#haunted gravesite universe

[fedcrypt]

COME GET LOST IN THE SHADOWS

buffyverse related

WRITING WARNINGS: pregnancy and birth (as i know some are not comfortable with that), angst, physical & mental & emotional abuse in a forced marriage, badass witch, death, brief talks about hallucinations and the source.

XOXO, CHESHIRE — i got overly excited from writing more about angel’s / angelus’ past and mentioning his mother that i decided to post all about my headcanons of her <3! also she’ll be in my original characters section of my blog so y’all can request things with her as well as any other character that i write for!

welcome to my ramblings about our beloved horrific vampire’s mother whom i have taken to name her … dorothea pinegrove ✨🩷!

she’s a beautiful brunette woman with hazel eyes. she has soft yet firm features that truly shows she has been through a lot in her life. she appears as if she is the one in charge in many situations and mostly she is, unless it comes to her own marriage, but she’s a very headstrong woman and you can see that written all over her.

i’ll share her fancast with y’all overtime if you happen to love her 🤭 because her fancast suits her perfectly 🥹

so let’s start all the way back to her childhood!!

dorothea pinegrove was born to a newly-widowed woman that had lost her way after her husband’s death which had lead her to being taken in from a nearby secretive coven of witches who had then taught her and dorothea, as she grew up, all about what it takes to be a witch and to connect with the universe itself. her mother soon leaves the coven and stops practicing witchcraft, a few years later, once some women had been put into trials surrounding the topic and yet dorothea had stayed with her fellow witches and the few warlocks that had befriended the mostly feminine coven.

she was never the one to shy away from her magic and embraced it as it was merely the only thing keeping her sane in her boring town that she lived in, allowing everyone to try and insult her for living her truth. she had gone through a lot with the townspeople, after all, they did try and slaughter her throughout the years as she grew yet as she grew up — so did her magic and what she could do with it.

dorothea had learned certain spells and tricks that she could do with the mind, which had led into being one of her favorite subjects and practices of hers. later on in life, and found in many of the tales in rupert giles’ personal at-home book collection, being deemed as the retorta moderatoris. she simply loved toying with her victims and messing with their heads, changing their perspectives and breaking them like they were simply dolls to be played with. a skill that she later passed on to her future beloved son who would then destroy drusilla.

upon her sixteenth birthday she had been found by a man named draven who had saw her performing a lovely ritual underneath the moonlight as a way of celebrating and honoring the full moon and all its beauty. instead of reporting her to the people of the town, claiming that the ritual was something more of evil intent instead of the honest truth of it being something of celebration, he had demanded that she would marry him that night in order for him not to run to the town and start a riot over her.

dorothea had with the knowledge of what would happen to her if the town had discovered her beloved ritual along with the glimpse of the future she had gotten upon meeting the man — agreed to marry him. fully knowing the hell that would greet her within their marriage would be easier to handle than what would come from the townspeople that were just waiting for her to slip up so that they would be in their own right to murder her.

the only two good things, that came from her marriage with draven and all the hell that she would take from him, happened to be — the fact that she could use her magic whenever she chose to do so and nobody in the town would say anything as her husband would loudly boast how he had the most powerful woman in town wrapped around his finger and at his very command, and her precious beloved son that she was pregnant with by the time she reached the age of eighteen. luckily for her, during her pregnancy and until liam had reached the age of two years old, draven had paused his physical forms of abuse upon her.

dorothea spent liam’s entire childhood teaching him all about her abilities, what herbs went into certain potions and spell jars, what certain crystals could do for their owners or within certain spells, how to perform rituals and spells, along with teaching him the phases of the moon. though whenever they were alone, not bothered by draven, she would take to calling him by the name she wished she had given him at birth — angelus. you see, he was always the curious child who had a soft spot for his mother and her craft, usually speaking highly of other witches and gypsies who had similar skills to witches. this was something that dorothea had prided herself on.

sadly their shared joy and time together had come to an end upon liam’s thirteenth birthday. dorothea had done something she never should have, according to her husband, and used a honey jar to try and make her husband be a bit sweeter and less rough upon her. clearly her spell had not worked and made him worse, it had backfired upon her. liam had come down the stairs in the morning of his thirteenth birthday to discover his father standing over his mother’s broken, bruised, and bloody body that was no longer moving nor breathing. that day had been the day where liam started transforming into a nearly as cruel man as his father.

dorothea spent her afterlife watching over her dear boy with her heartbreaking as she watched him transform into a younger version of her dear husband. she wished and she hoped and prayed to the source, the first ever deity to ever exist in all the multiverses, that there could be a way that her son could escape draven and be his own man. she was luckily gifted with the appearance of darla, a pretty blonde force of a vampire to be messed with, someone who gained her trust as she noticed the vampire’s adoration for her son.

she had been pleased when the blonde vampire loved her son enough to turn him into one like her. she had been at his grave squatting down in front of it, watching as he dug himself out and smiled softly at him while she called out his true name, angelus, which made her very much pleased when he started claiming that was his name. dorothea had softly called to him, using whatever small time she had been gifted from the source, to persuade her son into murdering his own father. as she had watched the blood be drained from draven’s body from her son’s own teeth, she had lovingly praised him and spoke about how proud of him she was. only to be even more pleased when draven’s buddies had entered their family home and she watched as angelus had murdered them all, practically clapping and spinning around in pure excitement at her son’s own horrendous actions.

she spent years being excited and praising her son from beyond her grave, as she watched over him and how he soon turned a beautiful brunette woman who had been able to see glimpses of the future like her. dorothea felt no sympathy towards drusilla as she felt the same strength had she had within herself — within drusilla. she knew that drusilla could take the mental and physical torture that her son would perform upon her.

later on, when a gypsy had — out of fear — cursed him with getting his soul back ; dorothea had been gifted from the source, her own ability to tie in a spell of her own. a resurrection spell that was tied with the dark voided soul of angelus. one that had her kneeling before her son whom was screaming out in pain due to the other woman’s spell before she had placed her hands upon his face. she began taking away his pain as she simultaneously tied that resurrection spell to her son, as he was gaining his memories back and angelus was fading away. due to her own spell, angelus would never truly leave angel’s mind and would sit in the back of it.

then dorothea would continue her journey of overseeing her dear boy, seeing his struggle between being good and being bad as his memories from his soul being gone plagued him. angel had a period in time where those little blood vials that he would drink would lead to him hallucinating his own mother which would make her happy as she would be able to spend time with her own son. she ended up being the reason for him to escape the hotel, in the fifties, as the source had allowed her to perform yet another spell which had her thanking the source endlessly as the deity seemed to like her well enough to allow her to ensure that her son would be safe.

the reason why it had hurt angel so much, once him and buffy had soon slept with one another, wasn’t because it was angelus returning — it was because his own mother was returning at the same time. leaving the pair of them to terrorize the small town of sunnydale together, hand in hand as mother and son. dorothea loved her son, whether he was angelus or if he was angel, he was still her precious baby boy and nobody would ever take her away from him again — she’d make sure of it.

[xtruss]

The Tragic Backstory Of One Of The Most Haunted Roads In America

Generations Continue to Grapple with Ghostly Tales Along the Incomplete "Road to Nowhere" and Its Dead-end Tunnel in North Carolina.

— By Sara Murphy | May 30, 2024

Lakeview Drive in North Carolina, popularly known as the “Road to Nowhere,” was meant to connect areas affected by Fontana Dam’s construction. However, due to environmental concerns and budgetary constraints, the road project was never completed beyond a 6.5-mile road that leads to a dead end tunnel. Photograph By David Haas

High above Fontana Lake on the North Carolina side of Great Smoky Mountains National Park lies the Road to Nowhere: a winding 6.5-mile pass that dead ends at a 1200-foot tunnel accessible only by foot. If you walk it at night, the wind blows cold, voices carry, and the darkness seems to last forever. The park and nearby town Bryson City market the as a tourist attraction, and locals like Eligiah Thornton grew up hearing chilling tales of supernatural danger. There’s “a weird shadow over the place,” he says.

The sign “Welcome to the Road to Nowhere—a broken promise! 1943-?” reflects the disappointment felt by locals when the government failed to finish the road, which was originally planned in 1943 but remains incomplete. Photograph By David Haas

But what’s truly haunting is the tunnel’s unsettling history. In the 1940s, to facilitate the construction of Fontana Lake and Dam, the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) assured approximately 200 Appalachia families that they would construct a road to enable them to visit their ancestral cemeteries in exchange for relocating their homes. However, in 1969, the government halted construction due to concerns about potential acid runoff from exposed rocks.

Although the National Park Service eventually agreed to compensate Swain County with $52 million instead of completing the road in 2010, this financial settlement has not resolved the ongoing issue: providing these families assistance accessing the 26 cemeteries now situated miles away from the lakeshore, accessible only via steep and poorly maintained trails.

“The promise was not a financial settlement. The promise was to build the road,” says Karen Marcus, a psychologist in her 60s who has five generations of ancestors across multiple gravesites. “The promise will never be kept.”

A History Buried Underwater

The Road to Nowhere families were the last of 50,000 people across six Southern Appalachian states forced to relocate so the TVA could build 15 hydroelectric dams from 1933 to 1943. While the company claims this decade of construction “transform[ed] the poverty-stricken, often-flooded Valley into a modern, electrified, and developed slice of America,” the reality of life in the Fontana Basin was far from the stereotype of the isolated, uneducated, impoverished mountain dweller.

Fontana Dam, located in western North Carolina on the Little Tennessee River, was constructed as part of the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) project during World War II, primarily to provide electricity for wartime production efforts. Completed in 1944, Fontana Dam stands as the tallest dam in the eastern United States, with a height of 480 feet. Photograph By David Haas

“This was an industrial area,” says Daniel S. Pierce, a history professor at the University of North Carolina, Asheville.

As railroads began winding through the rugged terrain in the late 1880s, logging and mining companies followed closely behind, giving rise to thriving towns such as Proctor, Bushnell, and Judson—all of which were flooded and destroyed when the Fontana Dam, the largest east of the Mississippi River, was created in the wake of the Pearl Harbor attack to power a nearby aluminum plant.

While most families impacted saw their towns buried underwater, the homes of the 200 families on what’s now called the North Shore sat above the watermark. But their only access road to their family cemeteries, did not. Instead of moving these families’ loved ones, the TVA promised to build a new road so Decoration Days, an annual Appalachian tradition, which folklorist Alan Jabbour described as “an act of respect for the dead that reaffirms one’s bonds with those who have gone before,” could continue.

“You couldn’t have found a better people—mountain people—to be understand[ing of] the war effort and want to contribute,” says Leeunah Woods, whose mother, Helen Cable Vance, grew up there.

According to Lance Hardin, who studied the dam’s impact on these families, the TVA took advantage of this generosity of spirit, paying property owners an average of $38 per acre—less than most relocated families received.

As a result, land ownership among North Shore residents dropped by a quarter, and home ownership fell by nearly half. “A lot of the available, small farms were gone, and so a lot of them really struggled to find something nearby that could be a replacement to what they were losing,” says Hardin.

Pierce says that’s a key reason why the cemeteries hold such profound importance for these families: “They’ve lost their homes, they’ve lost their businesses, they lost their schools—you know, all the markers of community. But here’s what’s left.”

Keeping Tradition Alive

As years passed and no road appeared, families would make their own way to their cemeteries for Decoration Days. In the 1960s, “us boys would go fishing, and the men would go to the cemeteries and clean them off,” says Henry Chambers, chairman of the North Shore Cemetery Association. “Just being able to come over here was special.”

