220/Roscoe%203.jpg" width="391" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In
that same moment, Roscoe turns to me and says, <i>“I’d be honored if you would.
But with one condition!”</i> He then points to the cannisters still in my hands,
“<i>Start with that one!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
look up at him and ask, “Why this one?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hey,
I went to a lot of trouble to finish that one,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">
he explains, <i>“And your time to shine has been way overdue, pal.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“No
one’s going to see me,” I point out, “That’s why we had to scrap the whole idea
of making more movies together, remember?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yeah,
but today’s technology can capture your image,” </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">he
grins back, “<i>And I know you’ve already made a couple of appearances in those
Hallmark and Lifetime adaptations of your work. Don’t be afraid to do some
more. Show ‘em what me, Al, Mae, the Marx Brothers and the rest I taught you! And
have a blast, while you’re doing it! Remember. I’ll be in the audience cheering
you on with Lisa, Otto and the rest of that big old extended family you got.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Looking
at that big, huge smile on his face, along with Lisa beaming at me, there’s no
way I can say no. So, I don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“All
right,” I concede. “But I have to know one thing. HOW, can you be here? You
don’t have any unfinished business, do you? I mean if you do, I’ll do
everything…” but he’s already shaking his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s
nothing like that,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> he chuckles, <i>“You just don’t know your
own strength.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Once
again, I find myself shaking my head. “How do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Do
you remember how you had to put the bite on me that one time to save my life
when those thugs tried to burn down the theater with everyone in it?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“All
too well,” I sigh. That had been the night he had learned the truth about me
and my condition. He’d been seriously hurt and wasn’t going to last long enough
for the ambulance to arrive and take him to the hospital, so I’d done to him
what I had once done to Richard and a number of others. I’d bitten him and put
a bit of myself into him in the process, using my powers and will to keep him
alive. This also meant a special mental and emotional bond had been formed
between us, one that always allowed me to know if that person was in danger or
needed me in some other way. It was a bond that would only be severed when that
person passed on. Or so I had always thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
looked up at Roscoe who was smiling fondly at me, <i>“News flash! That bond of
friendship, doesn’t always end at the grave.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After
several seconds of stunned silence, I breathed the words, “Thank God!” and
meant every word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I
could hear Brian starting to make his way back towards us, so I said quickly.
“But it only works with the people…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“You
gave a bit of yourself to,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> my old friend finishes for me. <i>“The
rest are exactly what you thought. Made up from your memories of them. But me
and a few others will always be here for you.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Thank
you,” I reply and give him a huge hug, just before Brian rejoins us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
cannot believe you’ve had all these films restored and transferred, without
telling me!” my godson exclaims, as he comes over to me. “People have been
scouring the world for a complete copy or at least pieces of some of these films,
for decades. You have to share these with the world! Do you realize the number
of archivists, celebrities, and other important figures who’d come pounding at
your door get just a glimpse of some of these?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To
be honest, I’d never really thought about that before. Such an event would
certainly bring a lot of people to Pointer. They would need places to stay,
eat, and shop, during their visit. And with Pointer’s parks, forests and
historic sites, there’d plenty of other things for our visitors to explore. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Such
an event could really revitalize the town. I mean I’ve done what I could to improve
the community with donations and other events, but this could really put us
back on the map.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But
simply showing the films, didn’t feel like enough to me. I wanted to give people
something more, something special and really memorable…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Just
then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Roscoe and Lisa. He’s
teaching her a few of his dance moves from one of his more famous films, “The
Cook”. And that gives me an idea…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>BONUS MATERIAL: Clip from Roscoe Fatty Arbuckle's Silent Film "The Cook"</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='396' height='329' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxkksah0lGNqCbXQxzjgVYeR9pnCHrCd4bsLjMNCtCG--YfpWaD-J13lJg8nbLR2P3iwjsF-WRdcTckMLqCZw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Fatty Arbuckle, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons</span></div><br /><b style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">TO
BE CONCLUDED...</span></i></b></span><p></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-29603438933935216472024-01-13T10:32:00.000-08:002024-01-19T14:04:44.526-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part VI<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KKaNOf0rl77sqJ36Wzqz0luBZsOlCnU1m6QI80HestjJE8xN9lmpUGa90PzmSobhLeNWHQoOsy-R2JInkT_cqRyuLsOHghPFa9kd-_DJS2ZGXBY5pipmrD-Jpf2k8_Xae7KLfelcBsDEBbBXLT9SrET9ut_JfBTX33Gd1aLsU3qqYlSzSn6CgLCGyZ0c/s640/Faint.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="640" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KKaNOf0rl77sqJ36Wzqz0luBZsOlCnU1m6QI80HestjJE8xN9lmpUGa90PzmSobhLeNWHQoOsy-R2JInkT_cqRyuLsOHghPFa9kd-_DJS2ZGXBY5pipmrD-Jpf2k8_Xae7KLfelcBsDEBbBXLT9SrET9ut_JfBTX33Gd1aLsU3qqYlSzSn6CgLCGyZ0c/w350-h208/Faint.gif" width="350" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">For
a second, my legs feel like they’re about to give out, but I manage to keep them
from buckling with a supreme effort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
of my dearest friends, who had died seven decades earlier, is actually standing
right in front of me. But is it the first time? Was it him on any of those
other occasions? And if it was, how?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
before I can begin to find my tongue, Brian comes bounding over to us saying, “Is
that true, Nathan? You were at that party?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh
yeah,” I mutter, “And before you ask, no it was nothing like what Virginia’s
friend </span></span>Bambina Maude Delmont <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">told people, or what Randolph Hearst put in his papers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
those words leave my lips, a part of me wishes once again that had taken
witness stand and testified back in 1922.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well,
I’m glad you didn’t,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Roscoe says stepping in front of Brian to
face me. <i>“Remember, the trial took place during the daytime, and those
lawyers would’ve kept you on the stand for hours. No amount of blood would’ve
kept you going for that long. Plus, all those reporters would’ve gotten shots
of you for the front page, only to find you didn’t appear in them. No, sir!
There was no way I was going to let you risk everything for me. But, knowing if
it came down to it you would have, always meant a lot to me.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
smile. His words mean a lot to me. Especially, since I now know it’s really him
and not a construct from my mind. But again, I have to wonder, has this always
been the case? And what about the others I’ve encountered over time? Were they
ghosts as well? Have I been completely wrong about myself and my abilities all
this time?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Roscoe assures me, putting a hand that feels very warm and real on my shoulder.
<i>“Only a few of us are actual ghosts. The rest are being brought back from
your memories.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Throughout
this silent exchange, Brian has been wrapped up in a discussion with his
daughter about my revelation of having been at the party with Virginia and
Roscoe. The two of them have already covered the case and why I hadn’t
testified, with Lisa supplying some of the details she had overheard Roscoe pointing
out to me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
I listen, I hear Brian piecing together the rest of the story from there. Which
is not surprising to me, since he’s always been a guy who knows his onions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Great,
all this time going down memory lane has me thinking in slang terms from the
1920’s. Next thing you know I’ll start going on about Lisa’s legs, calling them
gams.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“She
got nice ones?”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Roscoe asks, having apparently heard my
thoughts.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh
yeah,” I mouth back, keeping an eye on Brian to make sure he doesn’t see me. “And
plenty of moxie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Kind
of like another young lady, you were rather fond of,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
Roscoe observes, then adds, <i>“Lisa’s built a lot like her too. Especially in
the upper department.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mentally,
I shake my head, as I try not to blush. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2akKNQ5b3VhbnLLtJlbCIn0TM5MtYWsz6s4UH5svWGjbjMNKAV7Dy99v0hzDHKcRla9D1k3XKmzPq0IFv7i_4HysCSFld6tKh6UdXzr2W1xs8jp3bimYXKyOIDVEOOWg7NkoDERV4edCEOZXH4KlfjShQfsDfi1mVMtc_HnSg-bQKWzG_VlC8PW6_SDPA/s550/maewest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2akKNQ5b3VhbnLLtJlbCIn0TM5MtYWsz6s4UH5svWGjbjMNKAV7Dy99v0hzDHKcRla9D1k3XKmzPq0IFv7i_4HysCSFld6tKh6UdXzr2W1xs8jp3bimYXKyOIDVEOOWg7NkoDERV4edCEOZXH4KlfjShQfsDfi1mVMtc_HnSg-bQKWzG_VlC8PW6_SDPA/w373-h373/maewest.jpg" width="373" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mae
West had been the first woman I fell in love with after my wife Madeleine had
passed away in the 1890’s. I first met Baby Mae, that was her stage name back
in 1907, when she was working vaudeville in Ohio. The name was appropriate at
the time since she was only 14 at the time, and very petite in height. In fact,
even as an adult, Mae was only 5 feet tall. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
met again in 1911 in New York and by then she was using Mae West as her
moniker. Our acquaintance started out as a passing one, but after an incident
in a back alley, it became something much deeper and passionate. God what an
amazing woman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">No
sooner does that thought pass through my mind, when I find myself glancing over
at Lisa.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
think I know where your mind has gone,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Roscoe teases, <i>“Now
if only you’d allow the rest of you to go join it.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
quietly shush him, but I know he’s right. Lisa does have a lot of the same
qualities Mae had. But she’s also very much her own person. Which makes her even
more special, in my eyes and my heart. However, she’s my godchild, one of a
great many. One who also has a mind of her own, I remind myself thinking back
to our walk over here from the theater.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
now is not the time. Roscoe’s revelation of his existence still has me taking a
few mental steps backwards. I swear every time I think I’ve figured out all
there is to know about my condition, the more I find out there’s still so much
more to learn. First Isabella, now this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Just
then Lisa rejoins us. Looking up I see no sign of her father. “Where’s…?” I
begin, but she cuts in with, “He’s going through the filing cabinets to see
what else you have stashed away down here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well,
all he’s going to find in there are copies of the films I’ve already had
restored and transferred for use on modern projection equipment,” I tell her,
then ask. “I take it, you know who’s with us down here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Duh,”
she replies with a roll of her eyes, “I am psychic remember? Plus, I have met
and spoken with ghosts before.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
nod my head. She’s right of course. I’d been on the scene for several of those
spectral encounters, two of which had nearly ended with Lisa nearly ended with
her becoming part of the next world. Just the thought of that happening to her,
still makes me shudder. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Meanwhile,
Lisa is introducing herself to Roscoe who gives her a dignified bow, which he
promptly converts into a bashful comedy routine from one of his
silent movies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
can’t help but smile. It’s obvious the two of them are hitting it off famously.
Which brings me back to an idea I'd had about what to run on the big screen for my theater’s
opening night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><b>TO BE CONTINUED...</b></i></span></p><br /><p></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-85735668196659517182023-12-29T14:33:00.000-08:002023-12-29T14:33:43.263-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part V<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">But
I’m getting ahead of myself.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyway,
I make a face at my old friend, while Lisa and Brian finally find their words
and begin peppering me with all kinds of questions. Mostly they want to know
why I never said anything about a movie career.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Sighing,
I head over to them and explain, “My ‘movie career’ as you both call it, was
rather short-lived. What you have in your hands was supposed to be my screen
test.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Screen
test?” Lisa repeats and holds up the cannisters in her hands. “This is a two-reeler.
That’s not a screen test, that would be full-length comedy feature back in 1912.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxqvkiqm3TWBuQN6RGk0PS3K20B4wSy6MQIgvt4Ha_GTPeWoqLJ_xz2EtXY_ZhgeCHR6W2TWCsZiz_0c-COxpQnEtXHp9dY-grsQkpei8pZH9YMnnEx09sT5H76nVq-KQ0fml9uHWsTgHOYJh165Ede6d_aKirqOb2GNrrZ1i7K3nSWMM0auxmrBYByU1/s1246/Movie%20Cannister.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="1246" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxqvkiqm3TWBuQN6RGk0PS3K20B4wSy6MQIgvt4Ha_GTPeWoqLJ_xz2EtXY_ZhgeCHR6W2TWCsZiz_0c-COxpQnEtXHp9dY-grsQkpei8pZH9YMnnEx09sT5H76nVq-KQ0fml9uHWsTgHOYJh165Ede6d_aKirqOb2GNrrZ1i7K3nSWMM0auxmrBYByU1/w361-h323/Movie%20Cannister.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Two-reels?”
I barely manage to get the words out, as my mind races across the decades. Had
we really shot that much footage? Obviously, we must have since Lisa’s holding
the proof in her hands. But how is that possible?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
the memories of that day unfold in my head, I realize we must have filmed a lot
more than I thought we had. Which makes sense, really. Until that day, I’d
never stepped on a movie set. So I had no idea what to expect. Admittedly, all the
sets, props, and costumes, were much like what I was used to seeing at the
theaters, but this was a very different kind of ‘stage’. It was more
3-dimensional and had no place for an audience to sit. Instead, there were
cameras and lighting that was different than what I was used to in the theaters
I’d worked. In short, the whole thing was oddly familiar and very different at
the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">After
I finally caught my breath, and got my bearings, we got down to business. I
spent the rest of the day paying attention to everything Roscoe and Al were telling
me to do and how to play the scenes. Looking back, I realize now that a lot of
the times I thought we were rehearsing, the camera was actually rolling. Plus,
we were all having so much fun together it’s no wonder I didn’t realize how
much of our antics were being caught on film. as well. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
chemistry between me, Roscoe and Al, had been so good to the few who had been
on hand assisting with the filming, were making plans for more films involving
the three of us before we had even finished. Upon hearing this, Roscoe, Al and
I spent the rest of the night talking and celebrating, as we all looked forward
to working together for years to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Alas,
none of it came to pass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">You
see, a few days later, Roscoe called me in to join him, Minta (his wife), their
dog Luke, Al St. John and a few others, to show us some of the footage that had
been shot. It had just come back from being processed and we were all eager to
see how my performance turned out. It turned out to be a rather empty one. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsvcpZmqB7MiSpSa7-oh1gukkvw_4xJ_iZzuqQ06Ps5kInyMJXB80_zCFp6EHNTMVVpDl2Bnke4zkYnZ3LGltAqj4yRy63R0tga9DQRxMceEiy6sLQaeiVjQKnomvZBNHzwwF1HZt5qNsqZEn3Rr3Nw61PCLHF4PtdjrkrMvklNN_4HR4d0JSarl_F90u/s2508/projector.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1672" data-original-width="2508" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsvcpZmqB7MiSpSa7-oh1gukkvw_4xJ_iZzuqQ06Ps5kInyMJXB80_zCFp6EHNTMVVpDl2Bnke4zkYnZ3LGltAqj4yRy63R0tga9DQRxMceEiy6sLQaeiVjQKnomvZBNHzwwF1HZt5qNsqZEn3Rr3Nw61PCLHF4PtdjrkrMvklNN_4HR4d0JSarl_F90u/w433-h288/projector.jpg" width="433" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
scene playing before us on the screen that day was one where Luke had grabbed
me by the seat of my pants, making me spin wildly trying to dislodge him. But
there was no sign of me on the screen. All we saw was Luke, his four paws
completely off the ground, spinning round and round in mid-air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was then that I learned that ‘silver’ was used in the celluloid film, as well
as a mirror inside the camera, which meant neither could ever capture my image.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We
didn’t bother looking at the rest of the film. Or at least I didn’t. I was too
heartbroken at the time, and so were Roscoe, Minta and Al. Heck, even Luke padded
over to me and hopped up into my lap trying to comfort me. He was such a good
dog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">After
the initial shock had worn off, I spent a few days with my friends before I
decided to head back to vaudeville. There, despite Roscoe and Minta’s urgings, I
simply went back to being another stage-hand behind the scenes. Eventually, a
quartet of brothers (Groucho, Chico, Harpo and Zeppo) took me under their
collective wings. In time they taught me how to play a number of musical
instruments and further developed my comedic skills and timing. Before I knew
what was happening, they had me back on the stage to assist in their escapades.
On occasion, I even stood in for each of them at one time or another, when that
person couldn’t make the performance. Still, the sting of my failed attempt at
becoming a film star never faded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And
even whenever I saw Roscoe, we never talked about the footage, so I simply assumed
he’d destroyed it. But of course, he hadn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
only found out it still existed shortly after Roscoe had passed away quietly in
his sleep on June 29<sup>th</sup>, 1933. After the funeral, Addie (his third
wife) had asked to see me and that was when I learned the footage still
existed. Why Roscoe had kept the footage all that time, even she didn’t know.
However, according to his will, it was to be turned over to me upon his passing
along with a few other bits of his estate. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Naturally
I took charge of the cannisters and did everything I could to keep them safe. Why?
Because the fact that Roscoe hadn’t destroyed them meant something. For
whatever reason, he’d held onto that footage, so I felt obligated to preserve
them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
time, when film preservation efforts had reached a good point, I had them fully
restored and copied, along with the other celluloid treasures here in my vault.
Yet even then I hadn’t been able to bring myself to watch it. The ghosts of
what ‘might have been’ has always been just a little too…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So?”
Lisa purrs in my ear just then, making me jump slightly. I was so wrapped up
going down memory lane, I hadn’t noticed or even sensed her moving closer to
me. “Are you going to tell us what’s on these reels?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Roscoe
dealing with a ghost, obviously,” I reply casually, while trying to quiet my
heart which is suddenly beating in double-time for some reason. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And
who played the ghost?” she persists sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
did,” I answer with a bit of false bravado, “And for the record I was quite
convincing.” Then add silently to myself, ‘A little too convincing actually.’ Again,
I look down at the cannisters once more and frown. It was only supposed to be a
screen test. And even if we shot that much footage, why would Roscoe not only
save the footage, but give it a title?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Because
I never intended it to be just a screen test, you dope,” </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Roscoe’s
voice murmurs in my other ear, making me jump once more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
quickly glance to my right to see him resting his chin on my shoulder, while
Lisa continues to do the same on my other shoulder. I briefly wonder with of
them is the angel and which is the devil. That’s what usually happens in a case
like this, right?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mentally,
I ask him, <i>“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“<i>It
was always supposed to be your first film, Nate. Your big break!”</i> he smiles
back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa
suddenly inhales, which takes me by surprise. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear
she had just heard what Roscoe said. But that’s impossible. This version of him
has been formed from my memories. There’s no way she could have heard him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Shaking
my head, I decide to focus my attention on the cannisters once more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa
quietly puts a hand on my arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Nathan?” she
says, with a hint of worry in her tone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
I barely notice, as a final piece of the puzzle drops into place for me. And
without thinking I breathe, “Roscoe… you finished it?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUkv4I_JdEmrSo3O-T6Ni4woY2Ef1f_Vnxx0Tj8t-UoRrcNeXS8YYy9ehbmorBcIzWegCFAyLU_zVX75-r2a4HEEebA22wv4s0A1hRkNsEDph0r6E2Jfe0vUiiMJYZXU1s7yYvUlRzAJLWxCso8f8Vw9Idl3QiS4lpzvHSttLIO-ZO2z73vzYQXjsjSOt/s251/Roscoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="251" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUkv4I_JdEmrSo3O-T6Ni4woY2Ef1f_Vnxx0Tj8t-UoRrcNeXS8YYy9ehbmorBcIzWegCFAyLU_zVX75-r2a4HEEebA22wv4s0A1hRkNsEDph0r6E2Jfe0vUiiMJYZXU1s7yYvUlRzAJLWxCso8f8Vw9Idl3QiS4lpzvHSttLIO-ZO2z73vzYQXjsjSOt/w323-h257/Roscoe.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Stepping
in front of me my old friend nods and gives me a huge smile. <i>“Of course! The
way you by me throughout all three trials, meant so much to me. But the fact
that you were even willing to testify in my third trial in person and tell
everyone that you were the one who found Virginia and then I stumbled in…”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“WAIT!”
Lisa suddenly gasps and stares at me. “YOU were there at the party the night
Virginia Rappe collapsed?”<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Instantly,
I do a double-take. She heard him? But how? I know she’s psychic and can see
and even hear ghosts and…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Suddenly,
I turn to back to my old friend whose smile has become even more broad than
before as he says, <i>“Boo!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><b><i>TO BE CONTINUED...</i></b><p></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-2439362790892698382023-12-24T11:04:00.000-08:002023-12-24T11:12:01.802-08:00Merry Christmas Eve...<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDhoKvsGLqDqDYytvuwClJu8YreUN9awzNWaVZLi-x0mo_19fK2oCHnBEUICp-zDWkb5x25Tp_enkh1p-3qKBHsZM-e_FUz3BsQ8auWDnS6JAyaapCL4khPJUcpd_ub4cErqXUt6uTYDO2YUVRJZGXdPKOfVsz2oYeWVuLGc67CVijaUzX6_0THWd8Hoz/s960/Yule%20Robin.jpg" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="960" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDhoKvsGLqDqDYytvuwClJu8YreUN9awzNWaVZLi-x0mo_19fK2oCHnBEUICp-zDWkb5x25Tp_enkh1p-3qKBHsZM-e_FUz3BsQ8auWDnS6JAyaapCL4khPJUcpd_ub4cErqXUt6uTYDO2YUVRJZGXdPKOfVsz2oYeWVuLGc67CVijaUzX6_0THWd8Hoz/w522-h383/Yule%20Robin.jpg" width="522" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><b>It's Christmas Eve, so we're taking a quick break </b></span><b>in our current story to bring you something different.</b></span></p><b><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">In the United Kingdom there is a tradition of telling a ghost or creepy story at this time of the year.</span></b></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">And since according to Ancestry.com based on my DNA sample, I am 49% Irish, plus another 22 % English, I feel it only right to continue this tradition.</span></b></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">So, we're bringing you the audio version of "The Snowman", complete with imagery, providing a picture book experience, much like I did last year with my unabridged presentation of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol".</span></b></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">As many of you will remember, "The Snowman" was written by my wife/co-author Helen for our "The Vampyre Blogs - One Day at a Time" anthology. It was inspired by hearing the song "Frosty the Snowman" one too many times, before deciding to put a bit of a strange unearthly (or Para-Earth-ly) twist on the story...</span></b></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">So without further ado, here is this year's Christmas story offering...</span></b></div></span></b><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="347" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/n1hwGeLQ-6Y" width="417" youtube-src-id="n1hwGeLQ-6Y"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: large;">No doubt, you might be wondering about the opening stating the presentation came from the Library of the Obscure. For those wondering about that, you'll be seeing and learning more about the library starting next month, so stay tuned.</b></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>In the meantime, have a blessed and safe Christmas and hopefully a very wonderful New Year.</b></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Love,</b></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Allan and Helen</b></div></b></span><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-87552949972426850032023-12-09T09:59:00.000-08:002023-12-09T09:59:29.406-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part IV<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAfkyPC7-8RaMFLnV760eI8X7w9MrLfgSnEvfXusCOcTv2sU9OR4VIsj2ENPrYBRorBK_E1k7zTqXMDnA895UBnpGbT7gtuCocMfJZuXeN5rqK2CywPCp_GEXFukUP7YHbDOnVTxG6oPakMMirfY-Hvo6proj9RP29AsKDxDVSCOV6GIfD3L6pWbHO4HK/s752/buidling%20fire.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="752" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAfkyPC7-8RaMFLnV760eI8X7w9MrLfgSnEvfXusCOcTv2sU9OR4VIsj2ENPrYBRorBK_E1k7zTqXMDnA895UBnpGbT7gtuCocMfJZuXeN5rqK2CywPCp_GEXFukUP7YHbDOnVTxG6oPakMMirfY-Hvo6proj9RP29AsKDxDVSCOV6GIfD3L6pWbHO4HK/w390-h264/buidling%20fire.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Brian’s
eyes find mine, and he smiles. “That’s why you were rushing into some of those
burning buildings. You were trying to rescue these.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“To
be honest,” I explain, “I didn’t rush into burning buildings for all of them. A
number of those I pulled out of garbage bins, or piles of films that were going
to be set on fire. In those cases, I replaced the spools I took with extra
copies of other movies, or even blank film so no one would notice they were
missing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Wait?”
