E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part III

 

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.

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.

This of course, leaves me to wrestle with my warring feelings on my own once more.

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.

She’s clearly pleased with this turn of events.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

“Impressed?” I ask casually.

“Very,” he replies giving me a slight bow. Then he starts studying the metal barrier. “Let me guess, another leftover from Prohibition?”

“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.”

“And the films have been down here ever since,” Brian smiles.

“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.”

“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.

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.

There are rows upon rows of shelves inside, along with filing cabinets, film repair equipment, and a few other odds and ends.

“Care to step inside and peruse the collection?” I smile invitingly.

Lisa and her dad are so excited they both shoot past me and for a brief moment nearly get stuck in the doorway.

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.

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.

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.”

Immediately, I start to wonder which films she’s run across so quickly.

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?

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!”

“Seriously?” his daughter smiles, “Cool! Oh, and look who stars in most of them...”

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.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part II

 

“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?”

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.”

At this point Lisa jumps in with, “Got any of the missing Dr. Who stories?”

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.”

“I’m going to want to see those,” Brian tells me.

No surprise. He’s almost as big a Dr. Who fan as I am, and Lisa’s just as bad.

“But getting back to that thousand plus movies in your possession. Would any of them happen to be...” he begins.

“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.”

At this Lisa frowns. “What’s wrong with them?”

“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.”

“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?”

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.”

“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.

After a moment, Brian regains his composure and asks, “You were rushing into burning buildings just to save a few old films?”

“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.”

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.”

“Oh, they were,” I smile and nod.

“And the ones you did save are all in that vault of yours,” she continues.

“Carefully stored in a special climate-controlled room,” I nod.

“Good,” she smiles, “So, is this vault of yours nearby? Or do we have to take a plane to Los Angeles, or somewhere else?”

“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.”

At that Lisa turns to me excitedly and squeals, “You’ve got them at the mansion, don’t you?”

This time it’s my turn to smile mischievously. “Ooo… you’re cold. Very cold.”

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.

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.

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.

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?”

Immediately, Brian starts clapping. “Congratulations, you are correct. Someone, give that girl a coconut!”

Both Lisa and I turn and stare at him for a second.

“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.”

“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.”

“Wait! What about your kids?” I ask.

“You’re their godfather, you take care of them,” he smiles, “They can be your problem.”

In response to that Lisa snuggles up to me, sending one thought racing through my mind, ‘One of them already is.’

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.

‘Someone who will also more than likely outlive them,’ I add silently.

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…

“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^rd or 4^th time she’s asked the question, and I clearly wasn’t listening.

Giving her a sheepish smile as an apology, I nod and say, “Sure, why not?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Lisa's "Private" Thoughts October 12th, 2011 "Vintage Clothing, Nathan, and Burlesque"

Uncle Nathan is the coolest guy ever!  

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.  

"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."

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."

"Sure, you did," I teased back.

"Right, that does it," he announced and took me to a theater that was running a burlesque show.

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!"

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.  

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.

Uncle Nate merely waggled his eyebrows and said, "Well, you have to admit the sites around here are much more interesting at night."

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.

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.  

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.  

"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."

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.   

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.

Nathan's Private E-Journal, April 12th, 2014 - "Fathers and Sons"

                                       

I was making my way back to "The Crypt", after having visited my family's plot tonight.  Everything was just as I'd left it a few months ago.  Except for the weeds which I made short work of.  And of course the flowers needed a little freshening up, so I circled the graves and released some of my green mist, which brought them back into a healthy bloom.  

Went inside the mansion briefly because I thought I saw a figure at one of the windows.  A small figure... holding a... never mind.  I didn't find anyone inside, so I headed back towards town.

Naturally, my thoughts drifted to the days of my youth, before I left for the war.  Unfortunately, not all my memories were happy ones.  Mind you I have a lot of good memories, but there are a few involving my father that still sting from time to time.  He loved me, of that I have no doubts.  Heaven knows he told me and showed me enough times, but there were some days when I could see and sense his disappointment in me.  I wasn't always the son he really wanted me to be, but I had limitations that he couldn't understand at the time.  Of course, I no longer suffer those problems these days, but it would've been nice to let him see how far I'd come.