In 1977, after over 650 people attended a reunion the year prior for the nation’s Bicentennial, Helen Vance and her kin created the North Shore Cemetery Association to advocate for the road to be finished and, in the meantime, get government help to access their cemeteries. Since 1984, park rangers have ferried families across Fontana Lake and maintained trails for these annual visits from April to October. Chambers estimates the yearly costs, from travel costs to repairing graves damaged by weather and wild animals, to be about $8,000.

To attend a Decoration Day is to understand how connected these families are to their shared history and what they call the “homeplace.” They clean the tombstones and decorate the graves with colorful cloth flowers. After the group sings “Amazing Grace,” Marcus reads a self-penned reflection before leading a prayer. Then it’s time for a potluck, when the stories flow long and winding as the creeks that rush nearby.

Lillian Hyatt shared her scrapbook with articles profiling her great-grandmother Sarah Palestine “Tiney” Kirkland, a midwife who delivered 627 babies and designed many home chimneys. Frank March, an amateur historian from Tennessee, recalled the day 83-year-old Joe Cable, Sr. said that the sheet metal March found on his family’s old chimney was the fender of his brother’s bicycle. “He was so excited to be back there,” March says.

“The park wants everybody to believe the Smokies is wilderness. [But] it has never been wilderness,” Chambers says. Together and independently, he and March have mapped over 2700 sites—including homes, churches, schools, and mills—across the park’s 522,000 acres to prove their point.

As for the Road to Nowhere’s reputation, the North Shore families don’t put much store in it. “There’s no ghostly whatever,” says Woods. “It’s just an eerie feeling in that long of a tunnel to walk.”

With its cold concrete and graffitied stone, the Road to Nowhere is a dead place, not a place of the dead. The dead rest in the cemeteries that honor the generations of Appalachians who called this land their home.

“They need to come and see it,” says 94-year-old Carrie Laney when asked what people should know about the Decoration Days. “They’ll come back if they do.”

[everyonesawhoregrace]

Shattered (1) discontinued

I think about him only in the dead of winter. His hands on my body and the smell of him. His perfect blue eyes and the way he would wrap his arms around me as if it were our last embrace.

I think about the way he said my name, Joanna, and the way he could smile crookedly after telling a terrible joke.

I think about Thomas Shelby during the night time only because I know he thinks about me when the sun is up. And I don't want the universe to ever put us back together.

I'm a Gypsy-Italian woman, who derived from a family of witches. I was born and raised in Birmingham, a few doors from the Shelby residence.

I was a cellist before I could even walk, and a good girl for the most part. My mother was a horse breeder, she loved to take care of the large beautiful animals. I was close with my mum.

Whilst at home, I met a boy named Tommy. He had a beautiful smile and eyes as blue as the summer sky. I was twelve at the time.

He was handsome even when he was young, so pure and kind. He treated my mum nice, always bringing her flowers in return for an hour of helping her with the horses she nurtured.

I remember poking my head out of the window, watching as this boy - who couldn't be more than three years older than me, take such good care of the horse.

I was flushed, and sold on the idea of wedding him one day. It was love at first sight for me, and shortly after, I'd learn that night that Thomas might have felt the same way.

He called me Anna, and he loved to make me laugh. Thomas and I were head over heels within a week of knowing each other.

I was at my happiest, and now, as a thirty-one year old, I can't help but admit that I still crave the happiness I once had so young.

My bed is empty, and I feel cold. I try to shut my eyes and throw away these bad thoughts, but I can't get rid of him.

He tells me he needs me back in Birmingham. That something has happened and he needs me. The man who haunts me at night needs me.

________

Th feeling of loneliness is unfathomably painful. It's a punishable act done by God, in attempt to hurt you. And Jesus Christ am I hurting.

My eyes flood with tears as I stand before a tombstone reading a name I can't pull my eyes away from.

Shelby.

The grave has been newly dug, as fresh soil fills my nose alongside the sent of flowers. My eyes scan the grave, reading her name.

Grace Shelby.

He lost her only after a few months of having her. A tear rolls down my cheek at thought of Thomas being left alone now. I put down the flowers I picked out and place them on her grave. I run my hand over her name and feel an energy corse through my veins.

My eyes move to the words left on her tombstone.

Loving mother, wife, daughter and friend.

My heart lets out a wince. I always knew he had a child of his own, a little boy who would speak to me in my dreams.

As if it's her tears, raindrops fall from the sky and thunder claps in disarray. An umbrella reaches me before a single drop touches me and I look up to see Pascal. He sends me a reassuring smile, one that says that he wants to go, but he'll happily stand here awaiting me.

I get up to stand, feeling the umbrella move with me. "I feel sorry for him," I mutter, wiping away another tear.

I look at my black gloves and take them off. "And I feel sorry for the boy." I add.

A boy without his mother? How in the world can that work out for anyone. I frown, feeling myself get emotional again. Oh goodness, not again.

"You've sent your condolences." Pascal tells me in a quiet voice.

We walk towards the car that sits a yard away from her gravesite. Grace. I want to say her name in my head, and allow it to linger.

Thomas must have been so infatuated with her, and I can only imagine how she felt about him. So foolish to ever find love in a man like that. Especially if you're as innocent as any other girl.

Thomas Shelby might come off as sweet and good, but inside that man is the devil just waiting to be freed from his chains.

"Does he still live here?" I ask, looking over to the mass amounts of graves. I was prepared to burry Tommy here, I thought the war would kill him.

Pascal walks slow, as I hurry up. He's a tall man who can get to car in two steps, whereas it takes me nearly thirty.

"Yes. With a son, Charlie."

I knew it. I raise my head from my heels and hear a buzzing in my ear. Someone is around us. I look around, making sure to not be seen and instantly locate the man who watches us a few feet away. A man in a black coat and hat stands a few feet away.

"Pascal," that's all I have to say as he looks around.

Pascal nods, "Harry Camden, he works for you."

"Why do I need two times the protection?"

"Because Birmingham isn't what it used to be, ma'am. Nearly every bloke has a weapon on them. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous," I nearly laugh. "If I'm to be shot in the town that my mother gave birth to me then so be it." I hiss. "I wish to be buried beside her, this you know."

He nods. "Right ma'am."

A smirk plays on my lips. "If someone has the balls to harm me whilst I stay here, I wish my assassin nothing but success in their life." I clear my throat. "The lord has tried endlessly to take my life, and has failed miserably each time."

Pascal hates it when I speak about the lord in vein but the truth is the truth. He goes silent and I walk with my head high, the car that sits beside mine is new. I raise an eyebrow, looking at it as I walk down a hill slowly. Pascal assists me, as I don't loose eye contact.

The door pops open and I continue to stare until seeing a man step out of the passenger side and look at me. He's tall and handsome, far too angelic to be the monster everyone gives him the title of. Rain falls over his head, and those eyes. Those eyes that have haunted my dreams countless times stares back at me for once.

Thomas Shelby.

///////

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[snowflake-of-destruction]

Terraqua :))))))))

1. How do much do I ship it?: Never heard of it/ Notp / Dislike / used to ship / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / IS IT CANON YET?

This rating applies to canon. Just want to clarify, since I'm going to also talk headcanons for different AUs (go to the asterisk reference sections at the bottom if you want a little explanation of AUs)  in some answers, and, in those situations, feelings are different.

2. What non sexual activities do they like to do together?

KH Post Canon: Learning how to be adults together. I know it's not the most "fun" answer, and they deserve a break, but even if things stay stable, they aren't getting one as such. Aqua is now the Master in Residence at the Land of Departure and someone all the Guardians of Light will look to as an authority (and Yensid will reinforce it!) , and Terra will get a lot of the same treatment from multiple factions.

 Not only will the GoL look at him as someone knowledgeable (Him! The screw up who not only isn't a master but has a lot less off-world experience where he was actually conscious than most of his new comrades), but, when it comes to the recompleted former Org members, while it's clear he is definitely not "The Superior" and they don't want him to be, even those that glance by Roxas/Sora/Ventus etc. as green behind the ears or "kids" despite their experience are naturally inclined to view him as an equal and/or someone to ask guidance from even if only on a subconscious level because he shares Xemnas features. 

And neither has the first clue what they are doing. Hell, they lived sheltered with Eraqus and the Land of Departure Castle probably taking care of a lot of their needs. So, yeah, Aqua and Terra learn to cook together, hone vocabulary and speaking style to sound "like a real adult" and not like teenagers who are using bigger and bigger words to sound mature, practice how to lead meetings without voice shaking and how to make people feel heard (and refrain from interrupting with "you're wrong and also stupid because of Xyz"), read up on history and powers of old keyblade masters like they are cramming for exams (because even stuff they were taught by Eraqus...it's kind of been awhile), bitch together over how to simultaneously be 28 and 18, and basically bond over "fooling" everyone into thinking they are competent. 

Then they indulge in a bunch of "childish" things they never did because they were always in a rush to grow up when they were actually younger. They slide down bannisters and have food fights and swing from the rings in the training area, feet lifted and knees near to knocking the ground.

Lost Masters AU*: Finishing growing up in the Mysterious Tower under Yensid's comparatively lax supervision, obviously effected their hobbies as much as their outlook on life. They escaped often to the book(s) where Fantasia sleeps and so they are used to music made through flora, fauna, and movements of their own body. Creating symphonies that are part sparring, part dancing, part gardening and finding out what creates the best music was a passion and it carries on beyond the Tower and beyond having (snuck) access to Yensid's books. Even in adulthood, they both have a tendency to dance when nobody's watching, and, wherever they settle there is a carefully cultivated flower bed they can be found tending to (and humming to them the whole time, teaching them the notes they should be playing but mostly refuse to)  when not on mission.

Grass is Greener**:  If you asked the couple themselves this question, (more politely phrased of course because you don't say the phrase "nonsexual things" in conversation) Aqua would beam and talk about going out on the boat...that they don't own anymore (Xem bought it off baby sister out of pity. He drew the short straw between him and Ansem), and didn't use much when they did. Terra would shrug and say he hardly remembers anymore, honesty slipping out because he forgets to be guarded until Aqua grips his arm too tight and says that he's joking on his behalf. 

With some prompting, Terra will slowly come up with the latest Netlfix series they are binging...separately. Not that he'll say they watch separately, because that's not anyone else's business, and it's not even a reflection on their relationship, just like not remembering what they do for fun isn't as bad as it sounds (Is it? Now he'll brood too much on it). With Aqua working days that start early and Terra working mostly nights, they hardly see each other. Even before that, before Terra's breakdown, which he is more apt to explain away than she is if they ever talk about it (which they try not to at all costs), he was doing his residency at the hospital and worked a lot of odd hours. Med school is actually...wow...more of a blur than Terra realized....but they had fun? Once? Together? Since the college days? Of course they did. They have many activities together. Lots of stuff. Common interests. That's what they do. Common interests.

3. Who does chores around the house?

In General/Canonverse: Split right down the middle. Some tasks they trade off on, and some become full time assignments, like, for instance, Aqua cooks and Terra does the dishes. 

Grass is Greener: Terra. Period. It's not discussed, and Aqua would adamantly refute this, but in Terra's mind he has to do everything. He did even when he was working/studying to be a doctor. Aqua knows how blessed she is to have a husband that just full stop doesn't let her lift a finger (because he loves her! And he likes doing house things), but not fully. Eraqus is old money (and so was Aqua's mom, though she barely remembers her before she took off) and Xehanort's "new money" only bolstered it, and besides just living on that kind of cushion, she was the only child with Eraqus who also had to "make up" for being a single parent for awhile, and then the youngest child and only girl when the family became blended, so she was never made to do anything in her life and kind of still believes in the cleaning fairy. She knows housework is difficult, but in the same way she knows what it's like to live paycheck to paycheck now that she and Terra don't accept any help from Eraqus and Xehanort....just live in one of their houses (to take care of it for them!) without paying a dime even towards taxes and insurance much less rent...and Aqua's car insurance is paid for six months at a time as a birthday gift in the fall and an anniversary gift in the spring...but scorn handouts otherwise. 