Lisa cries and gives me a puzzled look. “People were burning Roscoe’s films? Was
it because of the trial?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
nod. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“But
he was declared innocent!” she protests, while a large man with a huge warm
smile on his face quietly appears behind her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
smile inwardly. It’s always good to see my old buddy, Roscoe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You
are correct, my child,” Brian beams. “However, the verdict of innocence, came
at the end of his <b><i>third</i></b> trial.” As he speaks, it’s clear that
neither he nor Lisa seem to have taken notice of the famous silent film star,
who is currently looking over their shoulders to see which films of his they
were holding. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
you can already guess, the fact that they can’t see him comes as no surprise to
me. After all, I happen to know Roscoe isn’t a ghost. He’s a mental ‘construct’,
so to speak, created by my mind and based on our many years of friendship. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">For
those not aware, I literally remember everything<i> </i>I’ve ever experienced.
Heck, I even have memories of being inside my own mother’s womb, if you can
believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And
among that mountain of memories is every single person I’ve ever met. Some I
met only on rare occasions, or even just once in passing. But I do remember
them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Others,
like Roscoe (and a host of others I was really close to), I can remember in
complete detail. I can recall their personalities, manner of speaking, all
their habits, the works. It’s one of the many gifts my Sangui-Sapio companion
has granted me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And
every so often, when I feel really lost or am simply missing one of them, that
person will appear to me, just like now. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6aC4gUM7MOYulBH84zF1KcjQAzsWUtaiFHYW8Jp3TPLNW8L47yj8ARX9rnZTP9vxgKdVIpYMHBcppyzpkksP6K4PzL15XXaxQtxHFL1C6GY36ofarxx5j-TnKtI2hpQt8Y-7g6B_DtG3ROTrlwLUoErYcmo9I_D42fIn-_Mp2uaMiw-ZJKOtomQ2a8RW/s225/Roscoe%20You%20Called.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="149" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6aC4gUM7MOYulBH84zF1KcjQAzsWUtaiFHYW8Jp3TPLNW8L47yj8ARX9rnZTP9vxgKdVIpYMHBcppyzpkksP6K4PzL15XXaxQtxHFL1C6GY36ofarxx5j-TnKtI2hpQt8Y-7g6B_DtG3ROTrlwLUoErYcmo9I_D42fIn-_Mp2uaMiw-ZJKOtomQ2a8RW/w189-h285/Roscoe%20You%20Called.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">From
my point of view, it’s like they’re in the room with me and we interact as if
time had never separated us. I guess the best way to explain it is like having
a film projector, in your head. And the film is being shown on a screen inside
my eyes, complete with sound, so visually and audibly they appear to be in the
same room I’m in. And as is the case right now, my old friends can stand or
wander around and even react to any living people who also happen to be in the
room. This means I also I get to privately enjoy my old friend’s reactions and
antics. However, this occasionally winds up with me reacting and saying or
doing things in front of my actual guests which leave them more than a little
puzzled at times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
I stated earlier, my existence tends to be a very strange one sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyhow,
I presume my ongoing dilemma of what to run on opening night, and Lisa’s
discovery of Roscoe’s ‘lost’ films, is what has generated this impromptu
visitation from my old friend. Not that I mind. He may have been known mainly
for his comic genius, but like Otto, he was always full of keen insights and
good advice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Meanwhile,
Brian continues, “You see, my dear, the first two trials ended with hung
juries.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Immediately,
Lisa smacks her forehead while saying, “Which means the accusation was hanging
over his head for months.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And
the newspapers, especially those owned by Randolph Hearst, were dragging his
name through the mud the whole time,” Brian adds solemnly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
watch Roscoe pull out a handkerchief and wipe his brow, muttering, <i>“Pal, you
don’t know the half of it.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Quietly,
I sympathize with my old friend. Not a lot of people knew what he went through,
but I did. I was there for him the whole time, along with Buster, Roscoe’s
nephew Al (St. John), plus a number of others. We all stood by him throughout
all three trials. From the beginning to the end, when he was finally
exonerated. Yet, in spite of that ruling, which was accompanied by a formal
apology prepared by the jury and read out loud by the judge, it had already
been too late. Roscoe’s reputation had been irreversibly trashed in the eyes of
the public and Hollywood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">No
sooner does that thought pass through my mind, Lisa cries out, “Hey, here’s one
for the Halloween season. Fatty and the Ghost.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Immediately,
her father leans over to peek and exclaims, “I’ve never heard of that one.
Maybe, it’s one of the films that never got to the screen because of the trial.
That happened to several others he did. Although, as I recall, some of those did
get shown overseas.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Meanwhile,
Lisa is shaking her head. “I don’t think so, dad. Look at the date. This was
shot back in 1912, almost 10 years before the scandal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Roscoe,
who has been looking over their shoulders the whole time, suddenly shoots a
devilish smile me and says, <i>“Are you going to tell them, or should I?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
suppress a smile and explain to the other two, “Portions of that film were only
ever shown to a select group of individuals. Namely, those who were involved in
the making of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Brian
raises on eyebrow as he gives me a curious look. “Your tone of voice tells me
you were one of those people who got to see it. May one ask how you were involved
in the film?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pretending
to examine my fingernails, I reply nonchalantly, “Oh, I didn’t do much, just co-starred
in it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The
looks of shock, surprise, and disbelief that flashed across both father and
daughter’s faces, accompanied by a healthy dose of stammering and head shaking,
prompted Roscoe to stand next to me saying, “<i>Boy, what I wouldn’t give to
have caught that all on film. These two would’ve been great in one my movies.”</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
taught them everything they know,” I murmur quietly back at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yeah,
right,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> he laughs. <i>“You forget, I’ve seen how many times
Lisa has run rings around you. She’s made a monkey out of you so many times,
you could audition for the next ‘Planet of the Apes’ movie.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Now,
Roscoe left this world back in 1933. So, the fact he is now making references
to movies that were made decades after he passed, were one of those little
details that helped me figure out long ago that he (and a number of my other
acquaintances from across the years) was a construct made up from my memories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Or
at least that’s what I’ve always told myself. Tonight, however, I was about to
find out that there are still more things in heaven and earth than I ever
dreamed possible.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLwUxKrNrZ1TjAMAbgT1Rqniao9lUkrQ6_jYoOxKL3NzTvHptw7exSUuURqXQqQIVDFQCRL5PFT4aHwDCuDy-7laWEsu7ZUKvjRnQnp3W90u8XhNHWpukwuIKX8bFhvZsc7XASrIqze_sqIWRtQN4oa03BddMI_0RsGMNp_HLC08qQsll-C2GsV-wJVs2/s1000/Pondering.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLwUxKrNrZ1TjAMAbgT1Rqniao9lUkrQ6_jYoOxKL3NzTvHptw7exSUuURqXQqQIVDFQCRL5PFT4aHwDCuDy-7laWEsu7ZUKvjRnQnp3W90u8XhNHWpukwuIKX8bFhvZsc7XASrIqze_sqIWRtQN4oa03BddMI_0RsGMNp_HLC08qQsll-C2GsV-wJVs2/s320/Pondering.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-71329141933541620592023-11-11T10:32:00.005-08:002023-11-11T10:32:29.133-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part III<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDfWPz5RkJSaiUQkZa7iTnOei7SSTjqeUd6uBw9KoGr2pLTfRnVVW7VeJHjdWsqqzMtf-gCRCr33d1YMOsk60GBssbx9fqzA9UQdYW50wPfKFl1VOam29s_-HibTc3v9ghyCPrVNdQ_ekKdXha4QaBGVPbsb_Vg-Jv4qK_nMKPZ37KFQTqrRmpOxX_HRe/s765/Interior,_box_office,.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="765" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDfWPz5RkJSaiUQkZa7iTnOei7SSTjqeUd6uBw9KoGr2pLTfRnVVW7VeJHjdWsqqzMtf-gCRCr33d1YMOsk60GBssbx9fqzA9UQdYW50wPfKFl1VOam29s_-HibTc3v9ghyCPrVNdQ_ekKdXha4QaBGVPbsb_Vg-Jv4qK_nMKPZ37KFQTqrRmpOxX_HRe/w421-h310/Interior,_box_office,.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Leading
father and daughter back to the lobby, I turn off all the lights to the theater
along the way. Once we’re outside and I’m certain the place is locked up, we
start heading to The Crypt. It’s raining lightly, but we’re all okay with that.
After all, the building where my club is secreted is only a couple of blocks
away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa
sidles up alongside me, occasionally pressing up against me as we go. I shoot a
look of appeal to her father, who simply keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead,
apparently oblivious to his daughter’s advances. Although, I’m certain I detect
a slight pull at one corner of his mouth that falls just short of being an
actual smirk. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This
of course, leaves me to wrestle with my warring feelings on my own once more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
that same moment, as if conspiring against me, the rain begins to come down a
bit harder. Automatically, I open one side of my billowy trench coat and extend
it around Lisa’s head and shoulders to protect her, since I don’t have an
umbrella handy. This of course prompts the young lady to wrap her arms around
my waist and rest her head against my chest, so I can pull the jacket closed
around the two of us. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She’s
clearly pleased with this turn of events.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And
for the millionth time, I silently admit to myself, it does feel good. No, not
just good, but right. However, the times I’ve held Marisa, have also felt just
as right. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5E0k96XTA7A86KDx6MHdhVhT1OHjb8Cw5H_r0YUCW9WFL61NXPN-Jlpj9q6O8w-YO4IOyikkWwBSOdygoCqVxkYMhj0lQL1ox_15NGjrKZnDetMWTHyz4DNNZmKjXpn0nH6maRrY8BjtoMm8NxgKiDFNMvYrT-M6tT2gDhTpOV5jbmoOyQ8n8v30zfei/s1200/They%20Crypt%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5E0k96XTA7A86KDx6MHdhVhT1OHjb8Cw5H_r0YUCW9WFL61NXPN-Jlpj9q6O8w-YO4IOyikkWwBSOdygoCqVxkYMhj0lQL1ox_15NGjrKZnDetMWTHyz4DNNZmKjXpn0nH6maRrY8BjtoMm8NxgKiDFNMvYrT-M6tT2gDhTpOV5jbmoOyQ8n8v30zfei/w289-h434/They%20Crypt%203.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But
before I can start wondering about how holding the two of them at the same time
might feel, I find we’ve already turned down the alley that leads to my club.
Carefully, we make our way down the stairs and inside the warmth and quiet of
The Crypt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s
closed tonight so we’re the only ones here. I don’t operate it during the
weekdays, since a lot of my clientele are teenagers who don’t need another
excuse to avoid their schoolwork. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As
Brian locks the door behind us, I carefully extricate myself from Lisa’s
embrace and lead the way to the area where the backrooms await. Once we’re
there, I show them the hidden stairwell that leads down to the sub-basement.
This, like the club itself, is a leftover from the days of prohibition. Once
upon a time, all kinds of booze and distilleries where hidden down here, out of
the sight of the law (or at least, the ones who were not here to get a drink or
two themselves). and once housed all the illegal booze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nowadays,
most of the floor is an entertainment/game room, with a small kitchen, a bathroom,
and another room roughly 10’ by 20’. Unlike the rest of this underground area, the
floor in that room is comprised purely of dirt, not wood or concrete. This is a
leftover from before I took up residence in the family mansion. Prior to reclaiming
my birthright, I spent most of my daylight hours down here resting deep in the
ground, whenever I came to town.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M3fK4jSR8sDMidndmhyUmGhso2K_YitRKddbms3RKHaqWb2wXVGZRbeFnU7EAM1N66KJ_SDHkaDmeDvgJErN0C0HYWQ4LlQzlLubWgtkY23hmazNT35uXaJCHj_hF4TfLSdLrrvwlsTm8KpbsWePPHLf8HFN14QC_dnk-T2je0lAkXNwlnFn8t5vzjHN/s1200/Bookshelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7M3fK4jSR8sDMidndmhyUmGhso2K_YitRKddbms3RKHaqWb2wXVGZRbeFnU7EAM1N66KJ_SDHkaDmeDvgJErN0C0HYWQ4LlQzlLubWgtkY23hmazNT35uXaJCHj_hF4TfLSdLrrvwlsTm8KpbsWePPHLf8HFN14QC_dnk-T2je0lAkXNwlnFn8t5vzjHN/w388-h258/Bookshelf.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Next
to the door that leads into this room, stands a huge bookcase. It stretches
from the ceiling to the floor and extends a good ten feet in length along the
wall. I proceed to remove several books and stand back. Immediately, a tall
section of the bookcase swings open revealing an imposing metal door behind it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well,
well, well,” Brian exclaims, his eyes wide with surprise, “You’ve moved it
again. I swear, every time I think you’ve shown me everything, you produce yet
another little wonder.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Impressed?”
I ask casually.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Very,”
he replies giving me a slight bow. Then he starts studying the metal barrier. “Let
me guess, another leftover from Prohibition?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“From
before that,” I explain. “Originally an old bank stood on this site years ago.
Then it caught fire and was replaced by the building above us. But no one
wanted to remove the vault, so it just sat down here, empty and deserted. That
is until the mob took over and started using it to hide their distillery
operations. After I found it, Otto helped me update the facilities and install
climate control features. That was back in the 60’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And
the films have been down here ever since,” Brian smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Actually,
I didn’t move them in until the early 1980’s” I correct him. “Prior to that, I
had another use for the room at that time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So
why did you need a climate-controlled room back in the 60’s?” Lisa asks,
studying the books I had removed from the case, along with noting the spots
where each one had been taken from. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mentally,
I make a note to rearrange the swinging bookshelf mechanism again, as I answer.
“Well, originally, I was keeping certain plants and soil samples in here to
study while I was working on my master’s degree in Botany. After I’d completed
my studies, I got word that all the old films I’d gathered over the years were
not holding up as well where I’d been storing them. So, I removed most of the
tables I had kept my samples on, added lots of shelving, changed some of the
lighting and…” at this I’ve unlocked the metal door, which slowly swings open
to reveal a room the size of a rather large bank vault. Kind of like the ones
you see on TV, only this one is the real thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgomWmAlv33cab5EQJUZJCyAWaoVlCwX0WdUaQ0x1NRni-MAHh26dS6NN4S-divTLcGuL34T7sJeT6XHhUPN1WtlYEt7G-I_UcYGpsCZamAU1UGq7qzcMHEVOSpy4FLVVXqx25RE42ur3663ggqbGGLlIEvcIiZg7Zu0Zx0XwNEhp3RJz34M9Y1Vs7fmS/s600/film%20cannisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgomWmAlv33cab5EQJUZJCyAWaoVlCwX0WdUaQ0x1NRni-MAHh26dS6NN4S-divTLcGuL34T7sJeT6XHhUPN1WtlYEt7G-I_UcYGpsCZamAU1UGq7qzcMHEVOSpy4FLVVXqx25RE42ur3663ggqbGGLlIEvcIiZg7Zu0Zx0XwNEhp3RJz34M9Y1Vs7fmS/w245-h369/film%20cannisters.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There
are rows upon rows of shelves inside, along with filing cabinets, film repair
equipment, and a few other odds and ends.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Care
to step inside and peruse the collection?” I smile invitingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lisa
and her dad are so excited they both shoot past me and for a brief moment
nearly get stuck in the doorway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I
quietly smile, thinking back to how many times Roscoe, Buster, Al, or the Marx
Brothers would pull that stunt with hilarious results. It may be an old gag,
but each of them could put a new spin or twist on it like no one else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
that same time, the first inkling of an idea starts to hit me. Although to be
honest, it’s one that has occurred to me several times, but I’m still unsure
about it. The idea of running a slew of silent pictures on opening night would certainly
appeal to historical movie-buffs. But what about a younger audience? Would they
be interested? Hell, most of them have probably never heard of Buster Keaton,
or Al St. John, or my old buddy Roscoe. At best, they might be familiar with
Charlie Chaplin, but that’s about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Just
then I hear Lisa’s voice coming from the vault saying, “Dad, would come and
take a look at these? I recognize the artist, but not the names of the films.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Immediately,
I start to wonder which films she’s run across so quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Following
her voice, I enter the maze of shelving inside the vault, and find father and
daughter studying a particular row of cannisters which I instantly recognize. Out
of all the rows of films in here, how in the world did Lisa stumble across that
section?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Before
I can explore that thought further, Brian says excitedly, “Lisa, do you realize
what these are? These are some of the films I was talking about earlier. The
ones that were believed to have been lost for almost a century! There are collectors
out there who would go give their right eye teeth find just one of these!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Seriously?”
his daughter smiles, “Cool! Oh, and look who stars in most of them...”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Before
she can finish, I call out, “Roscoe Conkling Arbuckle! More well known to the general
public as ‘Fatty’, a name which he really hated, by the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAYkvuDVMfahgHN6yh5v7itDcSwneWgem2PxXtWKqHydBSoa7rzzbvyMcA__WQeHAcbHE6CJUCIeIovLkWayRpxSs3GCSgqrVXCUFM-zDTFBlyfD7J54YzHeMA8uqh-EraJtt5p0iMApRfZ7ui4v_QIJ6gK4Np2rpQbj1Th-YCYlqXW9eu-pBlLcaadhn/s251/Roscoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="251" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAYkvuDVMfahgHN6yh5v7itDcSwneWgem2PxXtWKqHydBSoa7rzzbvyMcA__WQeHAcbHE6CJUCIeIovLkWayRpxSs3GCSgqrVXCUFM-zDTFBlyfD7J54YzHeMA8uqh-EraJtt5p0iMApRfZ7ui4v_QIJ6gK4Np2rpQbj1Th-YCYlqXW9eu-pBlLcaadhn/w315-h251/Roscoe.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><b style="text-align: left;"><i>TO BE CONTINUED...</i></b><p></p><p></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-75640062569696765042023-11-02T06:59:00.009-07:002023-11-11T10:28:21.619-08:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part II<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZpuFmZ2poRJvui3JQ83t17TYP_a36kZaXNwB5JN00zJFyCqt50ASc73MvXf15nhcYcp2fSK34YAYRMpgLV76AcNXN1NLdAY88xOtOGuUPCesG-7s4Fk92buxhM-1-Amill-d-6Xv-wyjJuAvzW-zaYTmq9QliZyiTcUzubrePs-yLD54AE5-gwa_JXqs/s600/film%20cannisters.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZpuFmZ2poRJvui3JQ83t17TYP_a36kZaXNwB5JN00zJFyCqt50ASc73MvXf15nhcYcp2fSK34YAYRMpgLV76AcNXN1NLdAY88xOtOGuUPCesG-7s4Fk92buxhM-1-Amill-d-6Xv-wyjJuAvzW-zaYTmq9QliZyiTcUzubrePs-yLD54AE5-gwa_JXqs/w270-h406/film%20cannisters.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Come
on,” Brian persists, “I’ve seen that ‘personal film vault’ of yours. You’ve got
hundreds of movies in there, a number of which are still in their original
cannisters as I recall. And I know you’ve already had most of them copied and transferred
onto devices that can be used on modern projection equipment. So, what’s the
holdup?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Eyeing
him coolly, I respond, “Firstly, I have over a thousand films that have been
transferred and are ready for use. Secondly, there are still another 500 films,
which you already pointed out are still in their original cannisters, which I’ve
only recently been able to begin the process of getting them restored. Once
that process has been finished, then they too will need to be transferred and
copied.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
this point Lisa jumps in with, “Got any of the missing Dr. Who stories?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeGN62MtdFGERY665fCUyYBscH8ka58FvW_qZBgZNl9NqoHSuHnjpic8MFLjz1cilSA8UwQSW05bChu3zWdE8Chn2KYliHXPEDUgF4uHgZb6Bolw2OwPOebHMCrzljJU34Tyrva6b9MRcJ_hpI9rGIE0U7w4PlqrvlSoWU7BdAJczLLGT_20SozrZ9xuG/s800/TARDIS%20Console.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeGN62MtdFGERY665fCUyYBscH8ka58FvW_qZBgZNl9NqoHSuHnjpic8MFLjz1cilSA8UwQSW05bChu3zWdE8Chn2KYliHXPEDUgF4uHgZb6Bolw2OwPOebHMCrzljJU34Tyrva6b9MRcJ_hpI9rGIE0U7w4PlqrvlSoWU7BdAJczLLGT_20SozrZ9xuG/w408-h306/TARDIS%20Console.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Rolling
my eyes, I nod, “Yes, and I’ve already sent copies of what I had to the BBC. Unfortunately,
most of the ones I gave them, they already had. However, several of my copies
were in better shape, so it wasn’t a total waste. Plus, there were a few they
didn’t have, for which they were very grateful.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m
going to want to see those,” Brian tells me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">No
surprise. He’s almost as big a Dr. Who fan as I am, and Lisa’s just as bad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“But
getting back to that thousand plus movies in your possession. Would any of them
happen to be...” he begins.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yes,”
I cut in, sighing heavily. “A number of them are films that were believed
‘lost’ to history. Which is the big reason for my dilemma.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
this Lisa frowns. “What’s wrong with them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Nothing’s
wrong with them,” I answer snippily. “For your information, a number of them
are considered ‘classics’, which is why so many historians have been spent
years looking for any remaining copies of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And
you’ve had them all this time?” she replies eyeing me suspiciously. “Holding
out on everyone and just keeping all the goodies to yourself, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">With
a dramatic groan, I answer, “Most of them I got a hold of decades ago. And even
back then, a fair amount of them weren’t in the best shape. With Otto’s help, I
tried to preserve them as best we could. A number of these were shot from the 1910’s
through the 1930’s, which was before anyone really thought about preserving
films. In fact, it wasn’t until 1935 that the New York Museum of Modern Art
made the first real effort to preserve old films. And by then a bunch of the silent
ones had already been lost, because the material they used to film them weren’t
chosen for their ability to last over a long period of time. Plus, that stuff was
also highly flammable.” Here I pause and add quietly, “Believe me, I know. I
was one of those rare fools who would run inside a building where they were
stored which was on fire, trying to grab whatever I could, before we all wound
up as extra crispy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7c9an5dptOl2TircAPyAhe6veFcMAIII0E2gq5383Iq_3AU-c9moshohZ3dogWAYtB2FHLk-o95grFagLEDhA8HElwZDmFggIONa0iMcmrcy4p92b99uOsJjIoe5vCofJFajLCsRqTvkNEbMAy9SvXU0R3kBXCGzSImdf_x7rpGxjJY44mOgjJF4Ju6ry/s640/Little_Ferry_facility_after_fire.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="640" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7c9an5dptOl2TircAPyAhe6veFcMAIII0E2gq5383Iq_3AU-c9moshohZ3dogWAYtB2FHLk-o95grFagLEDhA8HElwZDmFggIONa0iMcmrcy4p92b99uOsJjIoe5vCofJFajLCsRqTvkNEbMAy9SvXU0R3kBXCGzSImdf_x7rpGxjJY44mOgjJF4Ju6ry/w393-h207/Little_Ferry_facility_after_fire.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Seriously?”
father and daughter cry in unison. I’d never mentioned this to either of them
before. Why? Because I’m a very private person… most of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">After
a moment, Brian regains his composure and asks, “You were rushing into burning
buildings just to save a few old films?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I
was specifically trying to save certain ones at the time,” I explain
quietly. “But between having flames closing in and structures starting to
collapse all around me, I just grabbed whatever I could and got the hell out of
there. Only after I was safe did I get a chance to go through the ones I had
grabbed and find out their titles.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Coming
over to me, Lisa places a hand on my arm and says gently, “Those films you were
after must’ve been pretty special, to you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh,
they were,” I smile and nod.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And
the ones you did save are all in that vault of yours,” she continues.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Carefully
stored in a special climate-controlled room,” I nod.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Good,”
she smiles, “So, is this vault of yours nearby? Or do we have to take a plane
to Los Angeles, or somewhere else?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Actually,
they’re quite close,” Brian smiles, before I can reply. “In fact, it’s carefully
hidden within the walls of one of your favorite hangouts.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At
that Lisa turns to me excitedly and squeals, “You’ve got them at the mansion,
don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This
time it’s my turn to smile mischievously. “Ooo… you’re cold. Very cold.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She
rolls her eyes at that. You know, for someone so ‘mature’ she’s very easy to
get going sometimes. Of course, the fact that both her parents and I used to
tease her with the old ‘Hot and Cold’ game quite a lot while she was growing up,
probably doesn’t help. Especially, when we pulled it on her seventh birthday.