I had just reached the downtown area of Pointer, when I spotted a figure carrying a guitar case I knew only too well.  It was young Teddy and he was looking pretty down as he walked.  Concerned I started to quicken my pace, only to be passed by a car which pulled up next to my young friend.  Immediately, a man got out of the car and started scolding my young friend rather vociferously. 

Even though they're a fair distance from where I'm standing, my hearing is exceptionally keen and I hear everything as if I was standing right there with them.

"I told you it could wait until tomorrow," the older man says in a very annoyed voice.  "But, no, you have to make a scene."

"You were already making a scene by yelling at me in front of everyone, Dad!" Ted shot back.

I wince at that.  Family arguments have never been my favorite thing to walk in on, much less be a part of.  I consider taking a different route home at that point but then Ted's father says, "I told you not bother with getting a guitar months ago.  It's not going to win you any scholarships for college.  Now if you'd get into football like I keep telling you..."

"Dad I've got Fibromyalgia, I don't have the..."

"That's a made up thing, and even if it was real, only girls and women get it," his father yells, cutting him off.

That tore it for me.  Suddenly, the scenery on either side of me blurs and in the blink of an eye I find myself standing next Ted and his father.  

Luckily the two are so focused on each other neither even notice that I've suddenly appeared on the scene.  "Good evening, gentlemen," I say clearing my throat meaningfully to get their attention.

Ted reacts first.  "Oh, hello, Mr. Backman.  I was just coming to return the guitar you loaned me," he says in a quiet voice.

"Whatever for?  Don't tell me you've given up playing?  You're really good," I tell him, mainly because it's true.  But I also know what playing music does for him.  It gives him a way of forgetting about his Fibromyalgia for a while.  Everyone who fights a daily battle like his needs a coping mechanism and I don't want to see him lose this particular one.

"He's not going to have time to be playing music," his father replies, before Ted can speak.  "I appreciate the fact that you let him practice with that thing, but it's not helping."

"Not helping?" I repeat curiously.  "From what Ted has told me in the past, it helps him deal with his condition..."

"He doesn't have a condition, he's just too lazy and delicate," his father cuts in again.

I nod and reply, "It's my understanding he has Fibromyalgia.  Is that not the case?"

"Fibromyalgia, if it exists at all..."

"For crying out loud, Dad.  Mom has it, you said so yourself," Ted exclaims.  

"Of course she has, but it's a condition women get, not men!" his father explodes. 

"I have it," I say quietly. "In fact I've had it all my life, even when I was little.  Growing pains they called it.  Told me I'd grow out of it, but I never did.  It's been my constant companion every day of my life."

Ted's father studies me for a moment and then says, "You don't look like your sick or in any pain."

"Looks can be deceiving," I reply cryptically and take a step towards him.

****TO BE CONTINUED****

News and a New Tale Coming Soon...

Hello everyone, I hope you've been enjoying the stories shared here for the past few months, even if they are re-runs so to speak. Still, I'm hoping that they have been new to a number of our visitors. 

I'm popping in today to give you all a heads up as to what's been happening for me. I've been going through procedures for a back and leg problem, and have another one scheduled for tomorrow. Hopefully this one might be the 'silver bullet' that corrects the problem. If not, then the doctors are going to have to look into some more invasive procedure options to alleviate the pain which should then allow me to return to work and being more mobile.

In the meantime, I have just about wrapped up my "A Christmas Carol" project, which will be made available to all for free over on YouTube. This will be an unabridged reading of Mr. Dickens classic tale, complete with images from Wikimedia and other public domain sites. The only thing I have left to do for each chapter is record an opening and closing where I will be discussing the novella as well as the importance of Mr. Dickens work at the time of its release. I'll also be briefly exploring themes and why ghost stories were associated with Christmas even before the novella was ever created.

In the meantime, we have another spooky holiday coming up next month and in celebration of the season I wanted to let you all know that I am preparing a werewolf story involving Nathan and Marisa in Alaska.

So I hope you'll keep visiting this site as my goal is to get the tale written within the next week or two while I recover from tomorrow's procedure. My intention is to have the entire story written and then break it up into as many installments for this blog, with the finale being released on October 30th.

