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newstfionline · 3 years ago

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Tuesday, October 5, 2021

‘Major’ Oil Spill Off California Coast Threatens Wetlands and Wildlife (NYT) A pipeline failure off the coast of Orange County, Calif., on Saturday caused at least 126,000 gallons of oil to spill into the Pacific Ocean, creating a 13-square-mile slick that continued to grow on Sunday, officials said. Dead fish and birds washed ashore in some places as cleanup crews raced to try to contain the spill, which created a slick that extended from Huntington Beach to Newport Beach. It was not immediately clear what caused the leak, which officials said occurred three miles off the coast of Newport Beach and involved a pipeline failure. Mayor Kim Carr of Huntington Beach said at a news conference on Sunday afternoon that the spill was “one of the most devastating situations our community has dealt with in decades.”

The Pandora Papers (Foreign Policy) The massive leak of secret financial data has revealed the offshore wealth of some of the world’s most powerful people. The data, dubbed the Pandora Papers by International Consortium of Investigative Journalists—the group that spearheaded the project—shows how far some world leaders, billionaires, and other oligarchs have gone to hide their wealth. Considering the vast wealth of America’s own oligarchs, it’s surprising on first blush to see no U.S. names mentioned. One simple explanation, put forward by the Washington Post, is that U.S. millionaires and billionaires have enough tools available within the U.S. tax code to shield most of their wealth already.

Spain’s foreign tourism soars but well below pre-pandemic level (Reuters) Foreign tourism to Spain rose rapidly in August as looser travel restrictions tempted back summer sunseekers though visitor numbers remained at around half their pre-pandemic levels, official statistics showed on Monday. The number of foreign tourists visiting in August more than doubled from a year ago to 5.19 million but was still barely above half the level seen in 2019, the National Statistics Institute said on Monday.

Farmers among 8 killed as India protest erupts in violence (CNN) At least eight people were killed when violence broke out in India’s Uttar Pradesh state on Sunday after a car linked to a federal minister ran over two farmers taking part in a protest against controversial farm laws. A farmers’ union spokesperson said Sunday the deaths happened after a convoy of vehicles associated with junior home affairs minister Ajay Mishra Teni “ran over several protesters.” Protests in Lakhimpur Kheri began on September 25 after Teni reportedly said “farmers should reform themselves or they will be reformed,” according to CNN affiliate CNN-News18.

India’s Christians living in fear as claims of ‘forced conversions’ swirl (Guardian) It was a stifling July afternoon when the crowd moved into the small district of Lakholi, in the Indian state of Chhattisgarh, and gathered outside the house of Tamesh War Sahu. Sahu, a 55-year-old volunteer with the Home Guard who had begun following Christianity more than five years previously, had never before had issues with his neighbours. But now, more than 100 people had descended from surrounding villages and were shouting Hindu nationalist slogans outside his front door. Sahu’s son Moses, who had come out to investigate the noise, was beaten by the mob, who then charged inside. As the men entered the house, they shouted death threats at Sahu’s wife and began tearing posters bearing Bible quotes down from the walls. Bibles were seized from the shelves and brought outside where they were set alight, doused in water and the ashes thrown in the gutter. “We will teach you a lesson,” some people were heard to shout. “This is what you get for forcing people into Christianity.” Sahu’s family was not the only one attacked that day. Four other local Christian households were also targeted by mobs, led by the Hindu nationalist vigilante group Bajrang Dal, known for their aggressive and hardline approach to “defending” Hinduism. Since the beginning of the year there have been similar attacks across Chhattisgarh, already the Indian state with the second highest number of incidents against Christians. In some villages, Christian churches have been vandalised, in others pastors have been beaten or abused. Congregations have been broken up by mobs and believers hospitalised with injuries. The police, too, stand accused—of making threats to Christians, hauling them into police stations and carrying out raids on Sunday prayer services. The attacks have coincided with renewed attention on a longstanding claim from rightwing Hindu groups: that a string of forced conversions are taking place in Chhattisgarh. Such claims have been made by senior figures in the ruling Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata party (BJP), which governs India.