At my prompting we had stashed her presents all over the house and made her
look for them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Needless
to say, the novelty of the challenge wore off rather quickly and ended with
tears. Clearly, it had not been one of my brighter suggestions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So,
upon hearing this, one might’ve thought I would have learned from that
experience. But no, I pulled it again on her just last year over at the mansion.
Only to quickly learn that time had not improved her attitude about the game one
bit. In fact, being older and basically an adult, she was able to express her
displeasure with me in much more colorful terms than when she was only seven.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Deciding
I’d best not play that game with her now, I’m about to tell her the location
when she suddenly bursts out with, “You’ve got them hidden somewhere in the
building, where The Crypt is located, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0HZUYrvUiieg4qPJa5CbC7FKYIXTG9PJ76QYhbMa7k2a1CFZquV-Lyu79GL-d61G_IKaEgbuBFxbzFnGSBZq7eC8r8TPUKOXce4sdPaidD2jvwoW3Z_f7JpFYymQeGdZIeVseOMRoulYlGhVcBHP1bdBgPLjSNA2VRreB2fVr-pgicmCy2f2vX079gil/s1600/stairs%20leading%20to%20The%20Crypt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0HZUYrvUiieg4qPJa5CbC7FKYIXTG9PJ76QYhbMa7k2a1CFZquV-Lyu79GL-d61G_IKaEgbuBFxbzFnGSBZq7eC8r8TPUKOXce4sdPaidD2jvwoW3Z_f7JpFYymQeGdZIeVseOMRoulYlGhVcBHP1bdBgPLjSNA2VRreB2fVr-pgicmCy2f2vX079gil/w407-h270/stairs%20leading%20to%20The%20Crypt.jpg" width="407" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Immediately,
Brian starts clapping. “Congratulations, you are correct. Someone, give that
girl a coconut!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Both
Lisa and I turn and stare at him for a second. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“A
coconut?” she repeats in disgust. “First of all, I hate coconuts. Secondly, if
that’s all I’m going to get, it better be made of solid gold.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“On
my salary?” her father gasps, “I’m lucky to be able to afford a regular coconut.”
Then he shifts his gaze to me. “Nathan, you’re the moneybags of the family, you
give her one made of gold. Then I can steal it in the night, melt it down and
take off with my wife to parts unknown.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Wait!
What about your kids?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You’re
their godfather, you take care of them,” he smiles, “They can be your problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
response to that Lisa snuggles up to me, sending one thought racing through my
mind, ‘One of them already is.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mind
you, it’s not that I’m not fond of Lisa. Quite the opposite. I both love and adore
her. And yes, I’m also attracted to her. Extremely attracted to be honest. But
I’m also attracted to her best friend Marisa, and I don’t want to complicate
things between them. Especially, since both of them, by my standards anyway,
happen to be a bit on the ‘young’ side. Admittedly, they’re both in their early
twenties, but I want them to explore their options and experience life. See who
and what is out there for them, before trying to decide whether or not they really
want to settle for someone who must avoid daylight and live a night owl
existence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Someone
who will also more than likely outlive them,’ I add silently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Although,
if I’m being honest, I think I worry more about that last part more than either
of them. And it’s because of that fear, I have considered doing the one thing I
know would change that outcome. In fact, I’ve thought about it more often than
I like to admit. But I’m not about to offer that option to either of them. At
least not at this time… <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So,
are we going to check out your vault or what?” Lisa asks, interrupting my train
of guilt. From the annoyed tone of her voice, this is probably the 3<sup>rd</sup>
or 4<sup>th</sup> time she’s asked the question, and I clearly wasn’t listening.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Giving
her a sheepish smile as an apology, I nod and say, “Sure, why not?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><i>TO BE CONTINUED...</i></b></span></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-10502271761713888762023-09-30T16:29:00.000-07:002023-09-30T16:29:37.338-07:00E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS”<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDwRI6018h8u5VnCNhGi-gbdKU-nPqI74LapfBRakCx9q0r07rSbV7VEksjYvP6-qGpskUAh3gyn1-qEf3mQ1uIpINqcVjfu86OIa8_VY7nQwfvF_TDH7QPeORHOn5LVDYKl6B7P4OHxZ9teBn6cZTsgccuqSl8o-2OipsRPwouXohlyE3vVWYnTWAD6d/s800/Theater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDwRI6018h8u5VnCNhGi-gbdKU-nPqI74LapfBRakCx9q0r07rSbV7VEksjYvP6-qGpskUAh3gyn1-qEf3mQ1uIpINqcVjfu86OIa8_VY7nQwfvF_TDH7QPeORHOn5LVDYKl6B7P4OHxZ9teBn6cZTsgccuqSl8o-2OipsRPwouXohlyE3vVWYnTWAD6d/w476-h317/Theater.jpg" width="476" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Staring
at the empty auditorium, I can’t help but marvel at just how well the
restoration of the place has turned out. The gilded wall sconces illuminating
the art deco walls and the high arched ceiling and its wondrous art, which
draws the eye upwards. It really makes a person feel like they somehow stepped
back in time. It’s all, just as I remembered it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, no one here in Pointer would remember just how majestic this old movie palace had been in its heyday back in the early 1900's. Most would remember it from the 1970's, run down and badly faded. It had closed once and for all during the great recession of 1975. It came into my possession in 1977, although I only learned about it two years ago.*</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">And </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">ever</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"> since then I had gone to great efforts to restore the place to its former glory.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally, there had been several ‘complications’ for the crew during the
restoration process. For instance, the question of what the original seat
covers looked like had become a real issue. You see, over the years, damaged
seats had been reupholstered with whatever material was available at that time.
So, when the crew began tackling the seats, they quickly discovered that
practically no two seats were exactly alike to guide them. And what was visible
had faded badly with age. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
same held true for the wallpaper in different locations of the building.
Luckily, I knew and was able to help on those fronts. Of course, there was the
odd question about how I could be so sure about my choices. After all, there
were no colored photos of the place back in the 1910’s and 1920’s, which was the
time frame I was aiming for. But I was able to show them descriptions from old
handbills, and diary entries from local historians (thank you Brian). Plus, I
had done a painting or two of the old theater back in its heyday, which I was
able to show the crew (while carefully obscuring the signature of the artist at
the same time).</span></p>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> But now all was ready. The auditorium, the balcony, the crying room, the catwalks, the lighting, the proscenium arch looming tall and majestic over the stage, while a red velvet curtain shielded a huge drop-down screen from view. And behind that screen, a full working stage perfect for live performances, for both theatrical and music, stood ready for action.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Behind and slightly above my head, loomed a mezzanine, with a fully restored crying room off to one side, where parents with fussing infants could enjoy the entertainment without fear of disturbing other patrons. Next to that, hidden behind an ornate wall, stood a fully operational projection room prepped
with both the latest in technology, as well as fully restored older projectors, all ready for action.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiog32bpnCkb4QdyEPew33L2dim4Ulo-pb_WhpaQ0vjLLRBt6rTS3WyB9If6Gt8_5mhY0wiznkZFg4pi_08q02IT0al6pmf3oakqfFfFmoxrVEOInEmtZP-4BD8mtDU7bYJLshUi6H4k5UE3ZG1yvbHOZmIAme60sjiwW7id18rD2elcp6bVlEeAqcYai3c/s800/Lobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiog32bpnCkb4QdyEPew33L2dim4Ulo-pb_WhpaQ0vjLLRBt6rTS3WyB9If6Gt8_5mhY0wiznkZFg4pi_08q02IT0al6pmf3oakqfFfFmoxrVEOInEmtZP-4BD8mtDU7bYJLshUi6H4k5UE3ZG1yvbHOZmIAme60sjiwW7id18rD2elcp6bVlEeAqcYai3c/w488-h325/Lobby.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">Outside
the auditorium, hallways glistened with art and mirrors, while colorful carpeting
beckoned patrons to explore the premises. Beyond that stood the lobby area,
along with the original concession stand, all fully restored to their original
splendor, complete with a crystal chandelier overhead.</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
of course, just beyond ornate doors, a gleaming ticket booth stood, under the protective cover of
a huge marquee, surrounded by lights. Across that marquee, in huge
black letters, was the proclamation “Opening Soon”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsF-vxoGVbBr57nkMqn5gAaBOZXhQgMEtYp1RTrPWmmXLw56KiQ_EA9ZTKZ6rk6Z_7MUMrpI_ZhvC0fUWsqF6S0XJvObW2EMgsTMFtfbdBoJ5clczfHiMJYtkq_BVAlQkqxrNSqtWX2wO2Zv1xe7_Z0zQrcszcyHlml3qdLxWMJp573152kaV_zg1QIhX/s765/Interior,_box_office,.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="765" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsF-vxoGVbBr57nkMqn5gAaBOZXhQgMEtYp1RTrPWmmXLw56KiQ_EA9ZTKZ6rk6Z_7MUMrpI_ZhvC0fUWsqF6S0XJvObW2EMgsTMFtfbdBoJ5clczfHiMJYtkq_BVAlQkqxrNSqtWX2wO2Zv1xe7_Z0zQrcszcyHlml3qdLxWMJp573152kaV_zg1QIhX/w437-h322/Interior,_box_office,.jpg" width="437" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"I
see the sign still hasn’t changed yet,” a voice says from behind,
interrupting my train of thought.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before
I can turn to address the speaker, a second voice, a young woman’s to be
precise, adds, “It’s been saying that for almost two months, ever since the renovations
were finished. So, what’s the holdup?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
know both those voices, especially the second one. After all, my dearest Lisa
spends more time at my mansion than she does at home. Or at least it seems that
way sometimes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Turning
to face her and Brian (her father), I answer dryly, “The management has been
encountering unforeseen difficulties, which must be overcome before this
wonderful place can be opened. Furthermore, management, knowing the public has very
high expectations for what kind of experience this facility will provide the
community, are even now diligently struggling to resolve these issues as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, much of their time is being taken up by fielding repetitive and
inane questions from uninvited visitors.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
fully expect Lisa to have some equally witty comeback, but her father beats her
to the punch. “Still can’t make up your mind on what film or films to present
on opening night, eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rather
than openly admitting that he is correct, I give him the most dignified
response I can come up with at that moment. I blow a raspberry at him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Brian,
his smile emphasized by the old-fashion sideburns he had recently began sporting,
turns to his daughter and says casually, “And that my dear, is the kind of
maturity you can expect from your godfather, should you ever have the
misfortune of ever having to live with him on a regular basis.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
which Lisa cocks her head prettily and responds, “Well, then at least he’d have
one mature person around to keep an eye on things.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;">Considering
she’s only 22, compared to my 171 years of existence, I am more than prepared
to differ. However, upon thinking back on some of the many adventures with Para-Earths and other strange encounters she’s experienced over time with me and Otto, she may have a point. So, I do the most grownup thing I can
think of, I blow a raspberry at her as well. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;">Okay, maybe there is some validity
to her remark about my maturity. But there’s no way in hell, I’m about to admit
it. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">At least not out loud.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>TO BE CONTINUED...</i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><b>*Author's Note: this event will be covered in "The Vampyre Blogs - Family Ties" novel which is still being written at the time of this post.*</b></p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"></span><p></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-62160930455525727622023-05-12T12:42:00.000-07:002023-05-12T12:42:04.870-07:00A Matter of Keeping Your Perspective While Writing...<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I haven't posted any new stories lately, but this is not because I haven't been writing. On the contrary, I've been rather busy with stories lately. In fact, I recently completed one tale set during in World War I, involving Nathan and a zeppelin. Sounds intriguing? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the 2nd anthology "Two for the Road" to come out, to read it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_ygSX9E4f_JZdCgHSDK-zZG-LdZk0gXAXFhB-TwS27P0qT41HXWAbmut6fMWwkzoBF6-GCUBj24RzsGrdi-mOTas_pOibNn0V3nZDdypFS_q2jE_oOrzdKY-H9FcuhBNWVc-OMPnTy1jyzdL4mWf8VcLPT0qCiU7QWJGE9sRzCNA33e6gWFL_O0TpA/s498/Stinker%20GIF.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="498" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_ygSX9E4f_JZdCgHSDK-zZG-LdZk0gXAXFhB-TwS27P0qT41HXWAbmut6fMWwkzoBF6-GCUBj24RzsGrdi-mOTas_pOibNn0V3nZDdypFS_q2jE_oOrzdKY-H9FcuhBNWVc-OMPnTy1jyzdL4mWf8VcLPT0qCiU7QWJGE9sRzCNA33e6gWFL_O0TpA/w378-h273/Stinker%20GIF.gif" width="378" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which with a little luck, and some actual work on my part, may actually happen later this year. We'll see. Honestly, I would like to see it happen, but if I've learned anything these last few months is that "Life gets in the way...", so we'll see. I'll try to keep you all in the loop as best I can.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the meantime, I've also been working on a second lengthy tale which will also appear in that collection. This one will have a trigger warning at the beginning because the subject matter involves a sex trafficking operation. This tale will involve some sex, violence, and threats of violence against women. The story will not be told by Nathan or one of the other regular members of the cast, but someone new who will wind up having an interesting impact on Lisa. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sounds intriguing, doesn't it? I hope so, because this story has given me no end of difficulty to write. In most of my other stories, actually all of them now that I think about it, when the storyteller is not Nathan, Lisa or Marisa, it's someone who is already familiar with the secret of Nathan's condition or are being told about it (like in The Artist tale). Admittedly, in the first book "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home", Marisa and Pastor Lamar Gregory, but both learned the truth before the book was over. Or at least witnessed firsthand, some of what he could do.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">However, this time I'm working on a short story... hell, who am I kidding it has already reached novelette length. Anyway, this time I'm working with a character who has absolutely no idea of who (or what) Nathan is. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yISneaFiLrhLgbs65aJMlmwe2vXj5hudZ21D77xI2IU7Y2uQBRYTYrIxLrCcEcv7Hfl3fey2HXEHP5i-GYosM8GCV8crziDmExsmWX1z-7eMLaSACmPW9LrkV0EoMtH_Bmyr66If8GQQXfzlv-R8YoSPGZIPWs3RgI59eLhC1bU0fue1UV1b7lGktw/s640/guardians-star-lord-who.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="640" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yISneaFiLrhLgbs65aJMlmwe2vXj5hudZ21D77xI2IU7Y2uQBRYTYrIxLrCcEcv7Hfl3fey2HXEHP5i-GYosM8GCV8crziDmExsmWX1z-7eMLaSACmPW9LrkV0EoMtH_Bmyr66If8GQQXfzlv-R8YoSPGZIPWs3RgI59eLhC1bU0fue1UV1b7lGktw/w445-h185/guardians-star-lord-who.gif" width="445" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>And this is where I've been encountering my troubles. I want her to remain ignorant of Nathan's vampiric nature and abilities. So trying to juggle the events that unfold in the story in such a way that neither she nor Lisa actually see him in action. Oh,</span><span style="font-size: large;"> they might catch glimpse of Nathan's fury here and there, but without actually seeing who's doing what. Most of the action takes place off screen, but they and you the readers will get to see a fair amount of the aftermath, and some of it will NOT be pretty. I've had more than one person tell me how they'd like to see Nathan not hold back for a change. So, expect a body count in this story, and I warn you all that some of it will be grisly.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now in order to achieve this effect of keeping the main storyteller ignorant, I've had to remind myself time and again about perspective. And it's been an interesting challenge to write the scenes in such a way that keeps the reader in the know, but not our heroine. To deal with this problem, I've resorted to making sure most of the more violent action scenes off screen, but close enough for our storyteller and Lisa to hear and react to what they can make out. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But it took me a while find a way to pull this off, as I don't want readers to get bored. Most of you are used to getting to witness the action firsthand, so to speak. But this time, I'm kind of using a method that H. P. Lovecraft (the author and creator of the Cthulhu mythos) employed. In his works, many a time the main character catches a brief glimpse of something to horrifying or mind-shattering, that he only gave the reader snippets of what the character saw, then focused mainly on how it made that person feel. The horror, the revulsion, and sense of being in the presence of something that didn't belong in this world, to make the reader feel and react to the situation as if they were there.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's a unique method of storytelling, but extremely effective. I'd compare it to the use of shadows in early horror movies to let the audience 'see' what terrible thing is being done to a victim. I for one still love this technique and still shiver at some of those old black and white scenes. This is probably because I subscribe to the idea that as much as special effects artists can come up with incredible and grisly results, it still doesn't compare to what our own imaginations can come up with. Lovecraft understood this, and it is why his works are still sending shivers down spines to this day.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, as I've worked on this story, time and again I find myself writing the action where Lisa and our storyteller get to see too much. It's at that point I have to say to myself, "HEY! I thought we were keeping Nathan and his abilities a secret, remember?" At which point, I have to go back the next day and fix that area, because these realizations don't always come to me as I'm writing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There's also another problem I've been encountering that involves Lisa. Because she clearly states in "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" that </span><span style="font-size: large;">she's never seen Nathan's darker side.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> And the tale I'm working on takes place, just weeks after her Sweet 16th birthday and two years before the events of the novel. So now I had to ask myself, how do I explain why she doesn't seem to recall what happened? Yes, I'm one of those people, who questions apparent inconsistencies in television, movie and book series. Well, rest assured, I've got a solution worked out for the problem.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In fact, a lot of the things that take place in this tale is laying groundwork for a number of plans I have for Lisa, Marisa, and Nathan down the road. But first I have to finish writing the story, which will require me to keep the story in the right 'perspective'. Which I hope will come easier with time. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My apologies if this entry was more about my writing process, but I thought you all might like a little insight to how and why I write the stories the way I do. Point of view, and perspective, are key elements to how I come up with stories and the tone I set for them.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">See you all again soon. Take care and happy reading my friends.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQsKVwPgyfTslVU6lOtKM4ttCmKM-zxmrIsESCCff4T_CdwztINqsuM8lUQu4NOy1fePS-VfuDnEEZl2FRyhJFGyhuvbZ-ED5CtuolCB4Z8jI0OFMDIrW9DMCv4gjSFdZsxRilqN7hHRP-JSZc3FlgNYGKuJS9FCVY5n-akwIrlOyW0Blbt4wFKEgdw/s1616/Pondering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1616" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQsKVwPgyfTslVU6lOtKM4ttCmKM-zxmrIsESCCff4T_CdwztINqsuM8lUQu4NOy1fePS-VfuDnEEZl2FRyhJFGyhuvbZ-ED5CtuolCB4Z8jI0OFMDIrW9DMCv4gjSFdZsxRilqN7hHRP-JSZc3FlgNYGKuJS9FCVY5n-akwIrlOyW0Blbt4wFKEgdw/w378-h284/Pondering.jpg" width="378" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">PS: Having recently completed my professional Voice Over training and gotten my demo recordings back, I'll be focusing on turning both "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" and "TVB - One Day at a Time" into audiobooks and release them later this year.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-76241262160919436432023-04-24T13:51:00.000-07:002023-04-24T13:51:08.904-07:00Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part III<p> <span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"> I frowned at my grandfather saying, "Hey, my hair isn't that long.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> "No, but it looks like the last time it was cut someone took a weed-whacker to it," he grunted and gestured at the seat. "So which of you mop-tops is going to be first?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "Mop-Top?" Darlene repeated, scrunching up her face in such a way it was clear she didn't know whether to be amused or confused.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Luckily Cheryl came to her rescue, "That was a popular way of describing men with long hair back in the 60's. I think it started when the Beatles came here to the United States for the first time." Here she paused and studied me for a moment and then added, "You just need to look at your father to get a good idea of how long their hair was back then."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzOs1_zXDynTJOllTBItUdN2Naz1uu0dcpvVNNtU55ccp3DqnqhuFLSRvDn6uFQ9cuqOYEuaOfCRhx1CDzTx-d7mshSNxu1PlpWErO6C8_ttkGntySC9OZD7p9BQgc32OE65VV-AsclZQQ/s1600/mop+tops.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1366" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzOs1_zXDynTJOllTBItUdN2Naz1uu0dcpvVNNtU55ccp3DqnqhuFLSRvDn6uFQ9cuqOYEuaOfCRhx1CDzTx-d7mshSNxu1PlpWErO6C8_ttkGntySC9OZD7p9BQgc32OE65VV-AsclZQQ/s400/mop+tops.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> My offspring gave me an appraising stare and then shook her head. "They considered that long? Looks more he's losing some..."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "That'll do," I cut in giving her a look that once upon a time would strike terror into her heart. Now all it did was earn me a mischievous grin. Sigh... they grow up fast and much harder to intimidate these days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Meanwhile, Nathan had hopped into the barber's chair, much to my grandfather's satisfaction. Especially when Nathan started asking him about the NY Mets.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "That bunch of bums!" granddad snarled, while tying the styling cape around Nathan's neck, "Don't get me started. And why are you bringing them up? This isn't baseball season."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "My point exactly," Nathan replied cheerfully, "If they play during the off season they might actually find someone they can beat. Maybe a girl's softball team for instance."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Darlene immediately jumped in saying, "You've got to be kidding. We'd mop the floor with those losers, any day of the year."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "You tell 'im," granddad smiled and turned back to Nathan, "She gets that from my side of the family."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "And mine!" added my grandmother pointedly. Then she turned to Cheryl and said in a stage-whisper, "He'll never admit it, but he always loved the fact that I wouldn't put up with his nonsense."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "Like hell," granddad shot back, "I married you because no one else was willing to try to straighten you out so you'd behave more like a lady." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> "And how did that work out for you?" Nathan asked innocently.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Granddad glared at him for a second then murmured something about, "Gimme time. I'm still working on it." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I was about to comment how he'd already been working on her for almost 70 years, when I noticed my son Joe picking up an old photo album off the table. "Be careful with that," I told him, "That contains some priceless pictures in it."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Naturally he gave me a skeptical look. "Dad, you say that about all the albums at home and it's just filled with pictures of us when we growing up."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Looking up into the mirror, granddad saw which book Joe was holding and said, "Memories of family will be more precious than you'll ever know one day. But that's not what's in that book. Those are photos, most of them signed, by some of my favorite customers from over the years. Go ahead and take a peek, you might recognize one or two faces."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Obligingly, my son did as he was told and immediately his eyes widened at the first image he came across. "Cary Grant!" he cried.</div> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPAAO9gMoYjy2z7qG4j9C8hdRfzGQBH7MT2F4FF0QMb7OYtEaTptsOs1H71G3MyoScHt802vE076rsIBBl7jEKMdGsACeudennSKfVxhE6hcHNNp62HaPY_LOWZB5qZvKzMYjW-Cw4D-k/s1600/Cary-Grant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPAAO9gMoYjy2z7qG4j9C8hdRfzGQBH7MT2F4FF0QMb7OYtEaTptsOs1H71G3MyoScHt802vE076rsIBBl7jEKMdGsACeudennSKfVxhE6hcHNNp62HaPY_LOWZB5qZvKzMYjW-Cw4D-k/s400/Cary-Grant.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "You're kidding?" his sister gasped and went over to see for herself. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Meanwhile, Granddad got to work on Nathan and was saying, "Really nice fella. Great head of hair. Loved working on it and passing the time with him. How old was he when you first brought him to my shop?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Nathan had to think for a moment. "Let's see, he was still pretty new in the vaudeville circuit when I met him. I'd say he was just eighteen at the time."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "That's what I thought," Granddad nodded, "Always stopped in for a shave or a haircut whenever he came to town too." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Meanwhile Darlene had turned the next page in the album and started frowning. "Who's the funny-looking guy with the big nose? Was he famous too?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Let me see," Nana told her and went to take a peek. After a moment she smiled, "Oh, that's Jimmy."