4. Who’s the better cook?

Canonverse/General: Aqua. 

Lost Masters: Terra. It starts off being Aqua, but, you know, you forget a lot of things once you're a Nobody. 

Grass is Greener: Terra.  Though Aqua starts to catch up once they start a couple's cooking class that Terra keeps canceling on, leaving her to take Tifa or Aerith

5. Who’s the funniest drunk?

Aqua, all universes. Terra just gets very quiet and stares at the wall to make sure it doesn't move. Aqua becomes the life of the party. Not a small task, considering their friends.

6. Do they have kids?

Canonverse/In general: Absolutely, eventually, and more than one. It would vary story to story how many, the sexes, and the ages, but they will have at least two.

Lost Masters:  I wasn't planning on it, but damn if I don't now want to rework the timeline.

Grass is Greener: "When are you guys going to have kids?" That question is the bane of their existence. "You've been together for a long time." "You'd be such great parents." There's a lot of pressure, but no baby and there's not going to be.

7. Do they have any traditions?

Canon-verse: Even though Eraqus's grave is near enough they pass by it regularly, they (and Ventus) have a yearly celebration of remembrance of his life where they gather by the gravesite and tell stories. Over time they even get comfortable enough to share negative memories. It's not disrespectful. It's remembering the whole man and learning every lesson he taught. Terra and Aqua also go all out decorating the castle for solstices, though Terra takes lead with jokes about how the one time Aqua changed the castle's decor on her own she went a little overboard. Each year picking a different world they went to separately to vacation at and re-experience together in peace.

Grass is Greener: Beach vacation every year. This is carried on from Aqua's family who used to rent a condo on the beach for the first week or so of July (or, when they got older, multiple condos, next door units so there was some pretense of supervision, Aqua, Xemnas, and Ansem sometimes getting to invite friends to come meet them/stay over for part of the time). Aqua and Terra usually do a shorter time because of schedules.  They also go all out for Halloween, turning most of the house into a haunted house for touring Halloween and the preceding or following weekend--and Aqua actually does most of the work on this, it's a grand creative project.  Ansem's for New Year's. The Dads' for Thanksgiving. Christmas tree hunting for all the households with the Dads, Ansem, and Xemnas.  Terra's family for Christmas Eve dinner and service, and then Xemnas's for Christmas because The Dads passed hosting on to him. 

8. What do they fight about?

 Canon/General: Projecting their own insecurities/sensitivities on to each other and expecting to hear things the other would never say. Take care of yourself statements twisted into assuming Aqua is worried about Terra falling prey to darkness again. Observations that everyone seems to be re-adjusting well to relatively normal/new normal life read as "Stay out of their lives and stop meddling, Aqua. You're what causes things to go wrong" 

Lost Masters: There's only the one fight planned. I don't know what smaller fights may be. Aqua handles being passed over for Master while Terra advances worse than Terra does when the opposite happens in canon. It doesn't help that Yensid takes her demands to be given another test right away badly. Terra tries to comfort her. It does not go well. 

Grass is Greener: Fight? They don't fight. They didn't fight when Terra was struggling even in his first semesters in med school (with what he wanted in life more than with the program itself, but there was a fair bit of both), confided it to Aqua, and she gently reminded him of what The Plan was--the plan that so much work and her fathers' money when someone lost some of their scholarships was put toward. They didn't fight when Aqua threw her side of The Plan out and decided it would be fun to be a teacher instead of following after Xemnas and going to law school. They didn't fight when Terra discarded more of The Plan after even more work, money, and time wasted, and started bartending of all things when even if he wasn't going to be a doctor there were so many other careers he could build. It's temporary, Aqua tells herself. He's happier, Aqua tells herself. So she's happy for him and she will not mention it and they will not fight. They don't fight over kids, or lack of kids even though that was on The Plan too that they should have one already--so they could space them out and also because Aqua had calculated the optimal age. They don't fight over money. They don't fight over hardly getting to see each other and how one or the other always seem to be late or make other plans when they do schedule off nights to be together. They just simply never argue. They are happy. Couple goals.

9. What would they do if they found their paring tag on tumblr? (If they have one)

General/Canon: They would first worry over who was watching them but then they'd get into pointing out cute art to each other and they may even write their own memoir to pass off as fanfic. It's uncomfortable how often they are the parents or aunt and uncle of the group--they aren't even completely comfortable being leaders like I said before, though they want to try their best--and even more awkward because the other Guardians of Light largely find it hilarious and tease them relentlessly. 

Lost Masters: If they find it while they are together, it's cute and a sign that everything will turn out alright. If they find it later, it's devastating for Terra, and ammunition for Dark Aqua 

Grass is Greener: Aqua doesn't really get a lot of the content but she likes how they seem to be popular, and she really likes her hair short. She should go back to wearing it short. Terra is into the fantasy anime vibes, and it's reassuring to think they may be together and in love in another universe. He thinks they are canon at least from how a lot of the tag is. It's validating.

10. Who cried at the end of Marley and me?

Neither, though they ended up talking about how Ventus definitely would have cried.

11. Who always wins at Mario kart?

Terra mostly. Aqua will have a well strategized/lucky race once in awhile though

12. One thing I like about this ship?

Even in the moments where they doubt or misunderstand each other or act stubborn, I feel like you can feel love, respect, and just the barest pining tinge even before everything goes wrong and it's cranked up. I'll break examples down when I get to games that include them on my replay I am sure. 

13. One thing I don’t like about the ship?

That they are treated as the default and even if you ship them with other people it has to be just for fun or an extra ship because at the end of the day everyone agrees with Terraqua. That's just a lowkey pet peeve though, and for “no reason” since, at the end of the day, I agree with Terraqua. 

I dislike the idea that they are "mom and dad" in a lot of people's eyes...in case I didn't give off that vibe already. Let them rest. Whether you see them are near 30 or as 18, they still deserve to just only be responsible for themselves. And, guess what, some of the kiddos have more life experience than them. 

14. The song I would say fits them?

You come into my house and keep asking me this question? Be gone with you!

15. Another headcanon about the paring? (Free space)

General: They adopt a bunch of animals. Since they are often on missions and not the most stable parents of even fur babies in the first years post KH3, this, in practice, consists of claiming animals on several worlds and visiting them every time they are there to spoil them and bring them gifts. Prince Eric's dog Max? Terra and Aqua's. Nemo and his father? Marlin resents the implication, but they are their fish. Thomas O'Malley the Alley Cat? You shouldn't be allowed to call yourself a pet owner when you also turn into a cat when you go to visit them, but, yes, he is part of the family.

Lost Masters: Instead of making large wayfinder charms, since it is just the two of them, Aqua makes smaller charms that hang from woven macrame bracelets that morph meaning as they get older. Terra continues to wear his up until "present." Aqua's comes with her even when she's a Nobody, but eventually gets confiscated by Ventus though it somehow ends up with Xigbar who doesn't hesitate to literally dangle the reminder of her human life over her. 

GiG: People tend to think Terra not Aqua is the one related to Xemnas and Ansem unless they specifically know better. Sometimes Terra goes along with this. He hasn't found a way to parlay this into some funny prank so far, but is on the look out for a way. Aqua doesn't see (or refuses to see) that Terra resembles Xem a little. Vehement denial is better for the sanity. 

*Lost Masters AU is the name for the canon divergence where Xehaqus eloped/ Xehanort chose love over power or darkness, and it changed everyone's fate--though fate still demanded both villains and heroes. Canon divergent post Xehanort's little jaunt to the future and spanning that time of Young Xehanort and Eraqus and up through the sage so far, though, you know, skipping around the years with different protags. Yeah, ambitious, but it would be so cool. I've decided I'm waiting until after I beat Melody of Memory to consider further whether I'm writing it or just posting a skeleton  in case we get some Radiant Garden/Ansem the Wise and apprentices/Kairi background I want to work in. Want to know more? Hit me up

**Grass is Greener is a modern au/soap opera-ish au created between me and Shaky. It's on both of our blogs, tagged Grass is Greener Verse.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E59 (Apr. 23, 2019)

Travis is unfortunately under the weather and couldn’t make it, but tonight’s guests are Ashley Johnson and Taliesin Jaffe!

This speaks to me.

Announcements: The Kickstarter campaign is over, but the Kickstarter close party with Joel Hodgson is up. Brian confirms that the six-shots-in-five-minutes bit was iced tea (”If we’d actually had that many shots, we’d all sound like Marisha did.”). Travis Willingham’s Yeehaw Game Ranch will be back next week (Brian: “This universe is expanding in a way that’s making me uncomfortable.” Dani: “I’m afraid for both of your souls.”).

This week, it’s Episode 59: Perspective!

Stats for this week: Yasha rolled the 500th player critical roll of this campaign! It was a natural 20 attack against a babau demon. This episode also marked the first NPC HDYWTDT.

Ashley mentions that Brian wrote her roast of Sam, and she loved every minute of it. 

Brian asks for the music to be brought up a little. In response, the crew cranks it up to excessive levels. Brian: “I love everyone in this building.”

Everyone’s plotting revenge on Travis for jumping out from behind a door to scare them on set a while ago, especially now that the haunted house stretch goal has been met. Taliesin: “There’s not a haunted house he can choose in Los Angeles where I don’t know somebody. He’s fucked.”

Ashley’s decision to charge in against the giants. “I do think, with Yasha, which I’m still figuring out with her, is once she’s engaged in combat it’s hard for her to pull out. (It’s hard for her to PullOutKing.)” She’s enjoying exploring the impulsive side of her class. “Also, that was a little bit prompted by Travis.” She was leaning towards it anyway, but Travis tipped the balance.

Taliesin clarifies that Caduceus is not a pacifist. “He felt that this wasn’t the most advantageous action to take.” He was looking for the path of least resistance that would work out best for everyone. “He wouldn’t have had a second thought about grinding them down into paste if it had come down to it.”

On being close to Yasha’s home turf: “It’s not a place that she’s ready to go back to, because she ran away from there for a very specific reason. She owes her tribe a death, basically, because of what she did.” She’s mainly trying to keep a low profile. She’s also never been this far north in Xhorhas. “She’s cautious. As long as they don’t go South, she might be okay.” She is enjoying things like the familiar food and landscapes, and sharing that a little bit with the others.

Ashley talks about how it feels weirdly private to have your backstory come out in the game. “I think, for me, sitting at the table, these players are very good, and it’s so fun to sit at the table, but it is intimidating.” It’s a combination of wanting to find your groove before the backstory comes out and also feeling strangely protective of it. Taliesin agrees, and adds that you have to do math during it, too.

She also points out that in the first campaign, they didn’t realize how significant their backstories would become in the game (although Taliesin had played with Matt before and knew what to expect).

No Gif of the Week this week. There won’t be one for a while, because “something interesting” is in the works... “A new giveaway, a new contest, for something that isn’t gifs.” Ashley’s a big fan of this mysterious new idea.

Caduceus enjoyed being the face of the party. “Oh man, he loves talking to people. It’s one of the things he actually enjoys, is finding people who want to converse. He’s a big fan of a conversation with stakes.” He’d be more involved if he felt like he really understood the situation more often.

Ashley enjoys some natural ones because they can push you in an interesting direction where you’re not necessarily the hero. The nat 1 stealth roll that started the giant battle led to Ashley better understanding Yasha’s impulsiveness: “Well, I’m out here now, so I gotta finish the fight.”