Until next time, take care and stay safe everyone.

The Artist - August 2009 Part IX

 I/we made our way over to the plastic covered figure and carefully unwrapped it. Somewhere behind us Brian took in a deep breath, followed by the words, "Oh my God... it's... it's going to be one of your best pieces."

I felt/heard Nathan share the same sentiments inside our shared head. "Agreed."

"But there's still so much to do," I told them both, glancing over at the wall next to the sculpture. There was a bulletin board with several photos of my grandfather, at least one of them in uniform. The rest were a couple of him even younger, as well as several of him later in life. I had gathered them to try and help me capture the spark of determination in his eye, the set of his jaw, as well as the... the spirit of the man who would come out of not just one but two great wars. I wanted to capture the man he was and would become all in one shot.

But now I hesitated and looked down at my/our hands. I knew they could work the clay, but would they have 'my' touch?

"Of course they will," Nathan assured me. "This is where I take a backseat. You're in charge. Just think of your grandfather and go for it."

As soon as I heard those words in my head, I saw my grandfather in my mind as clear as day. Clearer than I'd ever been able to remember him. Honestly, I could see every detail in his face that I wanted to capture and just knew what needed to be done. 

What happened over the next twelve hours will remain with me forever. Never had the clay felt so soothing and yielding to my touch. It and I were in harmony like never before. Had Brian not fallen asleep, letting out the occasional snore, I would never have realized how much time was passing. Nathan and I only paused briefly to allow him to take over and drink what our body needed, before going back to work. 

Every now and again, I'd start to wonder if he wasn't helping guide my hands, but I knew better. I could sense his wonder at what his hands were helping create under my direction.  Finally, we took step back and into Brian who had been fast asleep on the couch nearby. I'd it in the studio from day one, knowing there'd be times when I would need to stay overnight from time to time. I admit it, when I get going I don't like to let up some days.

"What the... huh?" Brian muttered then his eyes fell on the sculpt. "Oh my God! It's... it's perfect!" he breathed.

"You're telling me," Nathan murmured out of our shared mouth. I could actually feel his sense of awe which only added to my delight in this moment. I'd succeeded! But there was still more work to be done.

Walking over to the shelves I pulled out a long thin wire with wooden handles tied to each end. Then I headed back over to the piece and started stretching the wire from the head of the piece down to its base. 

"Um... what are we doing?" Nathan asked aloud. I realized this was for Brian's sake, as he was looking as puzzled as Nathan was feeling.

"This," I replied and pulled on the handles of the wire, which slowly sank into the clay, neatly severing the sculpture into two sections. 

"OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Nathan cried, making us take a step back. But I quickly took over and brought us back just in time to catch the back half of the piece before it fell onto the table. 

Before I could explain, Brian cut in saying, "Oh... that's so you can remove the armature inside the statue."

Inside our head, I heard Nathan spluttering, "The who... what... where? Wait, this was supposed to happen?"

Patiently, I explained, "You don't get two feet of clay to stay upright all on it's own. Take a closer look. See, there's metal rod attached to the base that runs inside the entire sculpt."

"Okay, yeah I see that," Nathan responded, still sounding a bit shocked.

"Well, that has to come out before I put the piece in the kiln for one thing. For another, I have to start hollowing out the entire piece."

"Hollowing it out?" Nathan repeated, this time aloud for Brian's benefit.

"That's right, like this," I gently held the one half that had come off the main piece into one hand, while I grabbed a tool from nearby in the other. From there I proceeded to scrape out some of the interior of the piece I was holding. 

Remembering to speak out loud, I continued, "Now, I'm going to remove just enough clay so that the remaining shell is just under an inch thick all around. Then I'm going to do the same to the other half that's still on the armature. This it to keep it from cracking when it goes into the kiln. I'm also going to poke a bunch of 1/2 in deep holes to also prevent cracking."

Naturally, I did as I promised, allowing both Nathan and Brian to see what I meant. Then I did the same to the other half. When both were nicely hollowed out and pricked, I began scouring the edges of both halves where the wire had cut them, and then brushed the edges with a water. "Since this is a water-based clay, this will allow me to put them back together," I explained.