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Which one, Stewart or the other one?" asked Granddad looking up from his work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Nana shook her head at him, "Did Jimmy Stewart ever have a big nose?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9y9xT1RsOdVON_CvPfzyLSh-e_VmA-2yoqwn0ElLMPLY7Fm7FCYbmCQdBvq0SZhNfoWxk33Ji0rlv7d6xp3INIozv65zFkfCPk9ltczfoggtrOXNBIJUEJ5nrJtwLKknBrLdVUS-8diZ7/s1600/Jimmy_Durante2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="982" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9y9xT1RsOdVON_CvPfzyLSh-e_VmA-2yoqwn0ElLMPLY7Fm7FCYbmCQdBvq0SZhNfoWxk33Ji0rlv7d6xp3INIozv65zFkfCPk9ltczfoggtrOXNBIJUEJ5nrJtwLKknBrLdVUS-8diZ7/s400/Jimmy_Durante2.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Suddenly, Nathan leapt out of the chair and swung around. His nose had grown considerably as he started talking fast in a raspy, jolly voice. "Who's got a big nose? Madam I'll have you know this schnozzola has given me the world's most memorable profile. It even got me into Guiness just last year."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> I quickly jumped in. "You're in the Guiness Book of World Records?"<br /> "Nah," Nathan replied in the same voice, "Any chump can into that old waste of paper. Nah, it got me into the Guinness brewery and straight into one of their vats. And lemme tell ya, it weren't full when I fell in, but it was plenty empty when I got out. Ha-cha-cha-cha."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> My son Joe, who had been frowning as if in deep thought, suddenly spoke up. "I know that voice. That's the guy who was the narrator from the 'Frosty the Snowman' cartoon."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Hey, that's right," his sister agreed. "And the cartoon version of him did have a big nose just like that." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Dat's right kids, and lemme tell ya. They still didn't do it justice," Nathan continued in Mr. Durante's voice. "Why just the other day I..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> At that point, Granddad grabbed Nathan by the arm and made him sit back in the chair. Of course this didn't stop the rush of jokes coming out of his client. In fact it wasn't until he pulled out the hot towel and placed it over the comedian's face that the dialogue became more muffled, but not completely silent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> From then on, the rest of us continued going through the album marveling at the number of famous folks who Granddad had had the pleasure of working on over the years. Nathan helped supply some visuals to the proceedings, much to everyone's amusement and delight. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> When Granddad finished with Nathan, Joe was more than willing to sit in the chair next and get his hair cut. Not that he really needed it, but by this time he was eager to hear more of namesake's stories. In the meantime I sat back and waited my turn in the chair. It was great seeing my kids really connecting with their great-grandparents. Like Granddad said earlier, memories about family were priceless and at that moment, I was wishing I had my phone out taking pictures. But I didn't, because Nathan had already grabbed it and was shooting away. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> I later found out, both he and Cheryl had videotaped some of the exchanges and nonsense that followed. It was a great visit, but what made me the happiest was on the way home both Darlene and Joe asked when we were going to visit again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> We made a lot of memories tonight and all because of a simple haircut.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> - The End</div><div><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-49045916799478309902023-04-06T16:26:00.004-07:002023-04-06T16:26:59.576-07:00Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part II Darlene rolled her eyes at her brother and sighed, “I don’t know why he’d need a haircut. Does it really matter?” Then before he could answer, I saw her expression change. “Actually, that is a pretty good question. Dad…? <br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> Holding up my hands I said, “Don’t ask me, I’m just here for Nana’s cookies and hot chocolate.” I wasn’t about to admit that I’d never really thought about it myself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Just then Nathan, who was not three feet away, turned to my grandmother saying, “You know I could’ve sworn I’d walked in with a bunch of people, was I just imagining things? Or did I suddenly turn invisible?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I watched her pat his arm and say, “No, you’re just getting to that age when everyone thinks you’ve gone deaf or your mind has gone wandering and you aren’t paying attention. I get that a lot.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Not from me!” I called out loudly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Nathan looked around, “Did you hear something?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Aw it’s just this old house creaking, or my joints, one or the other,” Nana told him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Must be the house,” he assured her. “I told your dad when he was building it to use hickory but as he pointed out it was more expensive and harder to get here in Connecticut.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Nana laughed as she led us down the hallway.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YgTKa6C-EINViG4SEneJi9V09Zk_ejK_pT95_ACaHxf1tvLrL__7V26Ty-lmQ80YNVI9Ds_bs3t-c_s8a-oGKlIdFuEcs7ybbuVn_vR2Sm8MzXJuq-zgCS29OyyBpzV8vrrLWi0WK3iL/s1600/Barberspole.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1253" data-original-width="854" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YgTKa6C-EINViG4SEneJi9V09Zk_ejK_pT95_ACaHxf1tvLrL__7V26Ty-lmQ80YNVI9Ds_bs3t-c_s8a-oGKlIdFuEcs7ybbuVn_vR2Sm8MzXJuq-zgCS29OyyBpzV8vrrLWi0WK3iL/s320/Barberspole.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">There was an old barber pole on the wall, next to the door that led downstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">My grandfather had been the town’s barber for over sixty-five years, before he finally ‘retired’. The shop was still in business but being run by one of my cousins who specialized in not only classic haircutting, but the more modern ‘faded’ style as well. I myself spent a lot of time in grand-dad’s shop when I was a boy and people often thought I’d follow in his footsteps. In reality, I was studying how he interacted with his customers since he always had a way with them. I learned an awful lot about putting people at ease and drawing them out from watching him, which has been a great asset to my medical practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">I slipped past Nathan as we reached the door to offered Nana my arm which she accepted, then we all headed downstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">“Here we go through ‘Dr Who’s Tardis’ again,” I heard my son Joe murmuring behind me, only to be shushed by his sister saying, “Oh, shut up, I like that show.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">“That’s just because you think the current one is cute,” he shot back.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Glancing over my shoulder I saw Darlene make a face, “Ew… I’ll take David Tennant over him any day of the week. I mostly like the companions, especially Amy…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">At that point Nana chimed in with, “I still prefer Tom Baker myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">That earned several groans from the rest of us, although deep down I had to admit she had a point. He was a master of comic timing and seriousness when it came to the role of the Doctor. I would’ve said more but we’d just reached the bottom of the stairs and my grandfather’s ‘shop’.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">Even though my dad, Nathan, and I helped set the place up for him, I always found myself transported back to my childhood every time I came down here.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdtwKty3q1L4MzRpDk31JsopoEj0KmdFef1GfExXYlYdxEmDFX9lqXD63Iorj7FCt0dMloenpfHoTYWpw3biOpYPYOa8mtkr1INB0GLx5dArXbQSnDqBJLLeMCauvVqfcB_9QKPD9X6-a/s1600/the-bookcase-and-barber.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdtwKty3q1L4MzRpDk31JsopoEj0KmdFef1GfExXYlYdxEmDFX9lqXD63Iorj7FCt0dMloenpfHoTYWpw3biOpYPYOa8mtkr1INB0GLx5dArXbQSnDqBJLLeMCauvVqfcB_9QKPD9X6-a/s400/the-bookcase-and-barber.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">One wall of the room was dominated by a large mirror, with shelving covered by numerous barber implements, stood before two chairs that had come from the shop itself. There was also a small flatscreen television staring down from above the mirror. In short, there were also other chairs and tables around the room, but to all intent and purposes, the place was a mini-barber shop. This had been my grandmother’s idea after a number of former clients kept pestering her husband for haircuts because he was the only one who knew how they liked their hair done. Plus, they missed having their regular bull sessions with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">But most of all, she knew my grandad missed keeping busy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;">My grandfather was lounging in the older of the two chairs, when we came down. Getting out of one of the chair, where he'd been reading the paper, he stood up. "About time you got here Nathan, I was about to..." he began then spotted me and my family. "Oh good, lord you brought the </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">entire crew with you. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me tonight."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><i>TO BE CONTINUED...</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>*Author's Note: Sorry for the short entry. I was working on it this past weekend and had to go to get some routine lab work done (which took a couple of hours... groan). Plus family and a bad cold took more out of me. Didn't want to leave you all with nothing, so I figured a short entry was better than nothing, especially when I'm trying to do at least at two entries a month. To be concluded in two weeks... unless the story decides it wants to be longer.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-39870831086010292842023-03-20T08:42:00.002-07:002023-03-20T08:42:34.706-07:00Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part I<div style="text-align: justify;">Cheryl and I took our kids, Joe and Darlene, to visit my grandparents at their home this evening. They only live on the other side of town, but with the snow on the ground walking with two teenagers grumbling the whole time would've tested the patience of saint. It never ceases to amaze me how after spending all day out in the cold with their friends, our children can be all set to head outside once more in spite of the dropping temperature as soon as they finish eating dinner. Their energy and enthusiasm seems limitless. At least, until we remind them they're supposed to go somewhere with us.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In that moment, all life seems to suddenly evaporate from their bodies and they're too tired to go anywhere. Or they've just remembered an important paper they need to do for school which requires them to stay home, and maybe have a friend or two over to assist them in their research. It is a condition that we in the medical profession have yet to fully analyze and come up with a name for it. I have on more than one occasion considered preparing a paper on this phenomenon for publication. However, the thought of spending hours trying get teenagers, who are NOT mine therefore I have no authority over them, to answer even the simplest of questions quickly cures me of such urges.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, after reminding them of how often they'd assured us that they were fully caught up on all their schoolwork, and that we'd discussed the visit several times earlier in the week, they finally went to fetch their coats. I swear it was like watching a the old television series, "The Six Million Dollar Man" or "The Bionic Woman", where the heroes are filmed in slow motion when they're supposed to be moving inhumanly fast. Only in my kids case they really were moving that slow, it took them almost a full fifteen minutes just to find their coats and another five to put them on.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoHMh42kaOUL1i-P0OQpXuu7KZSBpN4Fhz0HF0Q6fwA2SFVNJiycv5V0Z1m_Ee1O82GsnPE5wcjhcbiPoNVCmAVnLtJLz-Ol3FLzEWAUJ4prmFKrUGmcJpbo6aNUj-zxgFNg8QcJDsK2a/s1600/old-farmhouses-move-in.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="236" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoHMh42kaOUL1i-P0OQpXuu7KZSBpN4Fhz0HF0Q6fwA2SFVNJiycv5V0Z1m_Ee1O82GsnPE5wcjhcbiPoNVCmAVnLtJLz-Ol3FLzEWAUJ4prmFKrUGmcJpbo6aNUj-zxgFNg8QcJDsK2a/s400/old-farmhouses-move-in.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, we finally got them out the door and on the road. We were just pulling up to my grandparents place, when we saw a familiar figure knocking on their front door. It was Nathan.<br /><br />From the backseat I heard Joe say, "Since when does he know Great-Nana and Great Pop-Pop?"<br /><br />"Um... I don't know, maybe because he's been watching over our family for generations like he told us back in September," Darlene shot back, in a sweet-sarcastic tone only a sibling can deliver. A second later, she was out of the car dodging snowballs from her brother who'd raced after her.<br /><br />All of this happened before I'd even killed the engine of the car, leaving me once more to ponder that paper about energy levels in teens. Perhaps I could just try an observational study? I turned to Cheryl who I noticed already her seatbelt unbuckled but hadn't even opened the door on her side. "Is something wrong?" I asked her.<br /><br />Turning she gave me a look of disbelief. "I'm not going out into the middle of those two having a snowball fight."<br /><br />A second later, a rogue snowball struck the window, followed by a muffled, "Sorry Mom," from our son Joe. His aim has never been great when it comes to throwing, which is why he's never made it onto the school baseball team. Darlene on the other hand has a wicked throwing arm from two seasons on the softball team. Which she proceeded to demonstrate by nailing her brother while he was a distracted.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH22LuqCUcIfZTXGnIpWGVv1WcfXliXu5Vod-eZHCq7TAjg8og9vlcBJndd7M99k23n0Soht1i8WAYEEaYBzmPP-vGOrYodjyE1h9CUxYWQWIxr-3V0sgSDufkR0D_TyGY5GBCEoKYhE1p/s1600/snowball+fight.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="1600" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH22LuqCUcIfZTXGnIpWGVv1WcfXliXu5Vod-eZHCq7TAjg8og9vlcBJndd7M99k23n0Soht1i8WAYEEaYBzmPP-vGOrYodjyE1h9CUxYWQWIxr-3V0sgSDufkR0D_TyGY5GBCEoKYhE1p/s400/snowball+fight.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Joe quickly retaliated with a rare well-aimed shot at his sister, who barely managed to dodge the attack unlike my grandmother who had just come out onto the steps to greet all of us.<br /><br />Thank God Nathan was right there. He could've easily just caught the snowball, but it would've exploded in his hand, showering Nana in the process and he knew it. So he good-naturedly stepped in front of her and took the hit, which almost knocked the long stocking cap off his head. I saw him say something to my grandmother and then he turned on my offspring yelling in his Groucho Marx voice, "Of course you realize, this means war!"<br /><br />However, before he could reach down to grab some snow, Nana tapped him on the shoulder and said something to him. Of course I couldn't hear from inside the car, but I saw him straighten up and give a dramatic sigh indicating hostilities would remain on hold.<br /><br />At that point, Cheryl finally opened her car door and stepped out. I quickly followed and joined her and our children who were already greeting their great-grandmother.<br /><br />Nathan was standing respectfully to the side and I joined him.<br /><br />"Nice kids you got there, Jack," he remarked, still in his Groucho voice. Taking off his hat and shaking the snow from it, he continued, "Attacking bystanders like that. What's this world coming to? Don't answer, I'll tell you what it's coming to..."<br /><br />I was thankfully spared the rest of his performance by Nana's voice calling out, "Nathan! Joseph's expecting you downstairs in his 'shop'. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting. And it looks like he may have some other customers who need haircuts as well." That last remark was aimed at my son, my grandfather's namesake. Then I noticed she was eyeing me as well.<br /><br />"I think we're expected," Nathan observed in his own voice, and I nodded.<br /><br />As we followed my grandmother inside, I heard my son saying to his sister, "Wait a minute. With all the things he can do with his body, why does Uncle Nathan need a haircut?"<br /><br /><i><b>TO BE CONTINUED...</b></i></div></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-48951130847954860112023-02-10T09:16:00.002-08:002023-02-10T09:16:25.122-08:00When Two Authors Under the Same Roof, Get an Idea…<p> <em><strong>*I'm borrowing this entry from one of our other blogs (The Musings of Two Creative Minds) because what happened here involves our own dear Nathan was heavily involved in this situation. And it gives you a little hint of a story that will be appearing in the next anthology book "Two for the Road", which will contain a number of tales some familiar from this blog, along with some brand new stories including the one being discussed here. I have hopes that this anthology will be appearing later this year, but we'll see what happens. Both Helen and I have got a number of irons in the fire, including turning "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" into an audiobook. Wish us luck and enjoy this peek into our creative processes...</strong></em>.</p><!-- wp:paragraph {"align":"justify"} -->
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Pondering Pug's Thought of the Day:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/159759622969292177/5694415934714925372#" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAAfyEiPIdfkHbG-aSRR9aHgLN-HWC8q-UAazWA9GcYf-0FN_-F9P5ckU2riozQsibrxr561dwkRfSDdWPtWe1xohP_HdjbzV8KU0MPk6DTemy-1_qqrPx5Owq-Uxrwql5F8hZ2gOl4UuwrifHwElHQudJ5pn9pSEqGJT4l3np_sxbHLYr-9ohTmeIw/w420-h420/Pondering%20Pug.jpg" /></a></div><figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter"></figure>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify has-medium-font-size" style="text-align: justify;"><strong>What happens when two authors, who are married to each other, get the same type of idea for a short story for their respective book series?</strong></p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Funny, that this pup should be asking that question, because it happened to Helen and me just recently.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As you all know I created a vampire (or as I call him a 'vampyre' since he's not a true undead being, but more of a science fiction-based blood drinking, shape-shifting, sun avoiding being) named Nathan Steward. For those who aren't familiar with him here's a brief synopsis. Nathan was a Union soldier in the Civil War who got blown into a Para-Earth where one of the life forms there fused itself to him, creating a symbiotic bond that allows them to coexist as one. This symbiotic arrangement has also extended Nathan's life far beyond that of a normal human being, which means he has existed for over 160 years. This has allowed him to see and be a part of a lot of history. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Then about 2 2 1/2 years ago, Helen created Rafael Jones, star of her "The Forever Detective Series". Set in New York City in 1947 and told from Rafael's point of view, we quickly we learn he was a police officer, who wanted to serve his country during World War II. Unfortunately, because of his police training he was assigned to MP duty, but later became an investigator gathering evidence for the Nuremberg trials. In the first book "Forever's Too Long" he has come back to NYC and is opening his own private detective business. In his first 2 cases which become one, he learns that supernatural beings do actually exist, in this case in the form of vampires. As the case progresses, he winds up getting killed and turned into a vampire himself. Yet upon rising he has managed to hold onto his humanity and goes after the vampires responsible for his death, who are also going after a close friend of his. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">From there, the series continues with Rafael learning to adjust to his new existence, while keeping his private investigation business going. In his next cases, he encounters more supernatural beings such as ghosts, kelpies, and those gifted with magic such as mediums, witches, wizards, as well as other beings such as ghosts, kelpies, dryads, and many others. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Recently, she added a spinoff group of books centering around some of these other folk, focusing on some adventures of their own that do not involve Rafael. Some of these tales take place before and during World War II. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Well so do a number of my stories with Nathan...</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">So, I recently had been asking myself what kind of story can I come up with for Nathan during World War I? I had recently been listening to podcasts that told stories of the United States getting hit with sabotage for supplying war materials like weapons and ammunition to England, before we actually entered the war. And two of the cases took place in New York and New Jersey, which was where Nathan was working backstage at vaudeville palaces. So he'd be aware of these incidents, and I could get him involved helping the government by catching a ship headed to England. Now this was during the time of submarine warfare which meant I could easily put him in conflict with a German U-boat to save the ship he was traveling on.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/159759622969292177/5694415934714925372#" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1eaBQIuXvxoMdz2Z1YqpEtUaSCVbNT7SeUOet1MU_dpHSXdWN00CC_LrN33gpcXFkykUD8NG48ViGmi-EgyZ4G3rXbuuHz7L5iPeEKlMcaBtPaKOr4JNcT5UbIPSwBGktAKMPPI6pZ4nxDtKY3a9qnKgs4TSzW7HYBxFWlfU0gxVtTh5aCNoNHI4HQ/w301-h432/This%20is%20where%20it%20gets%20complicated.jpg" /></a></div><p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;"></p><figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter"></figure>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Now I knew Helen had been working on a U-boat story set in WWII for a second anthology in her spinoff series "W. I. T. C. H. Hunters Forever". However, she wasn't sure if she'd ever get around to finishing the anthology. And since my story took place in WWI, I didn't think there would be a problem. So, I got the story well under way before telling Helen about it. She thought it sounded interesting, but then pointed out it might be too similar to the story she had been working on. After much discussion she told me to go ahead with mine and she would drop hers. Now I could tell she was disappointed, but since she insisted, I kept working on mine.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify">But being the diligent little writer that I am, I wanted to see what the interior of a WWI U-boat was like, and boy was I in for a surprise...</p>
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<figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/159759622969292177/5694415934714925372#"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbG6lIUzBO9-wk9oCWKNXjDEQhOKOafBwKwJgAWSL6_6C2S2uMw5XJCGZF_W5unnDBE2tRjlCkZPBq8mmGzLVbDsmVIbf2nBcFEtMGWaF7e8JgG5PlCYCI0pUieurBQj9hBMQxI7ZZl6UnfyVM76GU7LRmlkcDDFDibdraPEizwIM8y_bMImZMRF2KQ/w478-h297/U-boat%20WWI.jpg" /></a></figure>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As you can see, this barely had enough room for maybe 10 people. And not a lot of places to hide, which was what I needed for some of the plans I had for Nathan's activities. I had been envisioning the much bigger and more complex U-boats of WWII. I needed a vessel much bigger than this, with a lot more places to hide and lurk between his acts of sabotage. So, what could I use instead?</p>