Clay’s aware of the dispositions of the group he’s with, and he knows his role is to “kind of be Jiminy Cricket. Let’s maybe not murder everyone we-- let’s maybe murder half of everybody we meet.” He’s very aware that Caleb’s more inclined to leave bodies than witnesses. But “serving life”, as his philosophy, is about allowing life to thrive, which can require death and rebirth. “He’s got feelings about everybody, but he sees a lot of potential in Caleb, if he can get his head screwed on straight. He’s not always right about these things, but...”

Yasha is worried about potentially coming across her tribe again. “They have every right to kill her. Yasha thinks that as well. She still feels very cowardly in the decision that she made to run. I don’t know how she would respond to that if she did see them.” She would love to visit Zuala’s grave, but “she ran away during the whole ceremony when Zuala was being executed. The last time she saw her, she was alive, so it’s one of those things where it’s hard to visit a gravesite because then it feels final.” Ouch. Part of her is preparing for that inevitable moment by collecting the flowers. “There’s more there. There’s such a small amount of Yasha’s backstory that we have.”

Fan Art of the Week! Yasha, Jester, Beau, Nott, and flowers.

There’s a brief Babysitter’s Club digression. (Personal shame moment: As a small child, I once got to meet a very famous author I had never heard of at the time (name redacted to preserve my dignity), and promptly asked him if he’d ever met Ann M. Martin because they both lived in NYC.)

This giveaway is Henry-approved! But things go off the rails.

“This is a show about a D&D game. Can we have some god damn professionalism?”

“DO NOT LIGHT MY DOG ON FIRE”

Yasha’s attitude toward seeing Nott’s reunion with her husband is bittersweet, but fundamentally she’s seeing it as “a sign that good things can still happen”. Taliesin: “We’ll find a way to flip that all around. Just give us time.”

Ashley’s actively going to work on finding something to increase Yasha’s AC. “I got hit, I think, every time.”

Cad does miss his siblings and his parents. “The whole dynamic that he had, he misses. But that ended, no matter how complicated or uncomplicated that was, a while ago. He has to assume that what he is doing right now is the best way to find them.” It’s not his whole goal, but if he does what he’s doing, “everybody gets to come home”. He “honestly hasn’t thought about it much”.

The conversation Yasha had about fate with Caduceus was a bit of a turning point for her. She looks at Jester’s very personal relationship with the Traveler, and Caduceus following the Wildmother in a well-developed but impersonal way, “and so for Yasha, it’s still this very new thing for her to-- she doesn’t quite know what faith is yet, or know what it means to fully put your faith in something. She’s taking it day by day and hour by hour, waiting for a sign, because that’s what she thinks the connection is at this point.” There’s more to it that will be explored in-game.

Brian re: the Traveler: “I think it’s some Fight Club shit.”

[heroicadventurists]

Detective Comics 1000

Top 5 stories

Detective 1000 was comprised of eleven short stories written by some of the biggest names in comics.  All of the stories were really good (as expected) and 1000 was definitely worth the read.  Below is my ranking of the top 5 stories in Detective Comics 1000

05. Batman’s Greatest Case

Writer: Tom King

What’s a Batman celebration without the batfamily?!?  This story begins with Bruce arriving at the cemetery to visit his parents gravesite.  During his walk in the cemetery, various conversations between the batfamily are displayed on the page.  Hilarity ensues as several members of the family try to figure out why Batman has summoned them on a roof top.  When Batman finally arrives, it was to take a group portrait so he can place it on his parent’s gravestone. 

This story is a reminder of how much Bruce has healed and how the batfamily has played a big part in that.  Thru thick and thin, they are family; and you don’t get kicked out of family.

04. The Legend of Knute Brody

Writer: Paul Dini

This story featured a who’s who of Batman’s Rogues Gallery.  This was an extremely fun and lighthearted read.  This story documents the legend of Knute Brody, a henchman for hire.  Each of the rogues recall their disastrous experience working with Knute.  There are appearances by Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Mad Hatter, Two Face, Ventriloquist, The Riddler, The Penguin, Joker, Mr Freeze, Kite Man and …..wait for it…….Condiment King. All of the stories have the same outcome; Knute ruins the caper of the day infuriating the rogues. 

At the end of the story, we learn that Knute was actually various members of the batfamily; with Bruce, Dick and Barbara reminiscing about playing him.  The family decides to retire Knute since he is believed to be dead (by the hands of Poison Ivy) but Damian has other ideas………..Knute Brody Jr.

Again this was a feel good story that paid homage to Batman’s wonderful rogues gallery.  Long Live Knute.

 03. Batman’s Longest Case          

Writer: Scott Snyder

This is the first story in Detective 1000 and one of my favorites.  This is a classic Batman story that focuses on “whodunit”

The case in question was Batman’s first.  A business magnate supposedly killed by his son and a missing looking glass from Hellenistic Rome.  The case took Batman from Gotham to Osumi, Japan; to Egypt; to the frozen peaks of Dolomites; to the bottom of the Pacific; to the jungles of Brazil….and on and on right back to an apartment in Gotham owned by Peter Sawyer Ignacious (P.S.I).  This case took Batman years to solve.

And what was the answer?  The Guild of Detection.  A place that has existed for eons, with only a few members .

“You see, it’s where we detectives work on the Universe’s great unsolved cases.” –Detective Slam Bradley

The Guild houses the Celestial cases, Cosmic Phenomena, the Supernatural and the Mysteries of Science. I would absolutely read a comic book based on The Guild of Detection.

02. I know

Writer: Brian Michael Bendis

This story is narrated by The Penguin and begins with him proclaiming that he knew Bruce Wayne was Batman the entire time.  He states that the Joker or Scarecrow would try to unionize the villains so they could take down Batman once and for all.  The conversation always turned to: who is Batman.  After extensive research, The Penguin came to the conclusion that Batman was Bruce Wayne.  The rouges shot down his “theory”.

“I once held that ridiculous man for ransom.  Really! I was trying to use Wayne to, you know, lure the Batman, you know the deal….This man, Bruce Wayne, as I held him in my arms, cried like such a baby that I was embarrassed to do what I do for a living.  Wayne was literally ruining it for me.” –Rogue Unknown

The Penguin begins to detail how he planned an attack on Wayne Manor; how he strapped every bomb on every penguin he could get his hands on.  The Manor was filled with all of the important people in Gotham.  Just as he was about to give the order to attack, he realized that Bruce Wayne was the only thing keeping him alive.  If he missed the mark, and destroyed Wayne but not Batman….Batman without Bruce Wayne?  Without the tether to actual humanity, The Penguin would be dead.

After this proclamation, we see an old Penguin talking to an old Bruce Wayne. 

“That’s why I let you live, Bruce.” –The Penguin

The Penguin wanted to let Bruce know that he knew the truth.  Of course Bruce already knew that Penguin knew his secret identity.  And to add insult to injury, Bruce electroshocked the penguin with his wheel chair and called him a coward.

I liked this story a lot because it hit on the dichotomy of Batman and Bruce Wayne.  They are one and the same but separate at the same time.  What would happen to one without the other? 

01. The Precedent

Writer: James Tynion IV

The Precedent takes my number 1 spot for best stories in Detective Comics 1000.  This story was absolutely beautiful and paid homage to not only Bruce’s legacy but Dick’s as well.  The story begins with Bruce questioning if he made the right decision by bringing Dick into his vigilante lifestyle.  Alfred tells him it’s a little too late for regrets, but Bruce is worried about the precedent he is setting.  Alfred tells Bruce that Dick is not the first orphan with a haunted look in his eyes to be brought back to the Manor and everything turned out well for Bruce?!?  Bruce is still not convinced he made the correct decision.

“Your path to Batman was a dark one, Bruce.  Years of agony and loneliness fighting what you needed to become”. -Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred tries to reassure Bruce that they will make sure Dick has the little things like friendship and romance; things that were hard for Bruce to obtain. Alfred tells Bruce that Dick can make him better;  Dick can be better. Dick can be a hero forged in the light.

After Alfred’s declaration, Bruce asked him about the others.

“We can’t fool ourselves into thinking this will be the only time we’ll see that look in a young person’s eyes, and know we have to do something.  Why take him in, and turn the rest away.  That’s the precedent Alfred.” – Bruce Wayne

At that moment Dick drops down from a chandelier and says that he is not the precedent, Bruce is the precedent.  Bruce is showing everyone a different way to fight and people are going to act.  They will show people how to do it right.

This story was a nice celebration of the original Dynamic Duo.

[mythicallore]

Black Angels

Statues can be creepy as it is, with their never changing visages, eyes that seem to stare off right through us, and often towering above us. Even without any sort of haunted lore or tales of paranormal activity they can manage to creep us out, but add these elements and they truly catapult into the land of the eerie. Within the state of Iowa lie two such statues that are molded into the likenesses of angels, albeit taking on the color of black rather than white, and orbited by persistent legends and stories of the supernatural, ghosts, and curses.

Perhaps the most well know “black angel” stands menacingly overlooking the Oakland Cemetery of Iowa, in the United States, and it has gone on to become absolutely permeated with spooky lore and legend in the region. It is an imposing presence, towering 8 and a half feet over the ground, and although it is black now it wasn’t always so, which is actually a part of its unusual lore. The statue itself was bronze when it was first brought to the cemetery in 1912, as a burial monument for the wealthy Feldevert family. It was designed by an artist in Chicago by the name of Mario Korbel, who was commissioned by Teresa Dolezal Feldevert in order to eternally watch over her family’s gravesite, where her husband was buried and where her own son, Eddie, was also interred after having died of meningitis in 1891.

The statue was installed in 1912, and was already notable for its rather disturbing stance, its sad face cowled and turned down, mostly hidden from view, and wings not gloriously uplifted as those of most cemetery angels were, giving it a rather somber and creepy ambiance. Shortly after this arrival, Eddies body was moved to sit right alongside the statue, while at the same time the ashes of Teresa’s husband were placed right beneath it. Teresa’s own ashes were interred there as well when she died of cancer in 1924, and it was from around this point that the rather ominous looking statue began to accrue is sinister reputation. It was noticed that right after Teresa’s ashes were placed here the statue seemed to very rapidly turn from a shiny bronze to an unsettling greenish black color, which was probably the result of oxidation of the metal but which was rapid and alarming enough that it helped launch the statue into scary local lore, with the change said to be caused by paranormal forces from beyond our understanding, and legends began to spring up to explain it.

One of the most popular of these legends is that Teresa was far from an angel herself, that behind closed doors she was a wicked and sinful woman, even a practitioner of black magic, with some even whispering that she had in fact murdered her son, and that this malevolent energy surrounding her had transferred to the statue upon her death to taint it and cause it to turn is oppressive black, a permanent testament to her evil past. In one version of the tale the statue turned black suddenly one evening after a thunderstorm and lightning strike, and this has all also led to the idea that the intimidating statue is actually cursed, with a few versions of how this malicious paranormal power manifests. In one story any girl who is kissed at the angel’s feet during a full moon will die within 6 months, in another touching the angel on Halloween night will lead to death in 7 years, actually kissing it will cause instantaneous death from heart failure, and a pregnant woman who walks under its wings is said to lose her child.

The Black Angel of Oakland Cemetery has gone on to become a permanent fixture of local legend, gathering about itself a persistent reputation as a haunted place, with apparitions and odd phenomena roving about it, and it is indeed a popular destination for paranormal investigators, who have managed to capture odd photographs and EVP phenomena in the vicinity. One famous investigation of the Black Angel was carried out by the SyFy channel TV show Haunted Highway, during which time no one dared touch it, although they did allegedly manage to produce evidence in the form of sudden inexplicable temperature fluctuations within the statue. The menacing statue has unfortunately also become a magnet for macabre curiosity seekers and thrill seekers, many of which have vandalized the statue over the years, although no word on whether the curse got them for that. Is this all urban legend or is there any reality to it at all? The cemetery is open to the public all year round, so go check it out yourself and make up your own mind, just go right on past the wrought iron gate, through the twisted trees, and face the sorrowful visage of the Black Angel, staring right back and silently daring you to touch it.