"But what about the seams where the two halves meet?" came Nathan's voice out of our mouth.

"I was wondering the same thing," added Brian, who had been watching the entire process intently.

"I'll add more clay and smooth it all out, and then rework it into the rest of the design," I told them. 

An hour later, the piece was whole again, without the slightest hint that it had been cleaved in two. 

"So now you put it in the kiln?" Nathan asked out loud.

"Yes, but we're going to use a low heat to dry it out. The process is called 'candling'. Then once the clay is really good and dry, we'll start the firing schedule," I replied.

"The what?" Nathan asked out loud again.

I winced inwardly. Obviously, neither of them had any clue how long this was going to take. Plus, I was starting to get worried about my physical form back at the hospital. The three of us really needed to talk things out before anything else could happen.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Artist - August 2009 Part VI

When I woke up, it was evening again. Apparently, I'd slept through the entire day - aside from being woken up to be given medicines or have my temperature taken. Around seven o'clock Jack, Brian and Nathan came into my room and closed the door behind them. That was when I knew something big was up. Especially with the looks on both Brian and Jack's faces. The two of them kept glancing uneasily at Nathan, which started making me nervous about him all over again. 

Something in my eyes must've shown because Nathan paused as he started to sit down next to my bed again. Frowning, he looked from me to the other two and back. Finally he said, "Great, now I know how you two guys felt when I was in mental contact with her, this morning. Now is anyone going to let me in on the secret or are we going to play charades? Which would be really tough on her, considering her condition."

I made a little noise to get his attention and then began inhaling deeply to get my point across.

"Oh, right," Nathan nodded and once more one of his hands misted allowing me to breath it in and communicate more freely.

"Why are they staring at you so anxiously?" I asked mentally, trying to keep my own anxiety in check.

Nathan gave the other two a look and turned back to me. "Because, I told them what I have in mind to help you finish your art piece in time for the exhibition," he said gently. "However, neither of them are all that sure you're going to like my proposal, or at least what it involves."

While I couldn't move my jaw without severe pain, I had no problem raising a questioning eyebrow at him. Finally I thought, "Care to elaborate?"

He thought for a moment before saying, "Depends. Do you want the full-scale slideshow presentation or the bottom line version?"

"Bottom line, please," was my reply.

"I'm going to give you access to my eyes and control of my hands," Nathan answered.

"Come again?" I asked mentally.

Leaning forward he explained. "As you said yesterday, I don't have the skills to manipulate the clay and do what's needed to get your sculpture ready.  But you do. You know how the clay should feel and how to handle the tools and whatnot. However, you can't leave this bed, at least not physically. But,  what if I took you with me to the studio 'mentally' so to speak?"

I admit I was both puzzled and intrigued. "Do you mean like how we're communicating right now? Through this bond you made?" 

"It will be something a bit stronger," he replied and leaned forward. "You'd actually be able to see through my eyes and even feel whatever I touch or manipulate with my hands."

For a moment I was tempted, then shook my head. "You still wouldn't know how to manipulate the clay or the tools..." I began.

"But you would if I let you control my hands," he cut in patiently. "Which is what I plan to do. Once we were in the studio I'd let you take over, up to a point. I'd get everything ready, under your guidance, but when it came time to actually work on the sculpture you'd be in charge. I'd be sort of in the background watching and experiencing what you do."

It sounded insane, yet at the same time I was intrigued. Then a thought hit. "What about my body back here? What will be happening to it?" 

"You'd basically be asleep," Nathan assured me. "You'd still be breathing and everything, It would just be your conscious self would be awake seeing and feeling through me."

I had to admit it sounded like a very good idea. Yet I couldn't stop glancing over at Brian and Jack, who were still looking uneasy, even worried.

They must've caught me staring at them because Brian finally spoke up. "Before anyone gets too excited, Nathan you might want to tell her what has to happen for this little experiment to take place." 

Immediately, my heart sank. For Brian to look this worried, it had to be something bad. Turning my gaze to Nathan I thought, "Is there something you haven't brought up yet?"

Without blinking my would-be savior shifted uncomfortably and then glared at the other two. For a second he put me in mind of the cartoon mouse "The Brain" shooting a dirty look at his partner "Pinky". A silent exchange of heated gestures passed between the three of them, before Nathan finally turned back to me and smiled sheepishly. "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, there is..."