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<p>Then a memory from my childhood came to me...</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Zeppelins!</strong> I got fascinated with them after seeing a film showing the destruction of the Hindenburg in 1937. But when I read up on them, I discovered they had been used in WWI to bomb England and other countries at a time where they could achieve heights most biplanes couldn't. Of course, this changed over time as the war dragged on, but for several years, the Zeppelins were the scourge of the night sky, quietly floating over unsuspecting towns and cities. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">They of course could travel over water as well, which meant they could and did occasionally target ships in the waters below.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">And after seeing a cut-away diagram like this one...</p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/159759622969292177/5694415934714925372#" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdLwsCeWceiycOwlu9QwzFVz58rNsbfo_FuvPmv-tO3gCiNIwPWSQauOWgwsqSuGM31LM3Pf5oaUTFKwTGEd9dM1HC3ZZim_N7lMkvf8LU0-4VXyI6QPefnTNfbHXb5cA__ls76ZSNfNHZFqCinL_uMLy_Aci5nqSwt5G1vq3d62vv2Pv-cXZPAzIuA/w481-h326/Zeppelin%20cutaway.jpg" /></a></div><figure class="wp-block-image aligncenter"></figure>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">I knew I had the answer to both our problems. So, I quickly set about reworking the U-boat story I had going and turned it into Nathan 'haunting' a Zeppelin instead. Naturally, I informed Helen that the U-boat story was hers, once more, and explained why I changed my mind. I'm pleased to tell you that she was delighted by this turn of events. Especially, as she told me afterwards, she hadn't really wanted to give up the story she'd had planned because it was such a good one. Which it is! Trust me. But you'll have to wait for the next anthology book in her series to read it.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">And by the same token, you'll have wait for the next Vampyre Blogs anthology, to read my zeppelin story as well. But it may show up later this year or definitely next year at the latest.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">However, I just wanted to share with you what can happen when you have to very creative minds living under the same roof. Sometimes, you both might come up with similar ideas, but there are ways around such situations, to avoid having readers possibly wind up comparing who did a better job on their story.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Researching source material for your setting can make or break a writing project. So make sure you're diligent, especially if you're writing about historical events.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Until next time, stay safe and keep writing everyone!</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;"><em><strong>PS: If you enjoyed the Pondering Pug concept, do let us know. We'll be happy to continue having the pug occasionally show up on the blog with new thoughts and questions to explore. Besides, he is so darn cute!</strong></em></p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-13212017488826969002023-01-07T12:49:00.005-08:002023-01-07T12:56:01.929-08:00A New Year, Continuing Health Problem, New Beginnings...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CEmwMkzJ2OhvS1192BAgZ8qY3YYMJ_lXlT58ISPad95yzlL-TXgo2w18SOsFQlrOWKEeLglK9iNhPGNEqn2g2UQYIrjOKjiXTWXTaeKqjJuc_6z9uCqmPWpnYfNoGo5hlg4hsXGhshuBrd2JQZB3csKvNreDAgEKw4RBGSVafLpAbRxhVNl6O2WBiQ/s2576/20230107_114142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CEmwMkzJ2OhvS1192BAgZ8qY3YYMJ_lXlT58ISPad95yzlL-TXgo2w18SOsFQlrOWKEeLglK9iNhPGNEqn2g2UQYIrjOKjiXTWXTaeKqjJuc_6z9uCqmPWpnYfNoGo5hlg4hsXGhshuBrd2JQZB3csKvNreDAgEKw4RBGSVafLpAbRxhVNl6O2WBiQ/w448-h336/20230107_114142.jpg" width="448" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Hello everyone, Happy New Year! Hope the holiday season treated you well. You probably noticed that the ever since I finished the "Red Fang" storyline, I've been re-sharing older short stores (or not so short like the "Cannibal Killer" tale). You are no doubt understandably wondering why there hasn't been anything new for so long. Well, up until September, my biggest concern was trying to get the left side of my sacro-iliac joint sorted out through physical therapy, and pain control injections. I was lined up to have ablation surgery done on the joint area in question, when I began having an unexplained increase in my heart rate. We're talking into the low-mid 100's even at rest. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">This of course alarmed my wife and my physician who has been subjecting me to a battery of tests, CAT scans, and X-rays. I'm pleased to report that the heart is in fine shape, and there are no irregularities in my heartbeats, aside from the elevated rates. Since then, I've been off work due to nearly passing out at one point and suffering fatigue and dizziness quite frequently. As of this post, we are zeroing in on a possible cause, but there are more tests to be done so I'll keep you updated. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Now a quick rewind. After I finished the "Red Fang" story, I started focusing on the next novel "The Vampyre Blogs - Family Ties" and was making some good progress. I was also finishing the cover art for Helen's newest book (a short story collection which is part of her own series "The Forever Detective" books, which involve a private investigator who becomes a vampire but continues to be a detective and hold onto his humanity set in the 1940s).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCHM_EqIrX4hvONOTNDB2V1wxXzrl74dpN9F-wo5STUb1Jr-tSK7ScX7Crq9Q4kKsWdsXByJ9f02Wojnkwjj2J227PYCY0hLGiPvGPd6XluABq_loY6tQux3bgDy7T0m5reXSEg_OLUv66S5SOKVvflRqGmpoDfjxb7AsQJVJh-GVqTrPBxGMUxTl2A/s3560/Final%20Cover2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3560" data-original-width="2808" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCHM_EqIrX4hvONOTNDB2V1wxXzrl74dpN9F-wo5STUb1Jr-tSK7ScX7Crq9Q4kKsWdsXByJ9f02Wojnkwjj2J227PYCY0hLGiPvGPd6XluABq_loY6tQux3bgDy7T0m5reXSEg_OLUv66S5SOKVvflRqGmpoDfjxb7AsQJVJh-GVqTrPBxGMUxTl2A/w339-h431/Final%20Cover2.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Amazon Link: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L5GM2B4?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_unkn_tukn" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">The Forever Detective Book Series</a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I also act as her formatter and submit her books to KDP Direct and Draft2Digital to get them into e-book and print forms, and I had that to take care of as well. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And of course, I have become a voiceover actor and have turned four of her books into Audiobooks on Audible and Itunes:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span> </span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span> <b> Audible Link: </b></span><a href="https://www.audible.com/search?keywords=helen+krummenacker&ref-override=a_hp_t1_header_search&k=helen+krummenacker" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank"><b>Audiobooks Forever Detective Series</b></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Itunes Link: <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/author/helen-krummenacker/id1169253069" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Helen Krummenacker on Apple Books</a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">So, I was still keeping busy, in spite of my illness. I just didn't have a lot of creativity flowing for the most part until I was given a new medication for my high blood pressure which also has quieted down my heart rate to more normal levels. However, there are still other concerns regarding levels of sodium and cortisol which are continuing to plague me. But as I said before, we're getting closer to answers so I'm not too worried.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Anyway, since I've been feeling more creative once more, I've come up with a number of new tales for Nathan and company to be dealing with. A couple of them are slated for the second Vampyre Blogs Anthology, which I'm hoping might be released before this year is over. I've got a number of old stories that have not seen the light of day since their original release on this blog, but I really wanted a few never before seen ones as well. One involves a German U-boat during World War I, another involves a sex traffic ring which I will be putting a trigger warning for readers in case they want to skip that one. That tale will also show a little of Nathan's 'darker' side when it comes to harming innocents. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I am also planning a special Halloween tale for you all on this blog, which may put a few of you in mind of old classic film "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". I won't say anymore, because I want you all to have fun reading that one when it comes out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In the meantime, I'll be doing a few more re-runs of older stories here, but I wanted you all to know what's happening here on the homefront. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I am currently taking some professional voice acting classes, while I have the down time from my work. I'm hoping this will lead to auditions and some paying work before the year is out. Who know? Maybe, I'll be able to one day retire from the county and do voice work full-time, as well as my writing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We'll see. But now you're in the loop. I thank you for your support of this blog and ask you all to keep on visiting and leaving your likes and comments. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-27804218339168449122022-12-27T10:52:00.002-08:002022-12-27T10:52:46.753-08:00“The Cannibal Killer” Part – VIII The Conclusion: Private Papers of Michael Rhodes June 18th, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAqRKAVck7npCH2VviH83R3CznB-Vh5MYVnv7JJRcwubDXDtdvmx4CKt5TNCNCUoTb0cDHe4xxvHDjdhGg5rqdot7Itlg2hO6DhBH9sWb5p_eM8JEviNwSDrOzrQaQWN8V4N9tzovPmCT/s1600/firearms-reloading-gun-e1453847979769.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAqRKAVck7npCH2VviH83R3CznB-Vh5MYVnv7JJRcwubDXDtdvmx4CKt5TNCNCUoTb0cDHe4xxvHDjdhGg5rqdot7Itlg2hO6DhBH9sWb5p_eM8JEviNwSDrOzrQaQWN8V4N9tzovPmCT/s400/firearms-reloading-gun-e1453847979769.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="color: #f3f3f3;"> </span> As soon as I finished re-loading, Nadine headed for the classroom door only to find it locked.<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"> </span>“Seriously?” she hissed, “They lock classrooms doors an abandoned school? What did they think kids were going to break in and start rummaging through textbooks so they can catch up on homework or something?”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Suppressing a smile I joined her and explained, “Teachers always lock the doors to the classrooms when they leave, and when they left this school they had no idea it wasn't going to reopen. Besides, even if they knew they'd still have locked things up because the school district would still be responsible for anyone, even trespassers, hurting themselves in here.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I know one I won't mind hurting,” she murmured under her breath and reached for the handle.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I stopped her, “Too much noise. If the Cannibal's nearby he'll hear it. The hinges are on this side of the door. Do you think you can pull the pins out?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Smiling she elongated her fingers and with a little super-human strength, the pins were out. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span> Together we managed to silently pull the door out of the frame, then stepped into the hallway.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gK4dSq-vYbC5yZ8Mq1cK4So76VeOwopRxoo_plYwwFZ94JJUr6kQywBXkraq2y5dqK9EbhDgwxaw8wvFGG9cVTlB3DJum8f7gtiu8GAb8tfdsTX3zSTMVXfgoJwnTVexOzj0Ss2vOpnP/s1600/abandoned-school-hallway-blue-lockers-interior-view-derelict-96512090.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gK4dSq-vYbC5yZ8Mq1cK4So76VeOwopRxoo_plYwwFZ94JJUr6kQywBXkraq2y5dqK9EbhDgwxaw8wvFGG9cVTlB3DJum8f7gtiu8GAb8tfdsTX3zSTMVXfgoJwnTVexOzj0Ss2vOpnP/s400/abandoned-school-hallway-blue-lockers-interior-view-derelict-96512090.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Seeing no sign of our quarry, I quickly determined our location and led the way towards the stairwell leading downstairs. I have to admit, even if we weren't hunting a psychopath, the old hallways I'd wandered down so many times seemed kind of eerie. The district had been right to close the place down. Some of the ceiling tiles had collapsed, littering the floor with debris and dust. Not to mention the occasional opened locker which revealed cobwebs and abandoned notebooks. I found myself starting to wonder what might be hidden among the closed ones and shuddered.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Upon reaching the old stairwell, I could see more fallen ceiling tiles and exposed wiring.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “This place is starting to feel more and more like a horror movie set,” Nadine whispered as we carefully made our way down the steps.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “And we're headed for the boiler room where creeps like Freddy Krueger hang out,” I replied in a hushed voice, then a thought hit me. “Hey, Nadine, how about you changing back to your normal form?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> My companion paused on the steps and gave me a curious look. “Why?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Because I watched enough of those old slasher movies to know the only girl left always makes it out alive. But any guys with her, especially if they're black like me, they're toast,” I told her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Rolling her eyes, she glared at me. Then a wicked smirk crossed her face and she whispered, “See you downstairs,” and took off down the steps in a blur.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> Cursing myself for having said anything I quickly followed. And for the record I wasn't the least bit annoyed with her for abandoning me like that. I knew damn well if she had sensed the Cannibal anywhere nearby she would never have left my side, even for a joke.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7q8bUoAUP4BsHX_RGFWSwvP2fq__WxDeD5rpRCaLwEsIGSEsc_237Dsbpwdo7INZSPWDW3BONFZ2PdYol8MnUd_lnwfgAuQm8GzDw3n27eEI-4_IaC4_gnL6pg46ykZRNEDaBYvkEEBmx/s1600/pennhurst-basement-chair-w-scott-phillips.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="900" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7q8bUoAUP4BsHX_RGFWSwvP2fq__WxDeD5rpRCaLwEsIGSEsc_237Dsbpwdo7INZSPWDW3BONFZ2PdYol8MnUd_lnwfgAuQm8GzDw3n27eEI-4_IaC4_gnL6pg46ykZRNEDaBYvkEEBmx/s400/pennhurst-basement-chair-w-scott-phillips.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Just before I reached the last step a light came on and I saw my partner standing near the switch staring into the most unnerving area we'd encountered yet. Old white brick walls surrounded us on all sides, with the occasional dark hallway staring at us almost begging us to come and take a look. There was an old chair and abandoned pallet in one corner, along with some big old rusted bins that had seen better days.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Then I noticed Nadine's breathing sounded louder and faster. “He's getting near... and so is someone else.” Closing her eyes she trembled slightly as she concentrated.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> 'Going back inside his head,' I told myself and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed to appreciate it as the shaking stopped and her eyes flew open. “That way,” she snapped, pointing at one of the dark corridors.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUYP2s90_diHXAThFvdP1OkFyBEl-2Mkh1q-USl7XAN150gjlja_Ef4HUbRhG1awUnrQjC48VT6wICgSDIg5Bg0867fzHDzkVcKGZp1nXFNHfMW1Q-WfpzIEz2ehdzkf7v2YJGbu_xHeU/s1600/cage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="1024" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUYP2s90_diHXAThFvdP1OkFyBEl-2Mkh1q-USl7XAN150gjlja_Ef4HUbRhG1awUnrQjC48VT6wICgSDIg5Bg0867fzHDzkVcKGZp1nXFNHfMW1Q-WfpzIEz2ehdzkf7v2YJGbu_xHeU/s400/cage.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> Gun drawn I led the way. As we moved I could here noises up ahead including moaning. Quickening our pace we soon found ourselves in a huge room filled with machinery, boilers and God help me... a fucking cage with a young woman inside it. She was curled up in a ball in one corner of her prison, rocking back and forth in a rhythmic fashion that told the entire story. From what little remained of her torn clothing it was obvious she had suffered much at the Cannibal's hands.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> This time Nadine didn't hold back. She rushed right up to the door to the prison and ripped the thing right off its hinges and flung it aside. The sound of tearing metal seemed to cut through the girl's almost catatonic state as she looked up and stared at the two of us, not certain if she could believe what she was seeing.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> I placed a hand on Nadine's shoulder and whispered, “Gently, she's been through a lot.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> She gave me an annoyed look and then nodded. “Got it,” she replied and was about to say something else when the young woman stood up and rushed into her arms crying uncontrollably. In the distance I could hear the sirens of my fellow deputies' cars drawing closer. No doubt the killer was nearer too.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> That's when I heard the first hint of footsteps coming down the stairs. He was close than I'd thought.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Nadine!” I murmured, cocking my revolver.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> “I know,” came her muffled reply.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Puzzled I turned and saw my companion's face buried in the girl's neck. “What are you...?” I began, when she turned and faced me.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> To my relief, there was no blood on her lips. “What did you do?” I asked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> “Gave her peace,” Nadine replied and gently placed the now strangely calm victim into my arms.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You wiped her memories?” I hissed, in disbelief.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> “No, just gave her some strength to cope and recover with time,” my partner answered as she stepped past me.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> So she'd given the girl a bit of herself, that was a relief. I was about to say more when our rescuee blurted, “Don't! He'll get you too.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> Nadine paused and gave us both a reassuring smile. Then without saying a word, she headed out of the room.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What's she going to do?” the girl asked me.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Before I could answer a voice bellowed from the other room saying, “JOANIE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME? I'M GOING TO...” the rest the words were lost on a cry of despair.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> The girl in my arms stiffened for a second and then became calm. “That cry, it was his voice, not hers. What's happening?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> “Let's find out,” I told her and led the way out of the boiler room and down the hallway. As we moved I could hear Nadine speaking softly as we drew closer.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It's all right, I'm here,” she was saying.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrve6wXlktnhNsxX0XZBf6Wl9JwTqibG-EHL8EGeWO9Iz0wCZJEgkK_4DOw7jmMwedycOx1pj2UUi3eFjBQiCEbTPII3EXadUv9y_gclKO3WpSTko2GHSpnZm2SU7IwywNUebxgokzhU5/s1600/isolated-fight-fighting-peace-silhouette-caught-man-hand-hands-J8YFM5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1300" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrve6wXlktnhNsxX0XZBf6Wl9JwTqibG-EHL8EGeWO9Iz0wCZJEgkK_4DOw7jmMwedycOx1pj2UUi3eFjBQiCEbTPII3EXadUv9y_gclKO3WpSTko2GHSpnZm2SU7IwywNUebxgokzhU5/s400/isolated-fight-fighting-peace-silhouette-caught-man-hand-hands-J8YFM5.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> As we stepped into the white bricked room I could see my friend approaching the Cannibal who was slowly backing away until his back was pressed against the far wall.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “DON'T TOUCH ME! I'M FINALLY THE STRONG ONE, NOT YOU!” the killer wailed, his face contorted in a mask of fury as his hands clenched into fists. Yet in spite of all that rage, his arms remained seemingly pinned to the wall. But why? Then it hit me, the Sangui-Sapio was holding him back. It wasn't about to let him harm the one who had shared her life with it.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> Nadine took another step closer then stopped and said softly, “It's okay, you can let you go. I'll catch you.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> It was hard to make out in the dim light of the room but then I noticed the bullet holes in the Cannibal's shirt began to move as if of their own accord. Peering closer I finally made out particles of deep red were slowly exiting the tears in the fabric and floating across towards Nadine's extended hand. Once there, they seemed to disappear into the flesh of her palm, and I could see a sense of relief take over my friend.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> As the last of the stream of particles disappeared back into her, the Cannibal slumped against the wall and sat there staring at nothing.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Then Nadine turned to us, and I could see her shoulder finally began to heal properly. Within seconds there was no trace of the injury she'd suffered earlier. Smiling she said to the girl in my arms, “It's over, he's done for. Let's get you out of here.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> I caught the faintest glimpse of green mist waft from her hand into the girl's nostrils as she spoke. No doubt the sight of red particles coming out of the Cannibal and going into Nadine's hand would be forgotten.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> 'Good job,' I mouthed to my partner as we led the girl upstairs.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> We'd just reached the top of the steps when Sheriff Parkes and several deputies appeared down the hallway. Upon seeing us they called out and quickly joined us.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What are you doing here...” my boss began, when he and the others unknowingly inhaled some faint green mist. After a moment, he continued, “You found her! Good job you two. What about our suspect?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “He's just down those stairs in the basement...” I began when.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “JOANIE! JOANIE YOU BITCH!” came the Cannibal's voice from the stairwell. “I won't let you get away this time. I'll prove I'm stronger than you... you bitch.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Get this girl out of here!” Parkes barked at our back-up.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Two of my fellow deputies took care of our charge and moved her down the hallway to safety, the rest of us turned to face the nightmare figure coming up the stairs.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span>As the Cannibal came into view I noticed fresh blood stains had appeared exactly where he'd been hit by our bullets earlier.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> “Joanie...” he said spying Nadine, his voice was husky and his breathing more labored. “You keep coming back to prove I was never enough of a man for you... I joined the army to become stronger... and proved it overseas. I practiced on the whores I found there and found it wasn't me it that was the problem... it was you. You never knew how to satisfy me... but they did. I taught them how, with they're screams, their blood, their flesh.. And then I came back to show you but you'd left... and I had to find you. I had to find you over and over... and prove and prove it all over again, and again and...”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> Suddenly the man's eyes rolled up into his head and he toppled back down the steps, ending with a sickening thud at the bottom. Even before we reached him I knew our quarry was dead.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It's finally over,” one of my fellow deputies breathed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> Parkes nodded, then turned to me saying, “You and Collins two did great tonight. Finding the girl while we had him on the run was a great move. Speaking of having him on the run, we heard from the hospital while we were chasing the bastard. Terri's awake and identified her assailant as our friend here.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> A wave of relief swept over me. Knowing she was out of danger really brought the entire chapter to a close for me. I made a mental note to head to the hospital as soon as we were done here. Unfortunately, there was one last piece of business to attend to here, and I wasn't looking forward to it.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span> I glanced over at Nadine who gave me a sad little smile. We had agreed back at the bar that it would probably be best for no one to remember her or her part in all of this, but I was having second thoughts about it.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> As Nadine approached I said to my boss, “You know to honest I couldn't have done any of this without Detective Collins help. I think it would be good for us to keep her in mind if we need her expertise again down the road. She's something of an expert in handling unusual cases.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Is she?” Parkes remarked turning to her. “I know asking you to become part of our team would be a step or two down for you, but I would appreciate it if we could call upon you again in the future.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> For a pregnant moment I half expected to see more greenish vapors, but instead Nadine smiled and extended her hand saying, “Of course. Michael... I mean Deputy Rhodes knows how to get a hold of me.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Glad to hear you say that,” my boss replied taking her hand. And he wasn't the only one. I had grown rather fond of this 'other' side of my Uncle Nathan, and I was happy to know may get to see/work with 'her' again one day.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcE6vtYQge_v-3hZO_MI_K7rSIgy3UgK076R8bkrRC-PGflsvOBq0ImTqBL8M63AG5q9DtjS_SIIDXzX08aGBE7aGDzCpdZcMlp0Rpxo25Hfnhbh4WNvFJ2z9vP9wUMiWgxV9QNSVYO3U/s1600/handshake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="652" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcE6vtYQge_v-3hZO_MI_K7rSIgy3UgK076R8bkrRC-PGflsvOBq0ImTqBL8M63AG5q9DtjS_SIIDXzX08aGBE7aGDzCpdZcMlp0Rpxo25Hfnhbh4WNvFJ2z9vP9wUMiWgxV9QNSVYO3U/s400/handshake.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-84787393474903376212022-12-03T12:17:00.000-08:002022-12-03T12:17:15.915-08:00“The Cannibal Killer” Part – VII: Private Papers of Michael Rhodes June 18th, 2016<p style="text-align: justify;"><b> <span style="text-align: center;">****Another note from the author: Sorry gang, I know I said this would be the final installment, but the story is just too big. Next time will bring about the end of this saga from Nathan's long life, with a possible epilogue installment from Nathan's point of view. In the meantime, enjoy.****</span></b></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “You four okay?” my boss asked as he helped us to our feet.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> I was glad to see he'd finally climbed out of the pond and had not been seriously injured, but the same couldn't be said for his equipment.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><img alt="shoulder radio" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1109" height="401" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/shoulder-radio.jpg" width="684" /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “My radio didn't like taking a dip,” he told me gesturing at his shoulder, “But I saw which direction he was headed in. So I need to you get a hold of the patrol cars on the south side of the park. Tell them to intercept if possible and to use force if necessary. I don't know what he's on but that guy is more dangerous than we ever suspected.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> As I did so, Nadine suddenly grabbed my arm and snapped, “Cancel the last part of that order. Tell them to pursue but not engage!” Then she quickly turned to my boss and added, “He's got another girl stashed away somewhere. No doubt that's where he's headed. If he we follow he'll lead us right to her, and right now with him all pumped up we're her only hope.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> I could see my boss' expression was about to turn ugly when a greenish mist snaked its way from behind his neck and into his nostrils. In the blink of an eye, he face softened and he nodded. “You heard the lady, Rhodes. Give the order.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Obediently I relayed the message, then checked on the two deputies who'd been thrown at me and Nadine. Aside from being bruised and a little shaken, both were ready to rejoin the pursuit. Just then my radio came to life as two of the patrol cars had caught a glimpse of a figure in fatigues racing down Maple Street and had started to follow.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “We've got him in our sights,” one of the driver's reported, “But damn the guy is fast. Every time we start to close in he pours it on and starts pulling away and... HOLY SHIT, he just vaulted over the ten foot fence around the high school basketball courts.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “That's seven blocks from here...,” Sheriff Parkes began then stopped. “Wait...Jenkins repeat what you just said about the fence!”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “They guy just jumped over it like runner in the middle of a hurdle race,” came the incredulous reply. “What the hell is he on, Crystal Meth/steroid combo or something?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> I stole a quick glance at Nadine who was now standing unusually silent with her arms clutching each other across her chest. She seemed to be breathing rather heavily, as if she herself was there in the middle of the chase. Then it hit me. She was still in touch with the Sangui-Sapio! That was how she knew about the other girl the guy was already holding. And now she was trying to see inside the Cannibal's head and figure out where he was holding her.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Just then the other patrol car called in saying, “This is Unit 3 we've just finished circling around to the front of the school. But there's no sight of our perp.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “He's either hiding somewhere inside the building, or he he's laying low somewhere on the grounds,” my boss surmised, then snapped, “Rhodes, Collins, you're with me.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Boiler Room,” muttered Nadine suddenly as her eyes snapped open.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> All eyes turned towards her.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “What was that, Collins?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “He's got her hidden away in the boiler room,” she replied darkly.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> One of my brothers in brown began to protest. “There's no way he could keep a girl hidden down there, that's where the janitors hang out. I should know, a bunch of us used to visit with them in between classes.