At another cemetery, also in Iowa, is yet another black angel surrounded by dark history and myth. Here we come to a place called Fairview Cemetery, at Council Bluffs, in Iowa City. The cemetery itself is one of the oldest in the state, born as an Indian burial ground before being used by Mormon settlers of the region. In 1919 the wife of a Civil War Veteran and railway engineer named General Grenville M. Doge was buried here, a woman by the name of Ruth Anne Browne, and the angel was erected to serve as a guardian of her grave. The statue was crafted by a Daniel Chester French, who also happens to have been the same man who would go on to create the Lincoln Memorial Statue in Washington DC, and it was apparently formed in the likeness of an angel who had appeared in the dead woman’s dreams and premonitions before her death. According to Ruth’s daughter, these were extremely vivid visions, with her saying:

We realized this was no dream, no ordinary occurrence, but an apparition such as appeared to those saints of olden times, who were spiritual seers, holy enough to penetrate the fleshly veil and view spiritual things hidden from the worldly minded.

Ruth had described to her family of seeing an angel in white atop a boat covered with flowers that sprang from a thick mist at a rocky shore, and who carried some sort of shallow urn under her arm filled with water that “glittered and sparkled like millions of diamonds.” This vision would come to her a total of three times, each time with the angel offering the water to drink and being refused until the last time, with Ruth’s death occurring just days after she finally drank of it in her final dream, although she had claimed that the water had given in fact her immortality. As such, the statue in question depicts a beautiful maiden with an urn of water that perpetually pours water into a fountain below it.

While the statue looks serene and calm, it has still managed to draw to it all manner of tales of strange phenomena surrounding it. One is that locals claimed that it will actually move and even fly about at night before returning to its perch in the morning, and it is said to often visit new graves to stand over them in solemn silence, whether in belevolence or not know one knows. More sinister tales say that the statue are rather malevolent, such as causing children to disappear, shooting fire from her mouth, and her gaze said to bring death and misfortune if you are to look into her eyes for too long or touch her beckoning outstretched hand. Of course it too has taken on a rather dark color that makes it appear more threatening and has surely helped fuel the stories, with folklore professor Todd Richardson, from the University of Nebraska, saying of this:

In the case of the Black Angel, it sounds creepy and it looks creepy. It would make more sense to have a nice marble angel representing the flight to heaven, whereas the black angel represents something more ominous.

Over the years the statue has undergone several renovations to fix its flowing fountain and to repair damage caused by vandals, and in 1980 it was added to the National Register of Historic Places. Yet it still manages to generate tales of the paranormal and of nefarious curses. Is there some mysterious force surrounding this statue, and if so is it malicious in nature and why? Whatever the case may be, it has become a popular landmark in the area, and keeps its secrets close. And that seems to be the story with both of these enigmatic statues, standing there overseeing their domains of gravestones and the bodies of the dead, that it is hard to know where myth ends and any reality begins. With their unique appearances and the spooky quality of their locales, they are natural magnets for tales of the paranormal, food for ghost stories and campfire yarns, and as we try to figure them out they stand there inscrutable as always, silently surveying their land and perhaps bearing mystical forces we cannot comprehend.

[fedcrypt]

HAUNTED GRAVESITE UNIVERSE

** means nsfw / smut (18+ content)

below are writings about my original characters <3

MY READERS WILL BE WRITTEN AS FEMALE OR GENDER NEUTRAL AS I AM MORE COMFORTABLE THAT WAY !!

coming soon !!

[96thdayofrage]

Kimberly Terrell, a research scientist and the director of community outreach at the Tulane Environmental Law Clinic, who first warned Banner about the proposed construction project, says people tend to think of grain as nontoxic, compared with emissions from a petrochemical plant. "But the reality is that the dust that comes from these facilities is not pure grain," she says. "It's grain dust mixed with bacteria, bird droppings, rat droppings, insect parts, lots of things that could irritate your lungs and also potentially include toxins."

The law clinic is representing Wallace residents in their fight to stop the grain terminal. "The other big issue is that when you have dust in the air and you have facilities releasing toxic air pollution, that dust can essentially be a vehicle for toxics to get deep into your lungs and into your bloodstream," Terrell says.

But there are concerns that go beyond grain dust.

The founders of Wallace include emancipated slaves who had toiled on nearby sugar plantations. Their descendants' attachment to this soil is sacred and extends as deep as the roots of the ancient fern-covered live oaks.

The Banner sisters' Fee-Fo-Lay Cafe is named for the mysterious flickering lights in the swamp, said to be a witch who would haunt newborns. They use recipes for T-cakes and pralines handed down from their great-great grandmother, Mama Joe, who was born into slavery. And they still tell the legend of the Gown Man, said to have originated with a slave owner who dressed as a ghostly figure to frighten his slaves into obedience.

"These stories are an example of the way that we continue the networks that our ancestors sought to maintain," Joy Banner says. "It's sad that we are threatened by being pushed out of something that our ancestors wanted for us."

Critics say the grain terminal is another example of long-standing environmental racism

Some critics believe the proposed Wallace grain terminal is the latest example of a pattern of environmental racism that has occurred along the River Road industrial corridor over many years. In March, the U.N. Human Rights Council, based in Geneva, issued a report on a proposal by Formosa Petrochemical Corp. to put a plastics plant in neighboring St. James Parish. A citizens group, made up mostly of people of color, came together to oppose the facility, just as people are doing in Wallace.

"This form of environmental racism poses serious and disproportionate threats to the enjoyment of several human rights of its largely African American residents," the report concluded.

Craig Colten, professor emeritus of geography and anthropology at Louisiana State University, has written about race, history and heavy industry along the River Road.

"I don't think industry saw a Black community as a viable community. I think they just ignored it. And to me that smacks of a type of racism," he says. Colten says it has been common for petrochemical corporations to buy former plantation property and put plants just across the fence line from freedmen's towns.

"There are many of these little linear villages that were a relic of plantations, and they were predominantly African American. And oftentimes, these plants are situated adjacent to those [fence-line communities] or very close to them," Colten says.

This year, in a speech about infrastructure and energy, President Biden uttered the phrase "Cancer Alley," a term loathed by Louisiana industry. In his speech, the president said that his administration will address environmental pollution that disproportionately impacts communities of color.

The planned grain elevator would not only be located next to Wallace but also be less than half a mile from the historic Whitney Plantation, an acclaimed museum complex that was the first in the South dedicated to the telling of the slave experience. Rather than gushing over the Big House with its Spanish Creole architecture and the graceful oak alley, as in traditional plantation tourism, instead docents at the Whitney explain the brutal labor conditions and the little-known 1811 slave revolt along River Road.

Grain complex "would be negative" for historic cultural tourism

"We have a great opportunity for historic cultural tourism," says Banner, who is also communications director for the Whitney. "So there would be dust and grain and noise that would be part of the museum experience. It would be negative."

There is also the question of whether the 250-acre site selected for the Greenfield project contains the remains of slaves. The company quotes an archaeologist who says previous investigations have identified "no ancestral burial grounds ... within the proposed project area."

Banner disagrees, but she doesn't have proof. She says satellite photos show "anomalies" that may be forgotten gravesites on portions of three former plantations, including the Whitney, that now belong to Greenfield.

The principal behind the Wallace grain terminal is San Francisco activist investor Christopher Medlock James, who, through his public relations representative, declined multiple requests for an interview. James recently made headlines when his investment firm, Engine No. 1, achieved the unthinkable by installing three directors on the board of Exxon Mobil to pressure the company to reduce carbon emissions. Climate activists lauded him as a green David battling the petro Goliath.

His involvement in the controversial Greenfield Louisiana grain complex has not been as well publicized.

Greenfield opponents in Wallace say the permitting process in Louisiana has, up to now, shut them out. But later this year, when the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers accepts public comments on Greenfield's application, they plan to speak up loudly: Don't let the grain terminal destroy this slave descendants' community.

[marksburyscripts]

Season 1, Episode 2-- Widow

Google Doc

[A park in Marksbury. Day. The recording clicks on]

NARRATOR

...So. We're doing this. Great. [He sighs] I-- I know I said recording the sessions was stupid, but this? ...Maybe I should've gone to prison. [Laughs] At the very least, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting around talking to myself in the park. And uh…. Maybe they'd still be here.

NARRATOR (Cont.)

...I visited them all yesterday. My parents, Billy, Justine, Elliot. It was nice out, but it rained the night before, so the ground was mostly mud. ...And… it happened again. I don't know why, it's…. You know, I never used to believe in any of that stuff. I mean, monsters, magic? Come on. [Laughs] I'm a-- ...I was a scientist, I'm not supposed to think about any of that kind of thing. Elliot, though, he was much more… open-minded about it. So I guess that's why it makes sense that it happened at his grave.

NARRATOR (Cont.)

Our families are buried right next to each other. Elliot is right between his mother and my father. I think that's nice. Plus, I can make my rounds pretty easily, since Justine's is the only one really out of the way, and honestly, it's not even that far. Only about a five-minute walk. Anyway, it was late afternoon. I'd just managed to calm down, which took… longer than I would like to admit. I was pulling myself together, and I was about to leave when.... I looked over, and behind me there was a man. He was… I dunno, maybe a few hundred yards off? I've never been good at estimating distances. But he was relatively far away. He was staring at me, and I couldn't help but think of the woman in red from outside the bar. But then, I didn't want to look weird in case this was just some normal person, so I waved. He almost seemed jolted awake when I did that, like the wave had pulled him out of a trance. Then he just… ran off.

So yeah. That’s weird. But… God knows I’ve seen weirder. 

I was on the way out of the cemetery when I saw him again. Now that I was closer, I could tell by his uniform that he was a groundskeeper. He came up to me, and… he just... stood there. Staring at me for a few seconds. And when he finally did speak, he said that…[Dramatically] if I wanted to know more, to meet him back there today.

NARRATOR (Cont.)

So yeah. That’s what I just did. I went back to meet up with the creepy stranger from the cemetery. Like anyone with any common sense would do. And… long story short, it left me with more questions than it did answers.

I went back, and he was waiting for me by the gate. He seemed calmer today, and he apologized for yesterday. Said I caught him off guard, that with my hood up, he mistook me for someone else. That he's used to someone else standing there.

I told him that that's my-- [Clears his throat, takes a breath] My family's graves, that I'm the only one left to visit, since my sister is away for school. I started to wonder if maybe Evelynn had driven here to visit them, but he started describing the woman he claimed to see. Long brown hair, maybe in her thirties. Not Evelynn. Not anyone I know.

He asked me if I'd seen anyone else there that day. Sure, I said. It's a public place, after all. But no one like the woman he was describing. 

...She goes there sometimes, he said. Stands at my family's gravesite without a word. 

That's weird enough. But no, it can't be that simple, not for me.

The first time he saw her, it was just before sundown. The summer air was thick, but the coolness of the night was just beginning to set in. He was heading over to tell her that it was time to go, and to offer his condolences if need be. He only lost visual on her for a second, when a tree got in his line of sight. ...She disappeared. Of course she did. And of course, he looked everywhere and never saw another trace of her.

...More ghosts.

That's not the thing that bothered him, though. It's the fact that six hours later, a car went off the bridge headed toward Connecticut. Five people inside. By the time they searched the river enough to find the bodies, they were near unrecognizable. 

I remember reading about that. But I didn't see how it was related to the story the groundskeeper had told me. 

NARRATOR (Cont.)