"And what is it?" Even without being able to move my mouth, I managed to put an pointed edge to the question.

"To make this happen, I'll need to bite you," he winced.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Artist - August 2009 Part IV

I really hadn't meant for it to happen, but I couldn't help myself. 

I'd seen Nathan many times since the day he rescued me and Brian, but it always took all of my self control not to shrink away from him. I knew Brian looked up to him as a hero, so I'd always tried to hide it. To be honest, part of me thought of him as a hero too, but... the memory of his feeding off the guy was carved just too deep into my memory. And this time, all three of them had seen my reaction.

Brian and Jack looked puzzled, but Nathan clearly knew. But the expression on his face wasn't one of anger or annoyance, it was one of pity. Without a word, he pulled the curtains shut around us and looked down at me with sad eyes. 

"You saw," he said in a quiet voice, "I'm so sorry."

Brian stared from him to me with a look of confusion on his face. "Saw what?" he asked finally.

Naturally I couldn't answer, but Nathan could. Although his voice was heavy with regret as he did so.

"The same thing you did," he told Brian. "The time the two of you were abducted by that sex trafficking bunch, and..." 

"You came for us," my childhood friend finished nodding his head. I could see the memory was still fresh in his memory. A faraway haunted look crept into his eyes. Then he turned to me and said, "But, I thought I kept you from seeing anything. I was holding you to my chest."

He had, but even with his arms covering my head I'd been able to see through the crack between them, and wished I hadn't ever since. 

"I wasn't exactly quiet," Nathan said, breaking the moment, "And of course you saw what happened, Brian. I suspect your guard might have dropped enough for her to get an eyeful. Am I right?" 

That question was directed at me and I nodded.

At that point, Jack came forward and pulled out his stethoscope. "I'd like you to listen to something," he told me and held out the ear pieces at me.

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I nodded and allowed him to gently place them in my ears. Then he turned to Nathan who he instructed to open his shirt. 

"Hey... when did this place become Chippendale's?" Nathan protested, but opened his shirt anyway. Then he leaned forward asJack placed the other end of the stethoscope on his chest. "Woo... that is cold. Do you keep that thing in a freezer or something?" 

"Shhh... let her listen," Jack replied while I did as he instructed.

The sound of a healthy beating heart came loud and clear through the instrument. 

"An undead creature, wouldn't have a heartbeat like that would it?" Jack asked me.

I wasn't really sure. After all, a stake through the heart killed vampires didn't it? So I merely shrugged.

Undaunted, Jack moved the diaphragm of the stethoscope to the other side of Nathan's chest. "Hear anything?"

I listened, but I just heard breathing this time.

"Nathan, would you move your heart to where I'm positioned?"

I don't know who looked more puzzled, me or the man I was still trying to figure out. But after a moment, he nodded.

After a few seconds later, I heard the pulsing heart just as loud as before. But even more importantly, I actually heard its approach just before it... got into position. Torn between horror and amazement I just stared at the two men. 

Still I was afraid and Jack knew it. He asked Nathan to leave and wait in the hallway, which he did.

After he left Jack turned back to me and smiled. "I know you think he's a vampire. That's why I asked him to leave. That way you can be sure that he hasn't hypnotized you into believing what Brian and i are about to tell you. In a way, your suspicion is partly correct. But I want to ask you, could such an undead creature physically move the location of its heart?"

I thought about all the movies and stories I'd read. If vampires could do such a thing, killing them would be much harder, nearly impossible. Finally, I shook my head.

Jack smiled reassuringly. "But what about a man who never died, but wound up sharing his body with a life-form which requires him to take in blood as part of his nutritional requirements?"

That made me raise my eyebrows as I found my thinking in terms of science fiction instead of horror stories.

As I did so, Brian chimed in saying, "The life-form also allows him to alter his shape and even move and change his organs around."

What followed was the most amazing story I'd ever heard in my life. I won't go into details here, because I know others in Nathan's 'Extended Family' have already shared it more than once. And they, and their descendants will be the only ones to read this, so I don't need to go into things further. Besides, I'm here to share my experience.