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “You're thinking the senior high school,” Parkes pointed out, “What about the old junior high building on the far side of the campus? It was closed down about seven years ago due to structural issues and was fenced off from the rest of the grounds to keep the kids out, while they decided whether or not to salvage the place.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “I remember seeing something about that. They decided last year to tear it down and a construction company put up a portable office so they could have someone there at all times to keep an eye on the equipment they were moving in and...” suddenly I stopped myself. If our boy was part of the advanced crew who was getting things ready for the demolition project he'd have had time to explore every part of the building including the old boiler room down in the basement.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Sheriff Parkes seemed to be thinking the same thing, as he turned to one of the deputies, “Have the patrol cars surround the construction zone and begin casing the area. He may not have gotten inside yet. Tell them to enter the building only if they spot him going in. Otherwise they're to wait for my arrival. You two with me.” This was directed at our assistance. Then turning to me he baredk, “Rhodes, you get Collins seen to at the hospital. Her back and shoulder aren't looking too good.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> I began to protest, but Nadine stopped me with a glance.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “I'll get her checked out,” I told him.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Nodding he took off with the other two deputies.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Now what?” I hissed in case they were in earshot.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “You're getting on my back and directing me to that school,” she replied and hunched down.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Obediently, I did as she instructed and in a flash the scenery around us turned into a blur, only occasionally snapping back into focus as Nadine waited for where to turn next. In the distance I could hear my boss' siren blaring telling me we were still way ahead. After one last blur, the abandoned junior high building stood before us.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> <img alt="abandoned school" class="wp-image-1110 aligncenter" height="266" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/abandoned-school.jpg" width="400" /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY"> We'd approached from the back, so the patrol cars already on site had no hint of our presence. “I really should alert them...” I began.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “And possibly give our position away to the Cannibal?” Nadine cut in abruptly. “He's not here yet, but he is close.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> I frowned. “He had a huge head start, especially with the speed he was moving at.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Yeah, but now he and the part he stole from me he are having a disagreement,” she replied looking around.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “How do you mean?” I asked, eyeing her shoulder again. In spite of having finally closed up, it looked like it might re-open at any time, and I began to worry about the one in her back as well.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Nadine didn't answer right away. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “The Sangui-Sapio is all about preserving life and our friend the Cannibal...”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Is all about torturing and killing,” I finished, as my mind flashed back to a moment in the park. “So when you were saying all that stuff about being frightened you were talking to the Sangui-Sapio, trying to coax it out of him.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> She nodded. “It's found itself trapped inside a mind that's full of rage and a desire to end life. And it's realized that it cannot get him to change. It wants to reject him, but because of all the repair work it's done on his body, he was too quick and got away. It needs me to be nearby so it has somewhere to go. Otherwise, it won't survive for very long on its own. That's what happened when it found me all those years ago. It had just been driven out of another host and was desperately trying to find a life form to merge with.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> This time she cut me off by asking, “How well do you know the layout of this building?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Like the back of my hand, I spent three years in this place,” I replied, studying the structure. “And as you already surmised the boiler room is in the basement, just below the gym.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Nodding we headed towards the nearest broken window and carefully climbed inside.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> <img alt="Empty+classroom" class="size-full wp-image-1111 aligncenter" height="253" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/emptyclassroom.jpg" width="400" /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY"> As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could make out the rows of empty desks all facing a big desk at the front of the room. There were old posters and even a few old homework assignments still attached to the bulletin boards that were parked next to the blackboards. I could barely make out an old faded chalk message on one of the blackboards that simply read “Goodbye”. Apparently, during the time the school board was deciding whether or not to save the old place, they'd never bothered having anyone clean out the rooms. There were even stacks of old textbooks piled up in a corner.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> If it was like this on the main floor, God only knew what the basement level must be like. I'd gone down there once looking for the janitor and had gotten lost. There had been so many doors and hallways leading to all kinds of storage rooms along with the heat, electrical, and water systems down there. There was no telling where the Cannibal might have stashed his latest victim.</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> “Hey, wait a minute,” I whispered as we reached the door that led out of the classroom. “You said earlier that the Cannibal already has a girl captive down in the boiler room. Why did he try to grab another girl tonight if he already has one still alive?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Nadine didn't look at me as she answered, “The last couple he killed weren't quite as 'satisfying' as the earlier ones. So he decided to increase the level of excitement. The more terrified they are the more fun it is for him. And what's more terrifying than seeing what someone has in store for you, by watching it happen to another?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY"> Quietly I reloaded my gun. The nightmare had to end, tonight.</div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-71847275846528500002022-11-14T11:59:00.001-08:002022-11-14T11:59:51.715-08:00"The Cannibal Killer" - Part VI: Private E-Papers of Michael Rhodes, June 18th, 2016<p> <i style="text-align: justify;">*Authors' Note: Sorry for the delay between posts. We work for the county and are currently winding down the fiscal year which runs from July 2017-June 2018, so we've been run off our feet. But things will be calming down in another few weeks so please bear with us. In the meantime, here is a lengthy entry to help make up for the lack of posts. We hope to get back on our more regular posting schedule before July is out. Thank you for you patience - Allan and Helen Krummenacker</i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><img alt="madness" class="wp-image-1096 aligncenter" height="330" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/madness.gif" width="587" /><br /><br /><div align="JUSTIFY"> “<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nadine!” I screamed and rushed to her side, while my boss and our back up started moving slowly towards our suspect. The Cannibal Killer was still on the ground having spasms, and seemed to be completely unaware of our presence.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I carefully rolled Nadine on her side and studied the knife handle which was all I could see. The bastard and really rammed it in deep. Luckily, I knew from past experiences that it would take more than a knife in the back to stop Nadine. Even if the guy had struck where her heart should be it would've failed, because her body would've moved the vital organ or created another to keep her going. For all the similarities between her and the vampires of legend, she was something more.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Still something wasn't right. Even though her eyes were open and staring right at me, she didn't speak. And the look on her face... what was happening?</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> That's when I noticed her bare shoulder and nearly threw up. It took me a moment to get myself under control. I've seen a lot of injuries in my line of work, including what our perp had done to his other victims... but none of them had still been alive at the time. The bastard had literally taken a bite out of her.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> But the thing that was getting me was the fact that the wound was... doing things. The ragged edges of the wound kept moving, as if they knew they should be reaching across to their counterparts to seal the injury but couldn't. Instead, they simply kept waving about likes streamers attached to a fan... only bloodier.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I was almost grateful when I heard the sounds of a struggle breaking out behind me... almost. Before I could turn, one of my fellow deputies landed hard beside me and Nadine and rolled.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Whirling I saw I saw our perp was back on his feet tossing both my boss and another deputy aside as if they were a couple of five year olds. Then instead of fleeing the scene, the guy just stood there... laughing.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “Oh... Joanie,” he called and turned in my direction, only his eyes were fixed on the prone form of Nadine in my arms. “I'm not finished with you, not by a long shot!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Before he could take a single step I raised my gun and fired.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I saw the pocket covering his heart explode as the bullet hit. The impact knocked him back yet he managed to keep standing. For a moment he stared at the hole in his jacket dumbly, as the cloth slowly turned dark then stopped. Then to his shock, and mine, the stain slowly began to shrink.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Immediately the true horror of our situation hit. The guy had eaten and swallowed of not only a piece of Nadine but the Sangui-Sapio life form from that Para-Earth she'd landed up in back in 1862. And just as it had changed Nadine from a simple human into a pseudo-vampire in order to save her life, it was now doing the same to the maniac standing a few yards away from me. But the change was only beginning.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Our psycho staggered and fell to his knees. His eyes were glassy-looking and he seemed confused.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> This was our chance! I started to get to my feet when Sheriff Parkes waived me off as he and three more officers, who had materialized out of the darkness, descended on the Cannibal. They were able to grab his arms and cuff them behind his back without the slightest bit of effort. In fact, they well into the process of removing other weapons he had secreted about his person before he seemed to realize what was happening.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Then he laughed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Something about that sound made all of us back up and draw our weapons. “On the ground! Or you will be shot!” my boss warned.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> For a second no one spoke or moved.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Then the killer began to murmur and giggle, “Now I get it... you were right, Joanie. I wasn't man enough for you before. How could I be... you had a secret but wouldn't share it with me. But now I know it...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “I said don't move!” my boss repeated cocking his weapon.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> But the Cannibal didn't listen, instead he turned towards where Nadine lay and whispered almost sweetly, “...Because I taken from you. But it's not enough, I want it ALL!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> In flash he was on his feet, snapping the handcuffs behind his back in the process.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"> But we were faster and opened fire</span>.<br /><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> At point blank range, every one of our shots struck home and I watched as the Cannibal jerked with each impact. But he never went down. Instead, he lashed out with superhuman strength and speed. His first blow sent Sheriff Parkes sailing over Nadine and into the pond beyond her, while another sent our backup rolling a good twenty yards in opposite directions.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Instinctively, I started to turn towards the pond, but my superior was already getting back to his feet, bellowing, “Stay where you are, protect Collins!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> He was right. At this point I was the only one left to keep the super-powered Cannibal from reaching his target.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Weapon raised, I wracked my brain for ideas as our perp started towards me. Bullets weren't going to stop this guy, but maybe one in each of his eyes would at least buy us time to regroup...</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Suddenly, Nadine appeared between us. Arms outstretched she stood protectively in front of me.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I could see her shoulder was finally healing, but it was doing so slowly, as was the spot in her back where the knife had been. Her entire frame trembled for a moment and I feared she might collapse, but she held her ground and spoke.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “You're scared... confused. This isn't what you expected,” she said gently.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The Cannibal Killer chuckled, “No I'm not, Joanie. I'm seeing things clearer than ever before. This is how come you never stayed dead. You kept coming back over and over again, taunting me, laughing at me. But now I know how you did it. And now you can't stop me. No one can! I'm like you... only better.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Now he started moving towards us, yet Nadine didn't move. Instead she gently reached out a hand and said gently, “We both know what you really want.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> That made him stop as he stared at her stupidly at her for a moment.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Behind him, the two deputies he'd thrown were getting to their feet and regrouping so silently, if I hadn't seen them I'd have never known. Still I kept a poker face, so as not to give anything away.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Yet, without looking away from us the Cannibal Killer pointed at them saying, “And don't expect them to stop me Joanie... because they're going to be the warm up act. Once I'm done with them and the one behind you, I'm going to start on you and not stop...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “You're in pain,” Nadine cut in, “Don't let it hold you back, let go.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE ONE IN PAIN JOA... UNGH!” Suddenly, the killer froze and began to jerk uncontrollably like a marionette whose strings had gotten tangled.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “I wasn't talking to you,” Nadine smiled and took a step toward him.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The look in the Cannibal's eyes changed from hungry rage to horror as she drew closer. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Just then the other two deputies rushed forward and tried to tackle him from behind. At the last second the killer spun, grabbed each of them and threw the pair directly at us.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Unfortunately, Nadine was not fully recovered. In spite of her attempt to catch my fellow deputies, their combined mass and speed knocked her back into me and the four of us went down in a sprawl. By the time any of us were able to get up, the Cannibal was already gone.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><img alt="night" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1097" height="266" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/night.jpg" width="400" /><br /><i><b>TO BE CONCLUDED....</b></i>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-7549548192282562492022-11-07T13:33:00.010-08:002022-11-07T13:34:47.053-08:00“The Cannibal Killer” Part – V: Nathan’s Private E-Journal June 18th, 2016<p> <em style="text-align: justify;">****NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: A quick reminder that this story is darker and more graphic than most previous entries as it deals with violence against women, as well as a very deranged mind. There will be fewer images in this entry than usual as I do not wish to cause 'triggers' in readers. If you feel just <strong>reading</strong> about violence will trouble you, I recommend possibly taking a pass on this one. The story will hopefully be concluded in two more installments - Thank you.****</em></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><br /></em></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I’ve seen inside peoples minds before, especially when I take a blood “donation” straight from them. And if I’m putting some of myself into them, I see it ALL. Which is why I usually prefer my intake to be from bags, or in a rare case a transfusion. Still, it’s not always a bad thing to get a donation directly from someone close. I get to know them more intimately in ways others don’t. And considering my long existence I can keep their memories alive and share those treasures with the donor’s descendants for many years to come, so they are never forgotten.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> However, there have been occasions where I’ve been inside the minds of certain people and am forced to carry their memories with me, because I cannot forget… anything! Oh, I may have a hard time recalling the information at will, but it’s all there, hidden behind doors and piles of other recollections. And try as I might, I can only bury those darker items so deep.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I only pray I can bury the things I saw tonight so deep that they will never plague my slumbering moments…</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> As I said, I normally I only see inside another person’s mind when I take from them, but tonight I learned it could happen when someone took from ME!</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Thanks to the mist I’d released earlier I knew the assault was taking place near the pond in the center of the park which meant I had to move fast. Normally I don’t show off my inhuman speed, but I figured I’d be able to alter the Sheriff’s memory afterwards. As the scenery blurred past me, I sent the mist I’d released into the park earlier into the killer’s nostrils hoping to gain some control over him after he breathed me in, which he did. But it didn’t work. The guy was so on an adrenaline rush from the excitement of having captured another victim, that nothing I did was even slowing him down.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> But I could see through his eyes and saw he was straddling the girl, one hand clamped firmly over her mouth while the other held a wicked looking military blade. A second later, I burst onto the scene.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Sure enough he was on top of her and was in the process of slicing open her blouse to expose her chest.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Without slowing I allowed my arm to stretch a couple of feet longer than normal in order to grab his hand with the knife and pull it away from the girl. Unfortunately, this gave him time to look up and see me coming just before the rest of me slammed into his solid six foot frame. The creep actually started to smile until our bodies collided. He certainly had not expected someone so much smaller than himself to have enough force to knock him off the girl, much less send him sprawling several feet. By the same token, I never expected him to grab my “overly-extended” arm with the hand he had clamped over the girl's mouth to pull me with him.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><img alt="blade" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1089" height="400" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/blade.jpg" width="400" /></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> The two of us rolled across the ground each struggling for the advantage. Normally, my inhuman strength should have given me the advantage, but the guy knew what he was doing. I quickly realized Michael was right about the killer having had military training. I got a close-up look at the blade as we struggled and recognized it as an LMF II ASEK, with a foliage colored handle to match his camouflage make-up and attire. But it was his fighting style that really told the story and was giving me a tough time of it. At first I couldn't get any decent leverage to pin him, but then I realized I was fighting like a normal person and not using my full talents.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> At last I let him pin me, as I did so the smell of tree sap and fresh leaves reached my nostrils. So that's how he'd gotten past the patrols. He'd hidden himself up in one of the trees during the daytime, probably when the park was busy, and had stayed there. No doubt he'd put on his camouflage make-up and changed his shirt, while waiting for night to come. Then he'd just waited for the right moment and...</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> “Am I man enough for you now... Joanie,” he panted excitedly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Joanie?' I thought briefly before he head-butted me, which hurt! Yes, I can feel pain just like anyone else, but I can take more abuse than most. But it still hurt and I saw stars briefly. In that moment I realized MY suspicion, that our friend was someone who had either killed or wanted to kill a certain type of woman over and over again, had been right. Not that I felt like patting myself on the back at that point. Especially when he started wriggling on top of me and I could FEEL how excited he was (shudder). Now I could really appreciate the things Penny had told me in private on more than one occasion. How many women had known terror as they suffered at his hands?</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> His head rocked back, to deliver another blow to my skull but I was quicker. My left leg shrank while a fist shot up from between my cleavage connecting with his chin on its way down. I felt the impact throughout my chest as Mr. Psycho's eyes rolled up into his head. For a moment I thought for sure he'd knocked himself out, but his grip on my regular hands barely loosened. Once more I unleashed a third fist, this time into his rather abdomen and I felt the air rush out of his mouth and into my face. Someone seriously needed a breath mint. This time, I was the one to deliver the head-but which seemingly ended our fight. Mr. Norman-Bates-wannabe, fell off of me and lay still.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Immediately, I got up and turned to his original target who was crouched nearby, holding up a large rock. Apparently, she had been hoping for an opening to clock the bastard while he was dealing with me. I gave her a reassuring smile as I studied her. Sure enough, she was blonde, about my current size and shape, and dressed like someone who full of self-confidence. Though at the moment she was looking more vulnerable and shaken, as she stared at me with eyes full of amazement.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> “Easy, you and I are okay...” I started to tell her, then I saw her eyes widen in pure horror.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> “BEHIND YOU!” she screamed, just as I felt the blade of the knife rip through my back and out my middle.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I remember cursing myself for making such a rookie mistake. The guy was ex-military, of course he'd play 'possum' to get me to turn my back on him. Still, I'm not normal, and it would take more than a knife in the back to finish me off. Unfortunately, before I could swallow the pain to retaliate, that's when he sank his teeth and took a bite OUT of my shoulder and I got a look inside a world of madness!</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY"><img alt="vortex" class="size-full wp-image-1088 aligncenter" height="300" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/vortex.jpg" width="400" /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-81556158413086658082022-10-31T11:23:00.001-07:002022-10-31T11:23:09.204-07:00"The Cannibal Killer" - Part IV: Private E-Papers of Michael Rhodes, June 18th, 2016<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6DGwHzf_HjZur24haMxSjHburExhkujGS-hKLBQUxYxpSxA5vzXIGkBe8G-5-40vz7cd30s552MKJB_eotuQv-hmApK7AB7EJ3l27AFu6YETPr0ryr6gKYy0kdl9P_o8UUkTu6BKR_b3/s1600/stalked.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6DGwHzf_HjZur24haMxSjHburExhkujGS-hKLBQUxYxpSxA5vzXIGkBe8G-5-40vz7cd30s552MKJB_eotuQv-hmApK7AB7EJ3l27AFu6YETPr0ryr6gKYy0kdl9P_o8UUkTu6BKR_b3/s400/stalked.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> For a moment I didn't know what to do. I was certain Nadine could take care of herself, but then I realized her 'attacker' was wearing the same uniform I went to work in.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Rushing forward I explained in a hushed voice, “Hold up, she's with me!”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Rhodes?” the officer turned and I saw it was my boss, Sheriff Jim Parkes, looking none-to-pleased. “What the hell...”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Not so loud, we don't want to give away our position,” I hissed and gestured that the three of us move out of the park.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Nodding, he let Nadine go, but gestured that she was to lead the way.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Once we were a safe distance Parkes growled, “Okay, this should be far enough. Now what the hell are you playin' at? And you'd better not tell me you were going to try another decoy routine.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Would you believe...” Nadine began, but I cut her off.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Actually we were, Chief. This Detective Nadine Collins from Maine. She and her people dealt with a similar set of murders but never caught the killer. She thinks our boy may be the same guy...”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “And you came to try and help us catch him,” my boss finished with a nod. “You know there are procedures to be followed like introducing yourself at the station.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “You were already gone and Deputy Rhodes thought we might find you here,” Nadine supplied smoothly, while I gave him a rather believable account of what had supposedly happened up in Maine. As I spoke I noticed a faint greenish haze slowly building around us at ground level. I had an idea what that Nadine planned on letting my boss breathe her in so she could influence him, but I gave her the faintest head shake. You don't work with a man for years without getting to know his mannerisms and way of thinking. And I could already tell he was buying my story because he trusted me. Hell the man had recruited me himself as soon as I had come back from the army He didn't even bother to ask to see her credentials, instead he gave us the full rundown on the situation.