But then it happened again. He saw her there. At first it was like the last time, she didn’t move. But this time she looked at him. She was beautiful, he said. But sad. And there was something in her eyes, something dark. Like she’d seen horrors and pain beyond what any one person should ever have to endure. And then she waved at him. Just like I did. And again, she vanished, this time in the amount of time it took for him to blink. Later that day, a doctor had a heart attack in the middle of surgery. She was young, with no underlying health conditions. Both she and the patient died. 

...And now he's seen her again. Just this morning, he said. He’s under the impression that she’s an omen of death, and that it’s only a matter of hours before the next tragedy. I think that’s ridiculous. But... I'd be lying if I said that I haven't been on edge.

...I don't know why this happens. I'm used to… [Sighs] strange events by now. But that doesn't make it easier to process. And-- And what if it's not just focused on me anymore? What if people around me are getting affected, even this guy I’ve never met? It's not impossible. Nothing is, I've learned that. 

...No, that’s… That’s probably just paranoia. 

...I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this woman is somehow connected to my… own special circumstances. I asked him when it all started, and he told me about a year ago. It doesn’t quite fit, I was… working that summer. He’s sure that he never saw her before then, or in between any of the times he told me about. So no, whatever’s going on with that, it’s probably separate from all of my stuff.

NARRATOR (Cont.)

...Elliot would love all of this. Well, not the people dying. Or the fact that it’s honestly freaking me out more than it probably should. But the mystery, the intrigue, the dramatics. He’d have us running around right now, trying to get any detail we could. Hauntings, aliens, you name it. That’s why I first fell in love with him, I think. Even as kids, he was always so full of excitement. To him, even the mundane was… brimming with magic. I thought for sure that losing his parents so young would change him. And sure, he did mourn. Of course he did. But… he healed. He healed in a way I’m not sure I ever can. He was stronger than I’ll ever be. He grieved. He accepted. And he continued being the spark of light he always had been. With his wild imagination and wilder schemes. Like when we were eleven, and the rumors started going around that the old Levin house was haunted. Henry was already spending the night, and Elliot knocked on my door at midnight to ask if we’d go camping with him to try and catch sight of a ghost. I know he was disappointed when it turned out the ghost was just someone squatting there, but he still enjoyed every minute of it. And he left whoever it was five dollars on the windowsill, so he got a good deed in, too. But even after debunking so many stories, he never gave up. The world was a series of secrets, and his purpose in life was to uncover them all. 

...Maybe he should have uncovered mine sooner.

WOMAN [A ways off, then getting closer] 

Excuse me! Excuse me, sorry, this is probably a weird question But you’re Victor, right? You went to Ingleside University?

NARRATOR (VICTOR) [Hesitant, defensive]

Yeah? Why?

WOMAN

Oh! Sorry, I know what you're thinking, that isn't what I recognize you from. My name is Christine, we had a class together. Professor Crane, Intro to Music Theory. 

VICTOR

Oh! Um, Right. Right, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I-- I just assumed--

WOMAN (CHRISTINE)

No, it’s okay! I just hope you’re doing better.

VICTOR

...Yeah. [Awkward, after a pause] So uh.... How's it goin’? 

CHRISTINE

Good, good! Do you live around here?

VICTOR

Just over the bridge heading toward Tulprice.

CHRISTINE

Nice, I just moved in right around the corner! So, what’ve you been up to?

VICTOR

Uh-- nothing really? Work, mostly. I imagine you’ve graduated by now? You did theater and everything in school, right? Been doing any shows?

CHRISTINE [Suddenly more shut off, almost afraid.] 

No. No, not for a while. ...I've gotta get to work, but maybe I'll see you around.

VICTOR 

I-- Sure, yeah. 

CHRISTINE

Oh, and real quick. [She whispers, close to his ear. There is genuine fear and concern in her voice] He hasn't forgotten. You're in danger.

VICTOR

What? [Louder, as she runs off] Hey! Christine! [Then panicked] Oh God….

NEXT EPISODE➝

[ksgrossman1]

You Will Never Know How Much You Meant To Me

“Tell me about your mother’s death,” the person says to me.

This takes me by surprise. How do you respond to that?

I first thought about the way my mom and I are connected. My mom was passionate. Her love for culture and the arts is embedded in my being. My taste in art, and theatre, and writing is different than hers, but she exposed me to those worlds and whatever passion I have for them is from her.

I then think about the unspoken words. Did I ever thank her for introducing me to art and theatre? Did I ever thank her for telling stories about grandparents and other family members that had long since died? What are the things I didn’t say to her before she died?

In Mitch Albom’s book, Have a Little Faith, Albom tells the story about a man who buried his wife, and at the gravesite, the man has tears falling down his face. The man says to the Rabbi, “I loved her.” 

The Rabbi responds he knows. 

The man then says, “I mean…I really loved her.” 

After a pause, the man says, “And I almost told her once.” 

The Rabbi concludes, “Nothing haunts like the things we don’t say.”

I recently read a beautiful story, though, about second chances to say the things we lost the opportunity to say.

Richard Eisenberg first met Rabbi Meir Engel in October 1964 while serving in Vietnam. Eisenberg was a private in the army and Engel was a lieutenant colonel, a military chaplain.

They only met four times, but Engel’s impact on Eisenberg is lifelong.  

On December 16, 1964, unbeknownst to Eisenberg, Engel died of a heart attack at the U.S. Naval Hospital in Saigon. Eisenberg didn’t find out until after the funeral. Eisenberg was shocked and angry. He didn’t have the opportunity to say a proper goodbye.

He says, “I was devastated, and I carried that devastation with me all my time in Vietnam, and since then.”

Engel left behind two sons: David, who was 20 years old and studying at Berkeley, and Rafael "Ray", who was 8 years old when their father died.

Eisenberg constantly shared his memories of Engel with his two daughters.

In 2012, One of Eisenberg's daughters, Dayna Eisenberg Perez, located and contacted Engel's two sons to let them know the impact their father had on her father. In 2013, the Eisenberg and Engel families arranged to meet each other.

Eisenberg says, “I wanted to pay my respects so badly, and I had no way to do it. And here, 48 years later, this opportunity comes and gets dropped in my lap.”

Ray, who is now a professor of social work at the University of Pittsburgh, says his students sometimes approach him at graduation to say they wouldn’t have received a diploma without him. He appreciates the compliments. Hearing from his students years later is rarer.

Discussing Eisenberg’s story, Ray says, “But 48 years later? It’s overwhelming to think of the impact people can have on one another and how that persists over time. It’s remarkable to me that [someone who] had very little contact with my dad—some, very meaningful, over a four-month period of time—that this is so meaningful to them.”

“You’ll never know how much you meant to me,” Eisenberg once wrote in a letter he left at Engel’s gravesite. He lost that opportunity, but it wasn’t lost on their children. They know.

How can I help you think outside the court? Contact me to discuss more ideas about helping your family, or other families, manage conflict effectively. If you know someone who can benefit from this post, please share it, and share PeaceShark.com, with them. You can learn more about me and what I do to help families at AttorneyGrossman.com. If you want more tips on relationships, negotiations, and resolving conflicts, register for my newsletter at KeithShares.com.   Make it a great day. I’m sending peace, love, and harmony your way.

[sueboohscorner]

#Outlander, S5 Ep 8, "Famous Last Words"

Outlander finally returns after missing a week and making us wait to find out if Roger is dead or alive!   The episode begins with a flashback to Professor Roger discussing famous last words with his class. 

Back to the past, Roger is taken down from the tree and it’s filmed as an old silent movie.   Brianna rushes to his side and Claire feels for a pulse.  Roger is alive!  However, the rope has crushed Roger’s throat so Claire must create an airway.  Roger opens his eyes.  Jamie reassures him that he is alive and will be fine.  He is in critical condition but he’ll recover!

Months later, Claire examines Roger’s throat and excitedly tells Roger that he’s healing well.  But Roger won’t try to speak.   Brianna has tried to get him to try and talk but he is so traumatized by the hanging that he just can’t move forward. 

Bree talks to Claire about her fear that Roger won’t ever come back.  She likens it to when a friend’s husband returned from Vietnam.  Claire calls it “shell shock” and says that it will just take time but Roger will recover. 

Jocasta has come to Fraser’s Ridge to visit Murtagh’s grave and say goodbye.  Around her neck, she wears the pin that Murtagh gave her on the eve of her wedding.  Jamie too is struggling with grief.  Murtagh has been by Jamie’s side all of this life and Jamie misses him terribly.  He lingers at the gravesite after Jocasta leaves him to head back to River Run.

Lord John comes to Fraser’s Ridge to offer Roger and Bree a land grant for 5000 acres as compensation for the hanging tragedy.  Brianna does not want their land, she just wants Roger back.  Lord John also gives Brianna another gift, an astrolabe, which allows anyone in the universe to tell the time.  He teaches her how to use it and reminds her that she must be patient with Roger, who continues to have panic attacks and flashbacks.

After Lord John’s visit, Jamie and Claire pay a visit to Bree and Roger’s cabin.  Roger has thrown himself into building stairs as a distraction.  Bree confides in her parents how worried she is about her husband and how afraid she is that he won’t ever come back to her.  Just then Roger sees Jemmy reaching for a hot tea kettle, he shouts, “No!” and runs to Jemmy.  Bree is thrilled to hear him speak and tries to get him to say more but Roger just can’t. 

Claire and Jamie take Jem out to play.  During their game of hide-and-seek, a wild boar charges them.  At the last moment, they are saved by a Native America. 

They are shocked to find out that it is Ian!  He has truly become a Mohawk, with tattoos, shaved head and feathers.  But Claire and Jamie can see that Ian is not the same.  He seems emotionless and detached.  The three of them return home with the hopes that maybe Ian’s return will bring to words they’ve been longing to hear from Roger.   Brianna greets Ian with a hug and does a silent Roger.  There is something definitely not right about this new Ian. 

Marsali is reading tarot cards for Roger.  She keeps turning up the hangman card for Roger.  This triggers another flashback for Roger and he is immobilized by them.  Bree comes in and tries to reach Roger by telling him how she understands being traumatized by something terrible that happened to her.  She explains that she had to fight to put it behind her and that she needs Roger to fight too.  Maybe Roger really is lost to them. 

At the celebratory dinner for Ian, Fergus and Marsali excitedly asked about his life with the Mohawk tribe and ask if he will return.  A visible shaken Ian answers, no, he won’t be going back.  The conversation moves to discussion about Tyron’s land grant.  The land needs to be surveyed and Jamie suggests that Ian and Roger do it together.  I think he’s hoping that the two men, both haunted and traumatized will be able to help each other.  That evening, Roger tries to play his guitar and sing but, the flashbacks return.  Likewise, Ian is suffering and can’t face sleeping inside.  Jamie tries to get Ian to open up to him, but Ian tells his uncle that he can’t find the words right now. 

Roger is preparing to go out with Ian and Bree gives him a paper airplane.  It’s the traditional gift for the first year of marriage, reminding Roger how much she loves him.  Roger and Ian set off to complete the survey. 

After they leave, Claire discovers that some hemlock is missing from her clinic.  She asks Marsali who says that she did not prescribe it to anyone.  Both women know that two very depressed men have just gone off on their own and one of them could very well have taken the hemlock with them.

Roger and Ian make camp after surveying the land.  Roger silently touches the bracelet on Ian’s arm.  Ian brushes away his hand.  Ian wonders about the paper airplane.  We know what happened to Roger but what happened to Ian.  Both men are still tortured by nightmares, both awake and asleep.

Claire told Jamie about the missing hemlock and her worry that Roger may not intend to come home.  Jamie understands a pain so deep that would make a man not want to live any more.  At camp, Roger stands on the edge of a cliff and it seems as though Claire may be right.  The flashbacks return again but this time it’s not like before.  This flashback is still of the hanging but does not appear to him like the silent movie.  He remembers struggling for breath and seeing Bree’s face before he loses conscientiousness.  He throws the paper airplane from the cliff and steps away from the edge.  A breakthrough perhaps?