After Brian and Jack finished telling me all about Nathan and some of the things he could do, I simply lay there for a few moments taking it all in. If just half of what they had told me was true, then he might be able to help me once more.

"Should I ask Nathan to come back in?" asked Jack after a few moment. 

I nodded ever so carefully. My heart beating with anticipation.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Artist - August 2009 Part III

Of course the accident happened shortly after that and I wound up in the hospital. And as you know I received dozens of visitors who constantly reassured me that everything would be all right. Such words and sentiments were always welcome and helped make the day pass more easily. 

But night-time was another matter. Everything would be quiet, aside from the staff making their rounds. Occasionally one would wake me up to draw blood or give me my medications, but for the most part I was on my own with only my thoughts for company. That's when dealing with my situation became much harder.  

That's when all those little fears we keep hidden away come out to plague us. And believe me I had a lot of them which kept me company for hour after hour. Most of them involved not being able to use my hands to sculpt. I won't tell you how many times I wound up crying myself to sleep, but it happened a lot. I tried to keep quiet about it (which should have been easy with my mouth wired shut), but one person found out.

I woke one morning to someone gently dabbing the sides of my eyes with handkerchief. It was Brian. Dr. Jack Tyler, my physician and our mutual friend, had allowed him in before visiting hours had officially begun. Jack had noticed the tear soaked tissues before and had tried to draw me. I would've have loved to have told him what was wrong, but first and foremost he was my doctor. A doctor in frequent demand so we kept getting interrupted. After a while I just stopped trying.

Luckily, Jack is someone who doesn't give up easily, especially when you're his patient as well as his friend. So he'd gone out of his way to get Brian here to make sure they found out what was troubling me. By this time I was able to make some sounds, but understanding me was not easy. Yet somehow we managed. 

 

As it turned out, both of them suspected I was worried about my works in progress back at the studio. With this in mind, Brian had gone to check on things for me. He even took photos on his phone and shared them with me.  

While I was relieved to see everything was still untouched, a part of me felt guilty at the same time. Seeing my kiln just sitting there waiting to be filled, or my tools just hanging on their hooks, they it all looked so lonely. Then I saw the piece of my grandfather, still wrapped in the plastic just as I'd left it. That's when the tears began to flow. 

It took Jack and Brian some time, but they managed to understand to get the full story out of me.

The date of the exhibition, which was still going to happen, was also my mother's birthday that she shared with her father. It would have been his 108th. I had secretly been planning to have his sculpture to be the centerpiece of the show, as well as a gift to both my mom and his memory.

Once they understood, Brian exchanged a look with Jack who nodded. Then he turned back to me and said, "Don't worry, it's going to be all right. Just trust me."

In spite of the fact that I had absolutely no idea what they had planned, something about Brian's tone was extremely reassuring.  After that, they talked about their families and kept me amused for another half an hour. By then I was feeling tired again and managed to drift off without the help of medication for a change.

The rest of the day passed as all the others had, medications, smoothie meals, and television. There were a couple of more visitors, but it's what the night brought that I really want to talk about. Or rather, who it brought.

I'd been listening to an audiobook with my eyes closed, so I never heard my visitors arrive. It wasn't until Brian gently tapped my shoulder that I realized anyone had come. Looking up I saw him and Jack smiling down at me. Then from behind them Nathan popped his head out and waved at me. 

Unable to help myself, I shuddered. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

Lisa's Private Thoughts - Nov. 26, 2009 - Thanksgiving With Uncle Nathan - Part II

Now, the sight of a roasted turkey, with no head, getting up and shaking a fist was weird enough.  But watching it grab one of the nearby carving knives and taking a dueler's stance took it to a whole new level of silliness.  

Even before Uncle Nathan reached for the other carving knife, the rest of us automatically took several steps backwards, away from the table.  We all knew what was coming and didn't feel like getting caught in the middle of what was undoubtedly going to be a memorable battle.  Man and roast bird saluted each other with their weapons, followed by each taking a dueling stance.  

"I knew I should've left you in the oven for another ten minutes, you over-sized chicken," Uncle Nathan grunted, while parrying an attack. 

The turkey, unable to speak, merely flipped him the bird in return.  Then it retreated across the table and waved its backside at him.