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He'd managed to pull in some extra help from the state. Several troopers were hidden throughout the park, while others were quietly patrolling the streets in unmarked vehicles. If our perp struck, we were going to run him to ground tonight.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVptKPCh6VMrSiyaVMbyE7_zSRPTCZG1ZyJNJ5g6WCbT_ezMuKFCKdxFOeB0k6XtkgeoZjlBZBJ8E6FIHamiDFxwIQK3hZTpTr63o0RE6jJ3Inhs-9ABSWMW5QuvAEn79iksfUPzEtwJ5/s1600/Green_Mist_by_Devvyn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="267" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVptKPCh6VMrSiyaVMbyE7_zSRPTCZG1ZyJNJ5g6WCbT_ezMuKFCKdxFOeB0k6XtkgeoZjlBZBJ8E6FIHamiDFxwIQK3hZTpTr63o0RE6jJ3Inhs-9ABSWMW5QuvAEn79iksfUPzEtwJ5/s400/Green_Mist_by_Devvyn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> As we spoke I noticed the mist Nadine had created earlier was drifting off towards the park entrance and spread out until no trace of it could be seen. 'Trying to do some recon, good plan,' I thought to myself as Parkes continued to fill us in on the situation.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Once he'd finished, Nadine and I shared what we had figured out about our Killer's targets. Like me at first he seemed unimpressed until we got to the part about the women having an air of confidence which impressed him as much as it had me.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That would explain why he's so violent with them,” he breathed after a moment. “Probably trying to kill the same woman over and over in his mind, but what about the cannibalism?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “We're dealing with a sick mind, Chief,” I shook my head, “There could a be dozen demented reasons why he's eating them... sort a souvenir? A way of keeping them close to him? I don't know...”?</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> At this point we both turned to my companion saying, “You got any...” and then stopped. She had started moving back towards the park, following the same path her mist had taken moments before. “Detective Collins? What is it?” Parkes shouted as the two of us started towards her.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> But just as we were about to reach her, she shouted over her shoulder, “He's here! And so is someone else... a girl!” A second later, she was gone. Normally, Nate... I mean Nadine wouldn't have let anyone see her inhuman speed in action, but a life was in danger and this was no time for being subtle.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Not that I had any reason to worry, Parkes was busy barking orders into his radio alerting the rest of the team of the situation. He'd barely gotten the order out when a scream erupted from the darkness. The killer had struck.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Without pausing we both raced into the park trying to figure out what direction the scream had come from when it erupted again, this time calling for help repeatedly. Following the sound we veered off the path and into the trees and bushes off to our left. The cries were getting louder when suddenly a young woman burst out of the darkness and into our arms, tears streaming down her dirt covered cheeks.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “He's near the lake and he's got her...” she blubbed, still shaking. “He jumped me and had me on the ground when she came out of nowhere and threw him off me... She'd just helped me up when he jumped her from behind and stabbed her in the back... she just stared at me and told me to run...”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> As she spoke two of my fellow deputies appeared on the scene.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Grabbing his shoulder radio Parkes barked, “Suspect sited near lake attacking a female detective, all boots on the ground converge on that area and engage. Patrol cars are to surround the park and form a perimeter, pursue anyone seen fleeing from the area.” Then turning to the new arrivals he ordered, “Take her to safety and call for a medical assistance and more back up. Rhodes you're with me!”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Weapons drawn we raced towards the lake. I could hear the sounds of a struggle up ahead, which suddenly stopped, sending a chill down my spine. Had Nadine already finished the guy?</div><br /><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Still rushing forward we burst out of the trees and the sight that greeted us was more than a little unnerving. Both Nadine and the Cannibal Killer were on the ground, several feet from each other. The latter was rolling around clutching his head and like he was having convulsions. Whereas Nadine, was simply lying on the ground unmoving, eyes wide as if she were staring into the pits of Hell itself...</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EgWEf4N81whvHIS8MBYZh7Lvo4XkVm4a1ciYNRfngq00jbWtV8cWY_wEnOurm-k6ijJAai1kyuGVzRoW8DG2Pvz0AE2fceYPAFQFR-Moeng3VABa5Dd2cvbsPun6PXKNjdrx9jHjxE3s/s1600/eye.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EgWEf4N81whvHIS8MBYZh7Lvo4XkVm4a1ciYNRfngq00jbWtV8cWY_wEnOurm-k6ijJAai1kyuGVzRoW8DG2Pvz0AE2fceYPAFQFR-Moeng3VABa5Dd2cvbsPun6PXKNjdrx9jHjxE3s/s320/eye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-64872150456635471672022-10-13T07:51:00.000-07:002022-10-13T07:51:06.587-07:00“The Cannibal Killer” – Part III: Private E-Papers of Michael Rhodes June 18th, 2016<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;"> For the record, I've always admired Uncle Nate but after tonight my respect for him has gone through the roof. When I got his e-mail last night telling me he was on the way to help deal with the monster who's been terrorizing our town, I was relieved. But when he showed up... no, wait. I need to take a few steps back. I've got to tell this story right.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> Besides telling me he was on the way, the e-mail listed a time and place for us to meet tonight. It's an out of the way pub here in town called “Draughts“, which is where we normally get together. It's a nice little place run by a father and son who, like me, are part of Nate's extended family. Big Frank and Frank Jr. are good people and they know just about everyone here in town. They also know what you like to drink, so when I walked in a glass of my favorite brew appeared on the bar before I finished settling my ass down on the stool.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: justify;"> <img alt="Bar scene" class="wp-image-1076 aligncenter" height="221" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/bar-scene.jpg" width="395" /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I started to pull out my wallet and Big Frank shook his head, “Nate's already got you covered tonight,” he told me with a knowing smile and wandered off to take care of some other patrons.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Glancing around the room I saw a number of familiar faces and a couple of others I didn't, like the pretty blonde down at the end of the bar. I knew she wasn't from around here, a face like that everyone would know and remember, but by the same token I could also tell she wasn't a 'working' girl either. For one thing she seemed absorbed in reading her Kindle, for another no one was hitting on her. A few of the guys I went to high school were looking her way and shaking their heads. Clearly they'd been shot down and were still trying to figure her out, but I had other things on my mind. Like where was Nate?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> After about thirty minutes there was still no sign of Nate anywhere. So I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I had for him, but after four rings it went to voicemail. Looking over at Big Frank who was talking to the blonde at the end of the bar, I caught his eye and gestured to him. After sharing a laugh with the girl, he came over and asked, “Need a refill?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Shaking my head I replied, “Nah, I'm good right now. You told me earlier Nate's covering my drinks, so that means you've seen him. Do you know where he is? He was supposed to meet me here I've been waiting and waiting, but there's no sign of him.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “That's what you think,” he replied mysteriously.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> For a moment I started to get annoyed and then I remembered, Nate can take many forms and might be keeping a low profile for reasons of his own. Immediately, I scanned the room again for anything unusual.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> One or two people had left, and a young couple had appeared and were enjoying a quiet drink in one corner, but otherwise everything seemed the same. Then I started to take in the smaller details like was there any kind of hazy film in the air, or a “Red Mouse” (he loves to use those to spy on people or place), but there was nothing. Not even a black dog hanging around underneath the pool table, which he used one time which helped me and the team bust some drug dealers. But there was no joy in Mudville, once more it seemed I'd struck out.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Shaking my head, I turned back to talk to Frank only to find the pretty blonde from the end of the bar was now on the other side of the bar slipping the flash drive I'd brought for Nate into not a Kindle but a tablet.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I stared at her for a second and was about to protest when my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror of the bar behind her. I could see myself perfectly, but even though she was right in front of me there was no sign of blondie. Blinking I shook my head and muttered aloud, “Na...”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “-Dine,” he cut in without taking his/her eyes off the screen. In the mirror's reflection I could see he was flipping through the pages I'd scanned of the case at an incredible pace. It was like watching the character Quicksilver, from Marvel comics, going through a volume of “War and Peace”.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> After my initial surprise passed I leaned in closer and hissed, “I know you're busy reading those files I scanned for you, but we might want to relocate to another area where there's not a mirror where everyone CANNOT see your reflection in!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> That got Nate. He/she... aw hell I'm going to call Nate her for the rest of this entry. It just makes things easier.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Nadine's eyes finally locked with mine and she muttered, “I thought we had that mirror replaced...” and quickly got out from behind the bar. We paused to retrieve her jacket and bag from the end of the bar. As we passed my old buddies shooting pool, I saw the looks of disbelief they were shooting me. I hung back briefly and leaned in to tell them, “Turns out she digs guys who wear uniforms.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <img alt="get-romantic-make-out" class="size-full wp-image-1077 aligncenter" height="361" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/get-romantic-make-out.jpg" width="550" /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> As they shook their heads I followed Nadine to a secluded booth in the corner. But as I did, I found myself checking 'her' out. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Now I'd known for years that my 'uncle' could change form, but what I was seeing before me was beyond words. The way her hair fell, how she walked, every little gesture... I could swear I was in the company of a real woman.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> After we got settled in, she finished looking over the files and her face took on a troubled expression much like the ones I'd seen at work. “Now you know why I called you in,” I told her breaking the silence..</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She nodded. “Yeah, this one's a real bastard.” Looking up at me she continued, “I think you're right about the military training. I don't know if he actually served or if the guy has been part of a para-military group, but he definitely knows what he's doing.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “We've been thinking the same thing, much as everyone hates to admit it,” I told her. “The idea that someone we might know has been doing all this is just...”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Sickening,” she finished, “I know. I've been down this road before. When I was a kid, before I 'changed' we had a psycho running loose back in Pointer. Turned out to be someone we all knew and thought the world of... but that's another story. From what I've seen in your files, this guy likes to abduct his victims and keep them alive for a few days before he's done with them. Tell me, is there anyone missing right now that you know of?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Not at the moment, which is why Terri tried acting as a decoy,” I explained. “We were hoping to lure him out. Our boss had people positioned all over the park, yet he still got to her and KNEW who she was!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Which is why he tried killing her right there on the spot instead of kidnapping her,” Nadine nodded. “And yet he still got past everyone... which makes me think he's a local. He must've known ways in and out of there to get away.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “We're not that big a force,” I pointed out, “And things got chaotic when we saw how bad Terri had been hurt...” then stopped as she shook her head.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Plus, someone was burning rubber leaving the area, which threw you all off.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I nodded, “Turned out to be someone who'd heard her screams and instead of coming to help her, they took off while phoning it in. They had no idea we were already on the scene.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> My face must've betrayed something because Nadine reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “We'll get this guy and put a stop to him once and for all, I promise.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I smiled back at her. “I know you will.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “WE will!” she corrected me and stood up. “Shall we get started? He's out there and I came all this way looking my best just for him.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Standing up I followed her out of the bar and didn't say anything until we were outside and out of earshot. “Do you really think your 'disguise' is going to lure him out?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “He has one type of girl he's been going after. Blonde, young, good-looking, and with a lot of self-confidence.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><img alt="woman" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1078" height="480" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/woman.jpg" width="852" /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I paused in mid-step. “Okay... we knew about the first three but what about that last part?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Turning she replied, “A cheerleader, a local actress, two 'working' girls, all of them exude confidence and self-assurance. And so did your partner Terri.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> It suddenly dawned on me, “So you're thinking our boy has a thing against women who remind him of someone in particular. Who may be alive or already dead for all we know. And if she's dead, he might have even done it himself, but once wasn't enough.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “Exactly,” Nadine agreed and gestured, “Now let's start with the park. He's struck there a few times including the other night. If nothing happens I'll spread myself out by mist or bat to see where else someone might be lurking. You keep your distance while I take the lead.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “And how am I going to know if you find the bastard?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She smiled and held up a closed hand. After a few seconds she opened it and there was a red mouse looking up at me expectantly. “Take him, he's our link.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> As I held out my hand, she transferred the critter into it and that's when I noticed she was missing a finger. Then I remembered, she couldn't make more of herself than there actually was. Her mass never changed when shape-shifting, so all she had a limited amount to work with.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She must've noticed the look on my face for a moment later a new finger grew.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> As I put her little companion in my chest pocket, I gave her a questioning look.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> “I took a little off the waist and thighs,” she told me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Smiling I nodded and I let her lead the way. Of course I remembered to keep a good distance between us like she'd said. After all, we wanted our prey to come after her. And if he did, boy would he be in for a rude awakening. Nadine could handle herself and twenty of him even on a bad day. Still, we had to be careful. Even the best laid plans could go wrong.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><img alt="park2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1079" height="377" src="https://thevampyreblogs.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/park2.jpg" width="670" /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She reached the park without incident which made me suspect if anything was going to happen, it would be in there. As it turned out I was right.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> For she got no more than forty feet in before a figure leapt out of the shadows...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><strong><em>TO BE CONTINUED...</em></strong>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-17128747014395950322022-10-04T18:24:00.000-07:002022-10-04T18:24:13.477-07:00"The Cannibal Killer" - Part II: Nathan's Private E-Journal June 17th, 2016<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="text-align: center;">*Note to self: </span><i style="text-align: center;"><b>I'm not the only one living in this big old house!*</b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i></p><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> I really need to pay attention to what's going on around me when I'm on my computer, because I never know who's going to come by and start reading over my shoulder. Today, it was practically EVERYBODY! Sigh...</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><br style="text-align: justify;" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5_BfTb71jpiPjq6v7mCrWVegdTYVDlpiqQpQXsV6rWRX_9FxYRCvNCTBwfxVvkPc2hgnlCnlwaM3VKQ0dDQV8omHPLTZwxE2AnQ-LDN0HRvf7lc9wOk7ZwEfzczq7xP7rLI79HEZCHbB/s1600/computers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="736" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5_BfTb71jpiPjq6v7mCrWVegdTYVDlpiqQpQXsV6rWRX_9FxYRCvNCTBwfxVvkPc2hgnlCnlwaM3VKQ0dDQV8omHPLTZwxE2AnQ-LDN0HRvf7lc9wOk7ZwEfzczq7xP7rLI79HEZCHbB/s400/computers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br style="text-align: justify;" /><br style="text-align: justify;" /><div style="text-align: justify;"> Now let me set the scene for you all. Ever since I started writing I got into the habit of using two monitors at once, so I can have something I'm researching on one screen, while I'm writing on the other. Tonight, I was reading an e-mail from my "nephew" Michael Rhodes about a case he's involved with on one screen, while looking over the newspaper accounts on the other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I was so absorbed in what I was reading that I never heard Penny, Lisa, or Marisa come into the room. In fact I only realized they were there after I suddenly leaned back and felt my head bump into Marisa's chest (not that she minded).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> After realizing I had an audience I quickly looked around the room to make sure one person in particular had not seen what I had been reading.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> As if reading my thoughts Penny said, "Isabella's downstairs with Richard."</div><span style="text-align: justify;"> Immediately I breathed a sigh of relief and then scowled at the intruders. "And what brings all three of you into my study? For all you know, I could've been working on a new bestseller... or surfing the internet for porn."</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> "Which was why we came in," Marisa answered simply. pointed out.</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> "If you were searching for porn we felt it was important to know what turns you on and what doesn't," Lisa added helpfully.</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> "I just came in to see if you wanted something to drink," was Penny's contribution to the proceedings. But she looked troubled.</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> Standing up I started to ask Marisa and Lisa to leave us, but Penny cut in sharply saying, "NO! They need to hear this!"</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> I don't know who was more surprised by her tone, our companions or me. In either case, both girls sat down while I drew closer to Penny who I noticed was shaking slightly. As she looked at me I gave her a reassuring smile and said quietly, "Start whenever you're ready."</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><span style="text-align: justify;"> She gave me a little smile but instead of talking she wandered over to one of the windows in my study and stared out into the night.</span><br style="text-align: justify;" /><br style="text-align: justify;" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6wvP4zghkckVpw-m71aTIi_CbgKuwP0HaAcJHQiwM462Z5hN9YIkORsKIE6yi3JxBYraW5DwI5Iiu8F1EMlwAZ10mGXmEDtFPP2_3El-qqwyZ7EyOqkCbMTPnV0ZYzVvt6L4GnGQIllOW/s1600/Penny.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6wvP4zghkckVpw-m71aTIi_CbgKuwP0HaAcJHQiwM462Z5hN9YIkORsKIE6yi3JxBYraW5DwI5Iiu8F1EMlwAZ10mGXmEDtFPP2_3El-qqwyZ7EyOqkCbMTPnV0ZYzVvt6L4GnGQIllOW/s320/Penny.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> After several moments she said, "All the victims of that psycho you were reading up on were women."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> It was more a statement than a question, still I replied, "Yes, they were."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> She nodded, then asked, "Did you girls know prostitutes are the most likely to be victims of violence or even murdered?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Lisa looked uncomfortable, but Marisa actually answered. "Yes, I did a report on violence against women for a class. Got a good grade on it, plus a lecture from the teacher for touching on a 'sensitive' subject."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Was the instructor male?" Penny asked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Yeah, he was."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Penny turned. "And what did you say?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "I reminded him that he'd asked us to pick a social issue that needed addressing and that I'd felt that violence against women was one I felt strongly about. Then he asked why I'd focused on prostitutes and I told him that many of them had wound up in that situation because they'd been victimized already and needed more protection not less. After that things got a little heated, and he wound up lowering my grade to a C."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> I made a mental note to myself to ask Marisa the name of her instructor, but only later. But right now I wanted to keep my focus on what Penny had to say.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> She gave Marisa a fleeting smile of gratitude, but then her expression turned serious again. "You're right, we... they do. And sometimes we found it with guys who wanted to 'protect' us and help us out. Only they could be just as bad, or worse than some of our clients."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Like Tony?" Lisa murmured, breaking her silence.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Penny shot her a look, but it quickly softened. "Yeah, like my old employer. But he only got mean when one of us tried to leave. As long as we were under his roof, we WERE protected. Which was why I felt safer being in a brothel than I did out on the street. Anyone got too rough with us they'd be sorry... But the only way any of us left his employ was when he felt they weren't worth keeping around anymore. Or he'd grown tired of them."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Richard must've been very special for you to risk all that you did to get away," I remarked, thinking aloud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> That earned me a smile. "He was... and not just because he got me a knocked up. I could've easily gotten an abortion, but I wanted my baby and him. And I would've lost both if it hadn't been for you and Lisa."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "It was mostly Nathan," my favorite goddaughter pointed out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "You were there for us too," Penny replied softly, and then turned back to me. "But the point I'm trying to make is that girls in my trade, we lived our lives knowing something bad could and would happen to us. But the girls in those articles... they were just like these two," here she gestured at Lisa and Marisa who were looking a little pale right about then. "They weren't hooking, they were just women who had families and friends who loved them. One or two of them had children... they weren't looking for trouble but it found them and it cost them. But not before they suffered."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Glancing back at the article that was still on my screen, my eyes went straight to the part where it described some of what had been done to the girl before she died and murmured, "I know..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Penny caught the tone in my voice and said, "I know this Michael guy has already asked you to help stop this guy, but now I'm asking you as well. Use your abilities to stop this guy, don't let another girl suffer at his hands."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Oh I intend to," I assured her and began to use my shape-shifting skills. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Normally, I don't let anyone see one of my transformations, unless I'm turning into mist. But most of the time I'm usually changing into something more "bestial". However this wasn't one of those occasions. First my waist pulled in while my hips expanded slightly. At the same time the hair on my arms vanished while the skin took on a smoother look. As my hair lengthened, my chest expanded, while my jawline softened and my nose took on a more aquiline shape.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Once I was done, I gazed expectantly at my audience and said, "Well? Do I make a tempting target?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> Lisa, who I noticed was looking a little flushed, was the first to answer, "A little too tempting."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Too male fantasy?" I asked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "Too Hollywood," answered Marisa. who was also eyeing me curiously.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "But it's a good start," Penny smiled and turned to the girls. "Why don't you two get some clothes and make-up for our girl here. Then we'll give her some tips to get the proper effect."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> As soon as the girls left, Penny looked at me and said, "You know, if you hadn't changed form, one of them would've offered to act as bait."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> I nodded, "I was also afraid you might as well."