In the morning, Roger finds Rollo tied up and Ian nowhere to be found.  It was Ian who stole the hemlock.  Ian is preparing for his death.  He buries his tomahawk and cooks the hemlock by the fire.  Roger finds him and kicks the pot away.   Ian is furious and doesn’t understand why Roger stopped him.  Ian pushes Roger until ROGER SPEAKS!  When Ian asked Roger about the last images he saw before he died, he tells Ian it was Brianna’s face.  Ian had hoped the death would rescue him from the pain of the woman he loved and lost.  Roger asks if died but Ian says, no, but she is still lost to him.  Ian just wants peace and to be free of his pain.

Roger reminds Ian that he still has much to live for.  Ian reminds Roger of the same.  As Ian had buried his tomahawk, Roger buried his weapon too, his voice.  Roger realizes that he has to start fighting to get his life back. 

Both men return home.  Roger whispers Bree’s name.  He tells her that part of him died when he was hanged.  He knows that everyone wants the old Roger back but he is afraid that he’ll never be that same man again.  But, he pledges that he will always sing for Brianna. 

[sjohnson24]

The Many Haunted Places in California

Ghosts & the Supernatural – Deanna Jaxine Stinson and I, have been involved with the paranormal, since the time we were children. Deanna has explored many places in California and so have I. Below are a list of haunted places in California, that either Deanna and I, did a lookie loo or stopped by to do a semi-investigation. We either did this together or did this separately.  Special Note:  If it wasn’t for Brad Steiger and his many books, I would not be the person that I am today.  Thank you Brad. Now let’s look at the list:

Rockville Cemetery – 4219 Suisun Valley Road, Fairfield, CA:  Date: 6/9/2018 – Time: 1500 Hours.  Present: Deanna Jaxine Stinson, me and one more investigator that does not want his name disclosed.  Deanna being a sensitive, picked up on an Asian woman ghost walking around by a tree.  We looked in the area that Deanna pointed out and discovered a gravesite that read Wendy Strickland and then some Chinese writing.  Wendy’s last name must be a married surname.  Deanna picked up on a little boy ghost wearing a long adult type of shirt that hung past his waist.  I captured an EVP of a boy saying “here”.  The voice that said “here” was talking during the time I was talking. Deanna even saw a ghostly squirrel.  We captured a Class A EVP that says either: “keep it” or “the Keeper”.  We captured another EVP that says to me: “shut up man”.  We may have witnessed a ghostly head peering from behind a building. Below are the videos and pictures from this investigation, listen to some of the EVPs and you can be the judge.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=G368S8Y5u_4&feature=share www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQg8j_R_JiE&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9mEyvWNkok&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSArOST67Zk&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncZ2x7rp128&feature=youtu.be

Port Costa is a town on the Carquenez Straights by Crockett, Rodeo. The road that is legend/myth is Port Costa Road off Highway 4 in Contra Costa County / On this road people have heard blood curdling screams, horses galloping, people arguing.  They have also seen shadowy figures moving along the landscape.

The Falkirk Mansion – San Rafael. The bushy haired boy ghost is seen walking around the garden area. Legendary Ghost: Bushy Haired Boy Ghost.

Wright’s Station – Wrights, CA – An old gray haired man is seen walking around and he has asked a few people for some extra pocket change.  When a tourist is about to give him some money, he vanishes.  Ghost Identified:  The Old Man Beggar.

Dutch Flat Hotel – Dutch Flat, CA – Coat Tail Man is sometimes seen. A male ghost with black jacket and coat tails. Legendary Ghost: Coat Tail Man.

Jeffrey Hotel – Coulterville – Creature with red eyes is sometimes seen crawling on the rooftop of the hotel. Legendary Ghost: Red Eyed Roof Crawler.

Mormon Emigrant Trail Road – Old Iron Mountain Road . Ghostly settlers are seen walking the trail. Legendary Ghosts: Old Iron Mountain Phantoms.

Town of Locke – I sent a scouting party to this location and we got some unusual orb activity. There are many stories in the town of Locke , like the Bok Bok Man (a ghost that makes tapping sounds during certain hours of the night). Legendary Ghost: Bok Bok Man.  Legend has it that in the 1800s, an old Chinese man with a lantern would walk around the town of Locke, waking people up to go to work, he would hit a iron bowl with a stick, he was known as the Bok Bok Man.  People to this very day, still hear the sounds of bonging on an iron bowl in the early morning hours.

Town of Buena Vista – This whole town is haunted. Lady in a long pink dress is sometimes seen in and around Buena Vista . Legendary Ghost: Lady in Pink.

Folsom Powerhouse – I personally investigated this nightclub.  Captured some intelligent moving orbs.  Daniel Sanchez says that one time at 4am, he was walking past the place and saw partying people come out of this establishment and as he watched, they just disappeared.  Ghosts Identified:  Folsom Powerhouse Ghostly Party Goers.   www.powerhousepub.com

Potter School – Sonoma County – This is where Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds movie was filmed at and Potter School is reputed to be haunted. The laughter of school children is sometimes heard in the late evening hours. Legendary Ghosts: Laughing School Children.

Ralston Hall Mansion – Notre Dame de Namur University. Ghostly black Doberman pincher has been seen. Legendary Ghost: The Doberman.

Pinky’s Bar and Grill: Nancy Bradley and Gold Rush Ghosts investigated this haunted location. Nancy wrote about it and her story starts off like this: “The weather could not have been more frightful, terrible, unaccommodating and spooky, the night of December 1, 2008 as we approached our destination, Pinky’s Bar and Grill. Located at the Verona Village Resort on the beautiful Sacramento River a few miles north of Sacramento , California , we had been told the place had stories to tell. Nestled directly on the water in a little hamlet called Nicolas, it should not have been a chore to get there from our Gold Rush Ghosts Paranormal Headquarters in Placerville , about 30 miles away in the heart of the Gold Rush Country. But this day was different.”  When I investigated Pinky’s Bar and Grill, one of my investigators saw a wet fisherman.  As they watched the wet fisherman, he simply vanished.  Ghost Identified:  The Wet Fisherman.  A local confirmed that there is indeed a ghost of a fisherman that haunts this area.

Murphy’s Hotel in Murphy’s CA (gold country): Very haunted hotel.  A woman wearing a green dress has been seen roaming the halls.  When I investigated Murphy’s Hotel, I captured 3 EVPs, one EVP was a Class A and the EVP said: “Why don’t you get!!”  Ghost Identified: The Green Dress Woman.

Nevada City – Many locations are haunted in Nevada City . The ghostly fireman is sometimes seen. When he appears he acts like he is looking at the rooftops of buildings. Legendary Ghost: The Fireman Ghost.

Crockett – many locations of this town are haunted. A ghostly white horse is sometimes seen galloping through the main street of Crockett. Legendary Ghost: The White Horse of Crockett.

Michigan Bluff – Chinese immigrant workers in the 1800s fell off a cliff and are said to haunt a certain hillside at Michigan Bluff. Legendary Ghosts: Chinese Immigrant Workers.

Opera House – Montague: Ghost of woman opera singer is sometimes seen on stage. Legendary Ghost: Opera Singer Ghost.

Joseph Grant Park, on Alum Rock 6 miles from the summit/Lick observatory on Mt. Hamilton . Haunted by hippie girl that was murdered there. Legendary Ghost: Joseph Grant Park Hippie Girl.

Alameda Insane Asylum – Extreme haunting activity.  A ghost hunting group called The Determined Paranormal Hunters claim that they saw 3 men in white robes yelling and screaming and as they watched these 3 men, they walked right into the wall and vanished.  When I was at this location, I captured an EVP of screaming noises.  Ghosts Identified: The Screaming Trio.

Keddie Resort – Plumas County – Brutal murders took place in Cabin #28.  Extreme haunting activity.  I captured an EVP of a woman screaming.

Andleberry Estate & Sanatorium – 2604 Clovis Avenue , Clovis , CA 93613 . Extreme haunting activity. A ghostly nurse is said to walk the hallways and peer into various rooms, she has a stern look on her face.  Ghost Identified:  Andleberry Nurse.

Columbia Hotel in Columbia : Old time cowboy gambler seen at hotel, dropping cards to the floor. The cards will dissipate when they touch the floor. Legendary Ghost: The Cowboy Gambler.

A Fan Writes: “I was reading your HPI web page and some of your investigations, and I am curious to know if you’ve ever investigated the Vineyard House on Cold Springs Rd in Coloma , CA . I was employed as a security patrol officer in the mid-90’s and the vacant (at that time) Vineyard House was on my route. I experienced many strange goings-on both inside and outside while patrolling the grounds there. The Coloma Pioneer cemetery is directly across Cold Springs Rd from the house and has been documented to be very haunted, was even investigated by the psychic Sylvia Brown some years back. The whole area, according to the owners of the market down the road from the Vineyard House, has more than its fair share of hauntings. Might be good practice for you to check out some of them.”

MORE HAUNTINGS: Gilroy / Highway 152 (Blood Alley) There have been numerous sightings of a woman searching for her child, hearing the sound of a stage coach and the snorting and breathing of horses, and a rumor that a woman was killed by a truck driver and she appears in the passenger seat of a truck, screams, and then vanishes.

Mt. Madonna State Park, 7850 Pole Line Rd. Mansion ruins and surrounding areas are haunted by former owner Henry Miller and his daughter. The daughter has been seen in open fields riding a horse. She was killed on site when she fell off of a horse and broke her neck. There have been ghostly observations of a girl on a horse and she will disappear in front of your eyes.  Strange mist has been seen in the hills for decades.  Ghost Identified:  Henry Miller and The Girl and Her Horse.

South Valley Jr. High School, 385 IOOF Ave. Inside the old ROP building, footsteps were heard in the hallway by the nightshift employees. Upon investigating, no one was located in or around the area.  Ghost Identified:  The South Valley Jr. High School Walker.

Joshua Tree / Joshua Tree Inn, 61259 Twenty-nine Palms Highway / The Inn is the place where rock star Gram Parsons (of the 1960s band, The Byrds) died. He overdosed in room 8 and visitors staying there say that he still haunts that room. Objects shake, move by themselves and sometimes disappear only to reappear later. Famed psychic Kenny Kingston stayed there in 1997 and could feel Parsons vibes. Friends of Gram also stole his body before it was to be shipped home to Louisiana and tried to cremate him near Joshua Tree. They were arrested and Parson is buried in Louisiana.  Ghost Identified: Gram Parsons.

Modesto: Modesto High School, At the intersection of 1st St. and H St. / The spirit of a young man paces the balcony of the auditorium. Supposedly, quite a few years ago, a young man had fallen from the balcony railing to the carpet-covered cement ramp below and was killed. There are also reports of knocking noises heard in the main hallway, where the floor slopes by the sewing room, that are coming from the tunnels that used to run under the school.  Ghost Identified:  The Balcony Man.

Napa: Napa Cinedome, 825 Pearl St. / The Napa Cinedome is said to be haunted by two ghosts that look like a loving couple. There is one spot in the last theater room in the building that gets cold enough to shed ice over your coke, when you sit there you also feel like someone is watching you.  Ghosts Identified: The Loving Couple of Napa Cinedome.

Oakland: Holmes Book Company, 274 Fourteenth St. / Haunted by a male ghost that will throw books around.  Ghost Identified: Book Thrower.

Pardee Home, 672 Eleventh St. Located in California ‘s Preservation Park Historic District, this house was home to California ‘s Governor (George Pardee 1903-1907). Pictures showing orbs have been taken, but no naked eye sightings. The rest of the park is also haunted with orbs having been photographed.  They believe that George Pardee still haunts this home. Ghost Identified: Governor George Pardee.