Looking properly offended, Uncle Nathan muttered, "Oooo... I'm going cram an onion the size of a bowling ball in you for that."

Our intended dinner responded by making the 'Bring it,' gesture.  

Leaping up onto the table Uncle Nathan rushed towards his opponent across the length of the table and their carving knives clashed once again.

For the next minute, man and dinner, battled across the table in a remarkably silly yet athletic duel, while managing to avoid knocking over candelabras or glasses, or even stepping on a plate or utensil.  

I glanced over at Dr. Jack and my father who were both shaking there heads and trying to suppress smiles, as their wives gave each other resigned sighs.  Meanwhile Joe and Darlene, who hang out with me at school, were both enjoying the spectacle as much as I was.  

Finally, my mother steps forward and puts her hands on her hips.  Then she yells, "No feet on the dinner table!"

Both bird and man freeze in mid-fight.  The two of them stare at her for a moment and then take very guilty stances and point at each other.  "He started it," Uncle Nathan murmured, while his opponent took advantage of the moment to slap the knife out of his hand.

Immediately, our host, did a double-back flip off the table and retreated behind the nearby harp.  His opponent beat its breast in triumph and leapt after him, waving its weapon angrily.  Now began a game of cat and mouse, with Uncle Nathan using the harp as a shield.  At first the roast bird, tried chasing him around the harp, then it tried to stab at him through the strings, which proved to be a mistake.

Uncle Nathan kicked the weapon out of its grip and then pushed the harp down on top of the bird.  The strings of the harp sliced through the bird, leaving it carved in pieces on the floor.

Straightening up, Uncle Nathan looked at his handiwork and shook his head.  "Wow, the guy at the butcher shop told this bird might be a little tough, and he wasn't kidding. Okay, who wanted white meat?" he asked turning towards us.  

Naturally no one spoke.  We all just glared at him. 

"Oh come on, how many times do you get to have dinner and a show?" he insisted.

At this point I saw the green mist slipping out from the remains of our 'dinner' and into the cuffs of his pants and knew what was really going on.  Stepping over to where the harp lay I took a close look at the 'remains' and saw the that the bird had actually been made of foam, covered in latex and painted to look like a roast turkey skin.  

"You didn't get a turkey did you?" I said pointedly.

Uncle Nathan bowed his head and said, "They were all sold out by the time I got back this morning."

"This morning?" I cried in disbelief.  "Where were you?"

"I was out of town, sort of..." he began, when a loud boisterous voice, with a thick German accent, rang out from the area of the kitchen saying, "Happy Thanks-Pizza everyone!"

A moment later, a short stocky man with a graying beard and moustache appeared pushing a cart with the biggest pizza I'd ever seen on it.  He was wearing a chef's hat and moving around so quickly, it took me a moment to recognize him.  His name was Professor Otto Hofstadter, and he was one of Uncle Nathan's closest and oldest friends.  They'd known each other for years, according to Uncle Nathan, but there was always something about the way he said it that had made me wonder if there was more that he was not telling me.  But now was not the time to ask questions.  Dinner had arrived and everyone was starving.

My mother shook her head as we all sat down around the table and said, "Well, it might not be a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, but at least we'll all be eating well."

"On the contrary, my dear," the professor corrected as he and Uncle Nathan started serving huge pizza slices.  "I made sure that we used turkey sausage as part of the toppings."

"Oh well, that makes all the difference," said Dr. Jack as he helped pass the food around to those farthest from the pie.

A part of me wanted to ask where they'd gotten an oven big enough to cook a pizza this size, but I decided not to.  I was more interested in knowing where Uncle Nathan had been and what had kept him away all this time.  The fact that Professor Hofstadter was with us, told me that an adventure had taken place in one of those strange places Uncle Nathan has always hinted at, but has never fully explained to me.  

I decided there and then that I was going to keep a close eye on those two and maybe follow them if possible and see what they got up to when the next opportunity presented itself.

*This concludes this year's Thanksgiving tale.  I hope you all found it amusing and entertaining.  May all of you have a Happy Thanksgiving and may all your travels be safe and enjoyable -- Allan and Helen Krummenacker*