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> "I was," she admitted and then threw her arms around me saying, "Thank you."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWEb3Aqx6BAneVUq9gvovOTqRqiehGFFJAgr2QVYctkgVpdWtY7eAwBo8F46ji_5FDHaHNy-2KW0Mep0Wa6oQVHYWAFMqtIRjTIujVmBbTPf2ymHDQHHMAs88hB9s1DW-ViN3Z6nAeAsg/s1600/hugging.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWEb3Aqx6BAneVUq9gvovOTqRqiehGFFJAgr2QVYctkgVpdWtY7eAwBo8F46ji_5FDHaHNy-2KW0Mep0Wa6oQVHYWAFMqtIRjTIujVmBbTPf2ymHDQHHMAs88hB9s1DW-ViN3Z6nAeAsg/s400/hugging.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> As I returned the gesture, I silently prayed for all our sakes (including Michael and Terri's) that I would be enough to be the maniac's next target. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-16411020757077263512022-09-26T16:08:00.001-07:002022-09-26T16:13:38.968-07:00E-mail from Deputy Michael Rhodes Dated June 17th, 2016 - "The Cannibal Killer" Part-1 <p>Author's note: Due to health issues I didn't have time to prepare a good Halloween tale, so I'll be re-running one of our more 'scary' tales. Please enjoy...</p><p><span style="text-align: center;">****WARNING THIS STORY MAY BE TOO INTENSE FOR SOME READERS, ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN A VICTIM OF RAPE, VIOLENCE, OR LOST SOMEONE TO A VIOLENT ACT. PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU THINK THIS STORY MAY CAUSE YOU UNDO MENTAL OR EMOTIONAL ANGUISH.**** </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPb2EtuSqgKSqUYJ4sY6yP2kATNbimaIALV6Jh7eeDxvlLjlNIjAvw_4u5C8f9K2_m9OWMVWAF6zejbUocCHj0gZj9CcjQXp-208CRaL2Deh42Z1BAFHxBXLJRYNnXCa1og4Fv1yB8Qdb/s1600/headline.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="710" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPb2EtuSqgKSqUYJ4sY6yP2kATNbimaIALV6Jh7eeDxvlLjlNIjAvw_4u5C8f9K2_m9OWMVWAF6zejbUocCHj0gZj9CcjQXp-208CRaL2Deh42Z1BAFHxBXLJRYNnXCa1og4Fv1yB8Qdb/s400/headline.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Dear Uncle Nate,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I know it's just been a month or two since you were last out this way, but bad things have been happening. REALLY bad things. Right now we've got the townspeople, the Mayor, hell even the Governor clamoring for an arrest and so far we've been coming up empty. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We almost got him last night but his 'victim' had to come first. It was my partner, Terri McCloud. You'll remember her of course. She had dinner with us that one night. But even if she wasn't my partner, I'd have still put her first. She's one of us and you watch out for your own, especially when they wear the same uniform as you. You told me that a long time ago. I was too young to fully understand what you'd meant back then, but when I enlisted in the army, your words came flooding back and I finally got it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Of course, I'm not in the army now, but I still wear a uniform and so do my fellow deputies, like Terri. And right now we're up against something, or someone, who seems almost inhuman. How else can you describe a rapist who also eats parts of his victims? You don't expect someone like that to show up in small town like this. Not to say we don't have our share of death, violence, drugs, etc. We may not be the big city, but we have a lot of the same problems. But a maniac like this? No! Nobody is ready for a serial killer to show up. And this one is smart, which makes him even more dangerous. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaN92lrziWSX7q7MEe41F0-Re9azCPkGQCdCWvqqPXGHlKqYxOld8XASkU93wrPwLoOJEwZ6JONWnp8wccEQg4xhrqS3ZXVKtNIGg1ylnEqruk-fJSI6lPVzbiqTw0r2Zq9bLKWceIBaY/s1600/crime+scene.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="285" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMaN92lrziWSX7q7MEe41F0-Re9azCPkGQCdCWvqqPXGHlKqYxOld8XASkU93wrPwLoOJEwZ6JONWnp8wccEQg4xhrqS3ZXVKtNIGg1ylnEqruk-fJSI6lPVzbiqTw0r2Zq9bLKWceIBaY/s400/crime+scene.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">According to a profiling expert who came in to advise us, killers like this one don't announce their arrival, not right away. Oh no. They're subtle at first. An attempted mugging or a sexual assault, then they possibly lay low for a while to see what happens. Did they leave any evidence behind? How good a job of keeping their face hidden from the victim? Then he'd wait and see what far we'd take to find him... sort of scoping out how overstretched we were, that kind of thing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Based on that idea, I'm starting to suspect he's had military training and have mentioned this several times to our boss. He wasn't so sure about that theory at first, but after the fourth attack he started coming round to my way of thinking and so have the others. Problem is, we still don't have much to go on. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To make matters worse, he knew who his target was last night. He KNEW Terri was a deputy gone undercover. How do I know? She told us while they were rushing her to the Emergency Room! She'd suffered massive blood loss from multiple stab wounds. She never got a look at his face, but heard him muttering about "her being out of uniform after dark..." during the attack, but that's all we got. She's been unconscious since they brought her out and we've got men on the door to her room. They're checking EVERYONE who comes in to make sure they're hospital staff. Hell, they even stopped and searched a priest who claimed to be from her brother... which he was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Right now she's the only victim to survive, and I'm worried we might not be enough to keep her, or anyone else, safe. That's why I'm e-mailing you Uncle Nate. You're the only one I know who can probably help take this guy down. Everybody here has been doing their best to try and catch him, but he keeps getting past us and as I said he never leaves any evidence behind.<br /><br />I know I'm breaking all the rules asking you to come in and help, and I haven't told my superiors or even my partner about you. But I don't want to see anyone else wind up like Terri or the others. Please let me know what you decide as soon as possible.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Michael<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-priGRwMWcdAnN7eJnWAvdBX-x6vGHZJnqvnKGy7nxbY6ExQLBEY3B7ZP5mCQWGVGlbga5RXnvWb-IIKnHsVZ4J8Li91yrwyJSVrtc9ifU3uWqoPboweEk90KfU7qzhiRvKRfABWftRHj/s1600/laptop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-priGRwMWcdAnN7eJnWAvdBX-x6vGHZJnqvnKGy7nxbY6ExQLBEY3B7ZP5mCQWGVGlbga5RXnvWb-IIKnHsVZ4J8Li91yrwyJSVrtc9ifU3uWqoPboweEk90KfU7qzhiRvKRfABWftRHj/s400/laptop.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-7573228776728277572022-09-22T15:06:00.000-07:002022-09-22T15:06:30.487-07:00Lisa's "Private" Thoughts October 12th, 2011 "Vintage Clothing, Nathan, and Burlesque"<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Uncle Nathan is the coolest guy ever! </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Back when we'd been in Europe he'd promised to take me to some places that had vintage clothing and today he did just that. It was a raining today so we didn't have to worry about the sun bothering him as we drove around. At the first place we stopped I found this really nice-looking old bustle skirt in black that fit just perfect. Unfortunately, it was a little out of my price range, but not Nathan's. He bought if for me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jI7Wh-vYzCcz4Q185sBJ0pz4wo2oCopYRqF9TFUS3ZQZOLtRoFxuQdCaXXN2I4bGGAA7n1HLmuZir20j1B8Yq_abrq9ccNHhSPWFVxkkkqzyxYv-IOyWzrC-c0XZ4mMecVZmKa1e71jJ/s1600/bustle+skirt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jI7Wh-vYzCcz4Q185sBJ0pz4wo2oCopYRqF9TFUS3ZQZOLtRoFxuQdCaXXN2I4bGGAA7n1HLmuZir20j1B8Yq_abrq9ccNHhSPWFVxkkkqzyxYv-IOyWzrC-c0XZ4mMecVZmKa1e71jJ/s1600/bustle+skirt.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"It looked perfect on you," he explained. "And I would know, I spent a lot of time looking at women from the front, from behind, all around in fact."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I gently slugged him on the arm for that one and called him a pervert to which he replied, "Excuse me, I did work in theater for a coupled of decades doing a lot of different jobs, including helping with people's outfits. I had to make sure they looked right before they went on stage."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Sure, you did," I teased back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Right, that does it," he announced and took me to a theater that was running a burlesque show.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidENj2CgkTxe5-ZublDglKsPecvct0oLLs_4ZbbMzrdqA-jRPngjc_nn8fR56eFIQ-kj9uSdgFH9UI_7gF77zZyl0giBn0QRAN3akx7BRE5Mvg85pRjsdZYLjsIccfArRpr-7goT502vO/s1600/burlesque-dancer-costume.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidENj2CgkTxe5-ZublDglKsPecvct0oLLs_4ZbbMzrdqA-jRPngjc_nn8fR56eFIQ-kj9uSdgFH9UI_7gF77zZyl0giBn0QRAN3akx7BRE5Mvg85pRjsdZYLjsIccfArRpr-7goT502vO/s1600/burlesque-dancer-costume.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Now before anyone freaks out, the show wasn't going to be on until later. So the only people there were a couple of the girls who were rehearsing and the troupe's leader, a woman named Olivia. Much to my surprise when she spotted Nathan her face lit up and she came running over to give him a big hug crying, "Uncle Nate! Oh, how I've missed you. Hey, everyone Nate's here!"</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I swear one of these days I'm going to find out exactly how many people are part of his 'extended family' besides mine. Back in Europe there were quite a few, but now I'm beginning to think that the the actual numbers are much larger. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In this case it made sense. Apparently a number of friends and cousins were in charge of this burlesque troupe. I don't think all of them know his real secret as a couple of the people mentioned how unusual it was to see him in the day. "You usually only come around at night when we have a show going," one mentioned.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Uncle Nate merely waggled his eyebrows and said, "Well, you have to admit the sites around here are much more interesting at night."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">While everyone burst out laughing, I was given the grand tour backstage while Nathan was giving people a hand here and there with the backstage equipment and event he costumes. Apparently he was telling the truth as several of the girls asked for his opinion and help with some of their outfits. I think a few were trying to flirt, but mostly they did want his advice and help.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYYLTAzZbHlPAMQ9O73Yn6BRUQ9lO3SFnMg5NI6inBI6kcl8JQe31Sj3LjN2DI6EyWHxdmH6AbtHehZ-FIF8-oyxdc7UjALPfiPGs1UfZbs321qKSCAYhpTfYiP1byiuLwzDCb1LGg1XF/s1600/backstage+theater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYYLTAzZbHlPAMQ9O73Yn6BRUQ9lO3SFnMg5NI6inBI6kcl8JQe31Sj3LjN2DI6EyWHxdmH6AbtHehZ-FIF8-oyxdc7UjALPfiPGs1UfZbs321qKSCAYhpTfYiP1byiuLwzDCb1LGg1XF/s1600/backstage+theater.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It was interesting to see all the inner workings of a theater backstage. I'd never been behind the scenes before, so this was a real treat for me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Plus I got to see inside one of the dressing rooms where they kept all the clothing and make-up. One of the things they all stressed to me was although I wanted to go for an authentic look I should also keep in mind, be able to move and breathe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"We don't just get out there and start stripping, we're dancing," one girl told me. "We do splits and a lot of other acrobatics. And some of us are wearing corsets and those can be constricting so if you're not careful you could make your life really miserable. So choose items that allow movement and fabrics that breathe and you'll be okay."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCqgz12OEKUjp-RZnDnRStA-qpgqi7VpQQTysXPcuYUUhfhga0Ss7uQVXI7JPho9Zd07PSrWlWYXC8J-v7efhJYtBed7OI_jHI47iA5z3fHyLukmaaAWqf9LM29iHXjtv_SbF_4mKo8ws/s1600/X+Burlesque+Celebrates+One+Year+Anniversary+1_38ho51-kBl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCqgz12OEKUjp-RZnDnRStA-qpgqi7VpQQTysXPcuYUUhfhga0Ss7uQVXI7JPho9Zd07PSrWlWYXC8J-v7efhJYtBed7OI_jHI47iA5z3fHyLukmaaAWqf9LM29iHXjtv_SbF_4mKo8ws/s1600/X+Burlesque+Celebrates+One+Year+Anniversary+1_38ho51-kBl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I thought this was great advice, because the theater teacher at my high school has been complimenting me on my outfits lately. She says I have an eye for style and authentic looks and has been hinting I should maybe join her class. I told her I'd think about it and now I really am. This could be a great experience for me and open up some doors down the road. I may do it since I have more time to myself these days. Marisa is still being distant, but at least now I know what's going on. Her dad is fighting cancer and she's spending as much time with him as possible in case things go bad. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'd love to be there for her, but my parents say I should respect her wishes to be with her family more, so I'm giving her her space. I'm still going to try and be there for her as much as possible, especially at school. But I'm going to do as my parents say and giver her her space. I just hope things go well so we can start hanging together again. I really miss her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_LKNVGlnX49p1AXL-5lytS3HHuxffQ0mQDyrrO26c7-8hKnpNQzyxv2flQfsihUFoB_k4AKeXb3rWoI6t8-8CGdOonfkMnDKMWa6pFmnwsvvRUB0nfKlq9a_Pi0e8mtgEL4sb3OIdudx/s1600/parting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_LKNVGlnX49p1AXL-5lytS3HHuxffQ0mQDyrrO26c7-8hKnpNQzyxv2flQfsihUFoB_k4AKeXb3rWoI6t8-8CGdOonfkMnDKMWa6pFmnwsvvRUB0nfKlq9a_Pi0e8mtgEL4sb3OIdudx/s1600/parting.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7399040569224236830.post-76049574809344421602022-07-30T15:17:00.000-07:002022-07-30T15:17:03.497-07:00Nathan's Private E-Journal, April 12th, 2014 : "Fathers and Sons" Part - II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bYWSKyEQnNctyuGbFJGW1VxrwGgo4nMHq2BL7Z0Rd6uOz7DBr1u1qGTk_6XxGoeMgzb4PJ6t_Cabx0ntLbz2oTgqUA_B0JYo7yNqI78DK44StrWDGq48ep1sq3UBWU1ovK-PKJSQJKTz/s1600/fibromyalgia+pain+awareness.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bYWSKyEQnNctyuGbFJGW1VxrwGgo4nMHq2BL7Z0Rd6uOz7DBr1u1qGTk_6XxGoeMgzb4PJ6t_Cabx0ntLbz2oTgqUA_B0JYo7yNqI78DK44StrWDGq48ep1sq3UBWU1ovK-PKJSQJKTz/s400/fibromyalgia+pain+awareness.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p> </p><div style="text-align: justify;">The words <i>"You don't look like your sick or like or in any pain..." </i>echo inside my head as I draw nearer to Ted's father. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">How many times had I heard those words? And how many times did I want to lash out at the person who spoke them to me? Of course back then I hadn't changed and didn't have the strength to strike back. But these days I'm a different man. The pain and limitations Fibromyalgia caused me are but distant memories, but I never forget anything these days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh it might take me a moment or two to sort through a century and a half of accumulated memories, but it's all there. There's not a name, a face, or an event I've been part of or witness to that I cannot recall in vivid detail. I can even recall things from before I was changed that were locked away in the deepest recesses of my brain, including the looks or hints of disappointment from my father for my apparent weaknesses. They still sting as much now as they did back then, but I loved him nonetheless. And now I remind myself that Ted loves his father, so I restrain my impulse to grab the man by one hand and shake some sense into him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Instead I stop just before the man and say politely, "Please, come inside with me. Both of you. There's some things I'd like to show you."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid624gRN1EqiheZSkySeuyq2ooigeobp8gkNIjyoqIkFhcGtqFuT1tS2sH7X3ZssaP7sQYehWSjnpzT2US-HfWYfjkvWfXVl5xz_inaijGYDiYSYgMsIKkStUeA0ZzN_XbBolJrpWaBg57/s1600/They+Crypt+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid624gRN1EqiheZSkySeuyq2ooigeobp8gkNIjyoqIkFhcGtqFuT1tS2sH7X3ZssaP7sQYehWSjnpzT2US-HfWYfjkvWfXVl5xz_inaijGYDiYSYgMsIKkStUeA0ZzN_XbBolJrpWaBg57/s400/They+Crypt+3.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Without waiting for a response I walk towards the end of the building we're in front of that happens to house my private club "The Crypt". Behind me I hear Ted's tired footsteps follow. A second later, his father joins us.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In a few minutes the three of us are safely ensconced around one of the table inside the empty club. It's a weekday which means the place is not open to the public. Which makes it the perfect setting for a difficult but heartfelt talk. Or at least, that's what I hope to keep things. A part of me is still sorely tempted to unleash a portion of my mist form so I can enter Ted's father and let him experience my memories of what Fibromyalgia feels like. The old saying about walking in another's shoes may be just what the fellow needs. Yet, I restrain my impulse. Ted is not aware of what I am and it wouldn't be right to risk revealing my 'unusual' nature to him by doing something to his father. Still, if things don't go the way I think they should...</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"So what do you want to show me?" Ted's father asks gruffly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Staring at the man I quietly take his measure. Like my own father, he's tall and well-built. His solid figure tells me he's a man who's enjoyed many sports and strives to keep in shape. But now I'm sensing something else, deep below the surface... physical discomfort. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Suddenly, everything becomes much clearer to me. I begin by saying, "As I said earlier, Fibromyalgia is quite real. And is it not just a condition suffered by women. Men have it as well."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yeah, you mentioned you have it," the man snaps, but there's a trace of unease in his voice. "Besides yourself, name one other man who has it."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ0lFGaUlc0r9C-hRGORRGCpyKCn5HmTJYt-uPUxxZKW5MrvNeIuxGLQZ9w8N-HuP3sTF3_t-vB7X-oKDfhAjzM9G-ethj2Gg32-u3fVDMRTcaKr0SoQJdbuTP_JT3gmIwEELVOxT2C0i/s1600/Morgan-Freeman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ0lFGaUlc0r9C-hRGORRGCpyKCn5HmTJYt-uPUxxZKW5MrvNeIuxGLQZ9w8N-HuP3sTF3_t-vB7X-oKDfhAjzM9G-ethj2Gg32-u3fVDMRTcaKr0SoQJdbuTP_JT3gmIwEELVOxT2C0i/s320/Morgan-Freeman.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Morgan Freeman, the golden actor himself," I reply and wait. The effect of my words has on him is clearly visible. Before he can respond I continue by adding, "Michael James Hastings, another actor who retired because of his struggle with the condition."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0UPmsJPB6y09srczKOt9_oJHYXGuES7hkLcArRRhSVRBaKKDnGFhIXDdatcnr1ZhLNErdTOh8A2r24FNL4wGk8VemnJzRPERaDdFKFmbnAs6mgvmTphZ4mZEoJj4FDiR2zD35KWZYm1O/s1600/Fibromyalgia_michael_James_Hastings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0UPmsJPB6y09srczKOt9_oJHYXGuES7hkLcArRRhSVRBaKKDnGFhIXDdatcnr1ZhLNErdTOh8A2r24FNL4wGk8VemnJzRPERaDdFKFmbnAs6mgvmTphZ4mZEoJj4FDiR2zD35KWZYm1O/s1600/Fibromyalgia_michael_James_Hastings.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ted's father looks stunned, "He played Captain Mike on 'The West Wing'. I loved that show."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Many people have it," I continue, "To differing degrees. Some can be crippled by the pain, others find different ways of coping through exercise, nutrition, medicines to help them sleep better. But the bottom line is that its a musculo-skeletal condition with no 'magic bullet' cure. It's a condition where pain is your constant companion. Many days you can get through the day, but others are harder. And some are just so bad you can barely get out of bed."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The man looks at his son for a moment and then asks, "Is that true? Those days you complain about getting up aren't just because you don't feel like going to school?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ted has the good sense to not be sarcastic and simply nods.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His father turns back to look at me. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You can look it up online," I tell him. "It's all there. There's even sites by these men and others who can attest to how difficult it is to live with the condition." With that I get up and retrieve my laptop and set it up for him. As I do so, I give Ted an encouraging nod towards the piano. Obediently, he gets up and takes the guitar case with him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile I sit back down and watch as his father starts Googling the men I mentioned along with others. For twenty minutes he says nothing, and I do not break the silence. I merely wish that I'd had such resources to show my own father, back in the day. Would it have made things better? I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. As I said before, he did love me. He just couldn't always understand why I was the way I was sometimes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Finally, Ted's father looks up at me with a pained expression. "Okay, you convinced me. It's real and men can get it. But why do you believe my boy has it?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I answer quietly, "Why can't you believe it? You mentioned football earlier. Was that your sport? Were you simply hoping he'd follow in your footsteps?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"NO!" the man thunders as his face turns crimson. Then his expression softens as he explains, "I just want my son to have a chance at a good school."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now things suddenly become clear to me. "Things are tight, I take it?" I say in a voice so low only he can hear me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The man nods. "Like my son mentioned earlier, his mother has Fibromyalgia and can't work. So it's mainly down to me to bring in money, but she does try. She does art and sells stuff on the internet. And she's brings in some good money and we're doing all right..."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"But, the prospects for sending Ted to college aren't so bright," I supply quietly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Exactly. We make too much to get him a Board of Governor's waiver, but not enough to really be able to pay for the classes over at the community college, much less a university."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just then the strands of a guitar playing fills the air. It's a sweet gentle melody, played with great tenderness and skill. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdwYGgHCUhtaSV4RbzRyF1hWvM7nDqTsC8nW7nMS7fVeWPvHsh2y7eeto8g1l-EvtTkHvcolowiejt6m7JAsP-7V8VCpPd6fbCP4PflOJT3Iajmg0ogBrCSq9tXWIHqiloz27xiViET4v/s1600/playing+guitar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdwYGgHCUhtaSV4RbzRyF1hWvM7nDqTsC8nW7nMS7fVeWPvHsh2y7eeto8g1l-EvtTkHvcolowiejt6m7JAsP-7V8VCpPd6fbCP4PflOJT3Iajmg0ogBrCSq9tXWIHqiloz27xiViET4v/s400/playing+guitar.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The tune has an effect on my companion who closes his eyes and becomes lost in the tune until the song ends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"He's very good," I remark as the final strums fade away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"I don't question that," my companion replies. "But, is that going to be enough to get him anywhere?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Smiling I turn to Ted, who is tuning the guitar ever so slightly. "Are you up to a little 'Classical Gas'?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The boy's face lights up as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder. Meanwhile, his father is staring in shock. "I love that song! Can he really play it?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Before I can answer, the familiar tune starts up with all the speed and skill it is known for. Ted's father's eyes widen as his son's fingers fly over the strings with precision and dexterity that makes the instrument sing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Neither of us says a word until the song is finished, at which point Ted stretches his fingers and massages them slightly. It obviously took some out of him, but he's grinning from ear to ear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">His father begins to applaud and goes over to his son. The two begin having a talk. A real talk. And although I try not to listen, I of course hear everything. It lasts for several hours. The results I'm pleased to say are better than I'd hoped. Ted doesn't have to give up the guitar. However, his father does confess his concerns to help pay for his son's future education. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FgL2cpnh6UFVRCrnbgADxoXA69SI16Yw4jvaA71YEFdM6uVLzTg2t8kn1O9lq9NYb0vNZTQEEkZU8dWHHG70g4qbZHxjsF3sxa-JppQQ5ttOFz3Z7zkQVbdDNQPmdNACBh_3w-EbnQoN/s1600/Father+and+son.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FgL2cpnh6UFVRCrnbgADxoXA69SI16Yw4jvaA71YEFdM6uVLzTg2t8kn1O9lq9NYb0vNZTQEEkZU8dWHHG70g4qbZHxjsF3sxa-JppQQ5ttOFz3Z7zkQVbdDNQPmdNACBh_3w-EbnQoN/s320/Father+and+son.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">At this point, I see the first rays of sunlight seeping through the window that peers out into the alley. Although I'm quite safe here in the club, I'm certain Ted's mother is quite worried about what has become of her husband and son. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Standing up, I wander over to the pair and casually mention some connections I have over in San Francisco with a certain music conservatory which has a wonderful guitar ensemble. "I'm certain that if Ted keeps this up, he'd qualify for 'assistance'. Plus, there's the money he can earn here at the club helping out at the turntables."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Father and son look at me questioningly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Smiling I explain, "Your son has helped out as a stand in DJ here at the club on a number of occasions. I've been thinking about asking him to come on board regularly, provided it doesn't interfere with his schoolwork. And before you ask, YES, he's as good at that as he is on the guitar."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Ted looks at his father questioningly, while the older man replies, "Let me think on it. I appreciate what you're offering him, but I've had a lot to take in already tonight. I'd like a little time to talk things over with my son and my wife."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I nod. "That's fine. It's a standing offer. Take however long you all need."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Thank you," the big man says and holds out a hand which I accept with feeling. "By the way, I'm George."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Nathan," I tell him, "And I'm very glad we had a chance to talk."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Me too," he smiles and then says, "I think we've taken up enough of your time and we need to get home. Ted, let's go grab your guitar. I'm sure your mother will be worried sick about us."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Ted smiles and the two of them head over to the piano where the guitar and its case await.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">As I watch them, a part of me wonders what it would've been like to have such a moment of acceptance from my own father. Then as if in answer I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning I see no one's there. But that's all right. I know it was real, and who's hand it was. Some things you never forget, and as I said before I never forget anything. Especially not my father's way of letting me know when he was proud of me...</div>Allan Krummenackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00894416611325678187noreply@blogger.com0