By Paul Dale Roberts, HPI’s Esoteric Detective Halo Paranormal Investigations – HPI International. www.facebook.com/#!/groups/HPIinternational/ 

[coffeeinducedwriting]

Mad Pursuit

My name is Dr. Charles Crowell and I write this letter in great haste, hoping someone will find it and let it be my testament to the world. Like all great scientists and researchers, I committed many atrocities for the pursuit of science and the betterment of all mankind. Under this letter I have placed a book with all of my research notes included. This information is not to be taken lightly and if I wasn’t so terrified of the consequences I would have burned all of my nightmarish research, for I have unleashed unfathomable horrors into this world. The only solace I take is the slight chance that I may be mad. And I pray to some otherworldly power that I am.

              My research started when I was a pre-med student for Miskatonic University Medical School in Arkham back in 1902. My classes didn’t challenge my already sophisticated mind. Biology class was too easy after reading On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. I needed something to test my mind. It was through a science journal that I learned about a study done in Africa where scientists were able to achieve temporary reanimation of the dead by using electricity. The subjects, human or animal, were able to get up and move, even after death. Unfortunately, there was no brain power or consciousness behind the subject. The subjects didn’t talk and were lifeless still. Hearing this sparked something within me. I believe there is some merit in their research. What the other scientists were missing was chemistry! It is not just calculating the right amount of current that must course through a body to get it to move but to also add essential chemicals to preserve the brain.

I spent most of my time during my undergrad years researching the right chemical mixture to bring someone back from the dead. My beginning experiments were mildly successful with rats. After death they would jump back up. While promising, their movements were violent, and they made the most ghastly of noises. They did this for varying times before succumbing to death once more. My results weren’t consistent but impressive still. This quickly caught the attention of several of my classmates. Several of my classmates approached me about joining my studies. Of the ones interested Dr. James Densmore caught my attention. There was something that I could not place about it, that interested me. Due more to curiosity, I selected him to be my assistant. He wasn’t the most competent of those interested, but I thought he had the most passion for the subject.

When the time came, I was able to procure better test subjects: cats. Before this I had used guinea pigs and noticed that I had to slightly change the quantities of certain chemicals that I used. However, when I used cats, everything changed. My initial measurements were completely wrong. I thought that it was due to the size difference from one subject to another. But instead it was due to the different compositions of their brains. The brain of the guinea pig is much different than the brain of a the cat, for they are more intelligent creatures. It became apparent very quickly that if I wanted to bring back people back from the dead, then I would need human subjects. For the brain of a human is vastly different from the brain of a cat. I would have to redo all my research all over again with each change of species. If my research was to come to any value I would need human subjects, otherwise my measurements were destined to be wrong.

To test this theory, I began to do experiments on different species, birds, pigs, and cows. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get my hands on the quantity of subjects that I needed. While my work was considered exciting by my fellow classmates, the faculty did not respect it. They ridiculed my attempts to cheat death and only thought that I was playing around in a lab coat!  My minor success with rats was considered a party trick at best. And after the set-back I had with larger specimens like the guinea pigs and cats, I was already considered a failure. It did not help that I required freshly killed specimens, so the practicality of my research came to question for some. So, when I asked for more subjects…my request was denied. James and I took to the unpleasant task of gathering our own.

Many family pets went missing that year.

We were also a mild nuisance to most people with our dead animals laying around. Well, I considered us a mild nuisance, others thought we were practically menaces with our morbid work.

My undergrad years flew by rather quickly and in my graduate years I grew evermore impatient. I wanted to test on human cadavers, but the college continuously kept denying my requests. I knew they laughed at me, but I was going to prove them wrong. I was going to reanimate a corpse. For I was smarter than them! Better than them! More capable then them! Throughout my graduate years I felt stifled by the faculty and couldn’t wait to graduate. If it wasn’t for James, I would have dropped out of medical school and started my research sooner. After my first year in the graduate program I grew impatient and hatched a plan to continue with my work without the college knowing. James was hesitant at first, but with a few sugared words and a promise for a better future, I was able to convince him to help me. We found an abandoned cabin outside of prying, suspicious eyes. It wasn’t near any road and the path to it was hard to follow, yet it was the perfect place to conduct our secret studies under the soft moonlight.

We visited the farmhouse at irregular times, trying to make sure no one knew where we were going. If anyone had found out about it, our studies would quickly have been undone. I couldn’t have that. Slowly we filled the farmhouse with chemicals bought from out of town and stolen borrowed lab equipment from the college.

Only once were we able to get our hands on a fresh test-subject. I look back on that day and it still haunts me. I have nightmares from that night.

The subject, we were able to gather was male, early thirties, missing his left pinkie, and died by a knife wound. His body wasn’t perfect for our experiment, but we didn’t have much of a choice. The college was unable to reach his body before he was buried, because his family wanted to cover up the fact that their son had died in gun fight. Embarrassing really, to die by at the hands of one with a knife when you held a gun.

That night, like two pale ghouls, we visited the subject’s grave. We used lamps instead of torchlights because we didn’t want concentrated beam of light straying and alerting others. The faint glow of the lamp was enough when coupled with a sliver of moonlight. The journey to the grave was, in retrospect, uneventful but to us at the time, it was hair-raising. Every second we peered behind our backs to make sure no watchman would see us. To try and make sure no otherworldly power or God was judging us. The scattered graves and overgrowth of the area, while usually nothing more than a nuisance, under the realm of darkness it made everything seem more sinister.

As we approached the grave, we saw the newly dug earth and stared at it for a while. Neither one of us willing to break the sacred ground too hastily. After much trepidation, I was the first one to strike my spade into the ground. It wasn’t too difficult, physically, to dig because at the time we were going through a dry spell. After a few shovelfuls, James joined me in the endeavor. The dirt was grainy and thin and kept getting in our eyes when the wind blew. I distinctly remember hearing the creaking of the chain fence and the rustling of the dry leaves. When we were about halfway through, we both jumped in fear when we hear the tolling of bells. They came from the nearby chapel to indicate that it had struck one in the morning. Under the flickering flames of the lamp, the moment almost felt grisly poetic. Something from a lost chapter of a dark fairytale. After what felt like hours of physical and emotional turmoil, we struck the wooden box. It was poorly made with nails going through it at odd angles and was made with warped, untreated wood. With a crowbar we ripped open the coffin and pulled the stiff corpse out of the box and onto a stretcher we had brought. We made rapid work of replacing the dirt back into the now empty grave. Once done the grave looked untouched and unmoved. No one could possibly suspect that anything was amiss. Our adrenaline was pumping, and we desperately didn’t want to be found stealing a dead body. The groundskeeper was due to come check the area soon, by our paranoid-addled brains. With the dirt moved we started moving the subject out of the graveyard. We moved slowly because the stretcher was slightly torn on the top right side. We couldn’t risk the subject falling off and making a noise, perhaps alerting someone to our sins.

As we tried to walk away from the unholy gravesite we thought we heard a noise approaching us. It must be the watchman, we thought! We shakingly blew out our lamp and as quickly as possible tried to move off the path and hide behind some gravestones. We held our breath and hoped he would not find us. Being caught would mean not only expulsion from the college but several years of jail time. I couldn’t possibly live with the idea of losing years of important research time. Thankfully it was nothing more than our shaky nerves. For it was just the wind rustling some leaves of a nearby tree. We laughed with relief and finished heading out.

I remember that these were times when graverobbing was the worst thing either of us had done. That it wasn’t routine or robotic to do. Times when we didn’t have the schedule of the grave keeper memorized. Times when I didn’t aimlessly wander the site because of my troubled mind. Times when we didn’t know the gravestones by name. Always searching for a new one to plunder.

We arrived at our secret cabin and dropped our heavy burden onto the lab table. I had already created the chemical serum, but I needed to make adjustments, now that I knew the exact weight and height of the man before us. While I was doing this, I remember James asking me about the souls of the dead. Would they come back whole? I had laughed at his handsome face! There was no such thing as souls or an afterlife! They were things that the stupid and blind believed because they didn’t trust science. A dead body was simply a machine with a few non-working parts. If we can get them recharged and restarted there should be no consequence to it. I was never a religious man. Back then I believed that I had the world figured out, but today I am unsure. I still don’t believe in souls or any Gods, but I do believe in powers and science that we do not understand. I know that I must have created something beyond my control that night.

With trembling hands and throbbing heart, I started to sew up the body. The knife wound was deep. It felt wrong to do surgery on a dead body. Nothing moves as it’s supposed to. The blood was already congealed. This was necessary because once the subject was alive he would start to bleed through the wound again if it wasn’t stitched properly. Once everything was ready, under the light of a lamp, I carefully injected my chemical solution into the subject’s head. This was something that required the most precision and I didn’t trust James’ unsteady hands to do the experiment properly. Though to be truthful my hands were shaking at the time from a mixture of fear and excitement. I then administered a small electric shock to restart the heart. The body violently spasmed. Then stopped. I administered another, stronger shock. Sparks flew off his body. Again, he moved briefly but stopped. His body started to turn black as it began to char. The smell of burning flesh began to fill the room and choke us. But we wouldn’t give up.  

Shocking him one last time, we anxiously waited, and waited, and waited. Nothing seemed to happen. Disappointed, I went to go grab my notes, to see where I went wrong. Everything was perfect! I wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this!

But with a thunk, we hear the subject move. We both excitedly rushed over to him. To see what he knew. To see if our experiment was successful. To see if we had indeed cheated death! His eyes opened up, glazed over and dark like an abyss. He opens his mouth, and lets out the most unholy, animalistic scream. Sounds came out of him that could not possibly be human. The room was filled with screams of several people, even though both James and I were too terrified to make a sound. Those screams were demonic in nature. He started to violently jerk around but didn’t seem to be able to stand yet! His black eyes stared me down and seemed to stare straight through me. He looked as if he had seen unnamable horrors. In our terror, we both began to stumble out of the building. James tripped over the lamp and fire spilled out it. My papers acted as kindling and soon the entire cabin caught aflame. James and I didn’t stop and continued running back to town. Only until we get back into town and in the safety in our dorm room, we were able to gather our wits. Neither one of us was willing to go back to the cabin. It must have been burnt to the ground. It was the dry season, there was no way our creation was able to make it out of the cabin in time. His body was already disposed of. No one would know who he was. He would be too scarred. We reasoned that it would be suspicious to go back and check on the cabin and that he had to be dead again. None of our previous experiments “lived” past a few hours. We had just been shocked, that was all, we reasoned. Though that night, neither of us slept. We desperately hoped for daylight but at the same time dreaded it. Would anyone know what we did? Would the police come charging through our door, and arrest us for the cabin fire?

Morning came. It was cloudy and gray as if the day too had to be dragged out. But nothing happened. No monsters attacked us. No police officers stopped us. We were safe right? The event wouldn’t have been burned into my mind except for two things. Two articles in the weekly news. Two supposedly unrelated articles. The first one was that the old cabin had caught on fire and that it had burned to the ground, but it didn’t mention if there was a body found. The second article shouldn’t have existed. It stated that the local graveyard had been vandalized that same night. Several graves had been partly dug up. This included our subject’s. The article stated that it had been unusual because it wasn’t dug by any animal the local police could identify. In fact, it looked almost as if SOMEONE had tried to dig a hole with their own hands. James and I had been at the graveyard that night. We had left it’s grave in perfect condition. We saw no animals or anyone else. Surely it couldn’t be possible? That our creation had made its way back. Had escaped? That it tried desperately to find its own grave? These questions still plague my mind. Today I truly believe that it did. Because ever since that day, I have never felt safe. I hear footsteps behind me, all the time. They are always off by a fraction of a second, but they are not mine…

…..

End of Part One

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