Japan’s Parliament elects former diplomat Kishida as new PM (AP) Japan’s parliament on Monday elected Fumio Kishida, a former moderate turned hawk, as prime minister. He’ll face an economy battered by the pandemic, security threats from China and North Korea and leadership of a political party whose popularity is sagging ahead of a fast-approaching crucial national election. He replaces Yoshihide Suga, who resigned after only one year in office as his support plunged over his government’s handling of the pandemic and insistence on holding the Tokyo Olympics as the virus spread.

New Zealand admits it can no longer get rid of coronavirus (AP) New Zealand’s government acknowledged Monday what most other countries did long ago: It can no longer completely get rid of the coronavirus. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern announced a cautious plan to ease lockdown restrictions in Auckland, despite an outbreak there that continues to simmer. Since early in the pandemic, New Zealand had pursued an unusual zero-tolerance approach to the virus through strict lockdowns and aggressive contact tracing. Under Ardern’s plan that starts Tuesday, Aucklanders will be able to meet outdoors with loved ones from one other household, early childhood centers will reopen and people will be able to go to the beach. The dates for a phased reopening of retail stores and later bars and restaurants have yet to be decided.

3,000 Yazidis Are Still Missing. Their Families Know Where Some of Them Are. (NYT) The voice messages sent by Abbas Hussein’s teenage son are heartbreaking in their matter-of-factness. The boy, a member of Iraq’s Yazidi minority who was kidnapped by Islamic State fighters seven years ago, asks about his mother and wonders why his father has not been in touch. In the messages sent last summer to his father, an unemployed laborer, the son says his captor will not let him send any more because his parents have not delivered payments as demanded. “Father, if you don’t have money, that’s OK. Just let me know,” says the teenager, who still has the voice of a child. “I will work and save money and give it to him to let me talk to you.” Mr. Hussein has known for more than a year that his son and five other relatives are being held in Turkish-controlled northern Syria by a former ISIS fighter who joined the Syrian National Army—a Turkish-backed coalition of armed opposition groups that includes mercenaries and Syrian rebels. He’s one of roughly 3,000 Yazidis still missing after being captured by ISIS during its takeover of parts of Iraq and Syria. While most of the missing are presumed dead, hundreds more are thought to be alive and held captive in Syria or Turkey. In some cases, their families know where they are and have even been in contact with them or their captors. But financial support from governments and private donors, as well as interest from them in finding the missing Yazidis, has dried up.

Taliban-style security welcomed by some, feared by others (AP) It wasn’t 7 a.m. yet and already the line outside the police station’s gates was long, with men bringing their complaints and demands for justice to Afghanistan’s new Taliban rulers. Something new they immediately found: The Taliban fighters who are now the policemen don’t demand bribes like police officers did under the U.S-backed government of the past 20 years. “Before, everyone was stealing our money,” said Hajj Ahmad Khan, who was among those in line at the Kabul District 8 police station on a recent day. “Everywhere in our villages and in government offices, everyone had their hands out,” he said. Many Afghans fear the harsh ways of the Taliban, their hard-line ideology or their severe restrictions of women’s freedoms. But the movement does bring a reputation for not being corrupt, a stark contrast to the government it ousted, which was notoriously rife with bribery, embezzlement and graft. Even residents who shudder at the potential return of punishments—such as chopping off the hands of thieves—say some security has returned to Kabul since the Taliban swept in on Aug. 15. Under the previous government, gangs of thieves had driven most people off the streets by dark. Several roads between cities are again open and have even been given the green light for travel by some international aid organizations.

Deadly, historic Tropical Cyclone Shaheen departs Oman after devastating flooding (Washington Post) In the course of a single day, an exceptionally rare hurricane-strength storm unloaded up to four years’ worth of rain along Oman’s northern coast, causing deadly flooding. Named Tropical Cyclone Shaheen, the tempest slammed ashore late Sunday, about 50 miles to the west of Muscat, Oman’s capital city. The storm has since departed, but not before leaving 11 dead in Oman, mostly because of flash flooding and landslides. The storm was also blamed for two fatalities in Iran, where the bodies of two fishermen were found.

#headlines #news

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years ago

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Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 5: Fright Night •

The children, all seven of them now dry and dressed, coast down the street on their bikes, Ben in the lead.

Ben, Y/n noticed, seemed in an awfully big hurry to get inside first. They had all ditched their bikes on the front lawn of the Hanscom residence and sped inside after Ben, eager not to lose his trail. Though Y/n and Richie lingered behind when Eddie had tripped and fallen over Richie’s bike. Each of them had been in such a hurry of their own to catch up with the rest, they had failed to notice the woman on the corner of the street, who was stapling a missing poster of Patrick Hockstetter to the telephone pole.

When the kids reached the open door at the end of the hall, they could only assume it belonged to Ben. As they entered, their previous conversations died down as their eyes fell on his walls. Dozens upon dozens of pages, much like the ones in his folder littered each wall.

“Wow,” Richie breathed.

Ben smiled, shifting on his feet excitedly with pride swelling in his chest. “Cool, huh?”

Richie reached the end of the room, readjusting his glasses with a thoughtful look on his face.

“No, no, nothing cool,” Y/n felt guilty for the quiet chuckle she released at Richie’s remark. “There’s nothing cool.”

Richie stepped closer to the wall, adjusting his glasses squinting over so slightly.

“This is cool, right here,” he feigned a sigh. “Wait, no. No, it’s not cool,”

Y/n chuckled once more, lightly whacking Richie on the arm as she joined him and Eddie by the wall. Ben stepped out of the way to make room for her and he looked across the room at Beverly, who was mindfully traveling the walls, soaking up all the information provided.

Stan had joined Y/n, Richie, and Eddie by Ben’s dresser, a curious look on his face. He gestured to a particularly long piece of copy paper, with several things circled and written in red ink.

Ben returned his gaze to the wall, and back at Stan.

“Oh, that? That’s the charter for Derry Township.”

Richie scoffed, smirking at Eddie and Y/n.

“Nerd alert.”

Ben simply shrugged it off. “No, actually, it’s pretty interesting.”

Y/n smiled at this and nodded impressed with Ben.

“Derry started as a beaver trapping camp,”

“Still is, am I right fellas?” Richie asked, a smirk on his lips and his hand outstretched waiting for a high five.

No one reciprocated, though Stan did give him a disapproving shake of the head.

Her eyes scanned the walls, and she felt the mood shift to that of uncertainty and she could almost feel a weight sitting upon her shoulders. Y/n hadn’t realized just how many missing kid posters were hung up and she felt herself grow uneasy, and the pit in her stomach only grew as Ben continued unfazed by Richie.

“Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry. But, later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace.”

“The entire camp?” Eddie asked in disbelief.

Y/n was still transfixed on the papers tacked onto the wall, though still very much tuned into the conversation.

“There were rumors of Indians, but no signs of an attack.”

The rag clad girl gulped as her eyes landed on illustration depicting the signing of the town charter. The knot in her stomach tightened and she felt a wave of nerves and nausea though she could not say why. Something about the illustration bothered her and made her hair stand on end. Something that churned her stomach and drained the color from her skin. Something, she still could quite put her finger on.

“Everybody just thought it was a plague or something. But it’s like, one day everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house,”

Y/n’s eyes flickered to the illustration of the wellhouse, but they didn’t linger long. Her attention returned to the signing of the town charter when Richie spoke up.

“Jesus. We can get Derry on Unsolved Mysteries.”

Ben thought he heard the creaking of a door and he turned around quickly. Sure enough, Beverly had nearly closed his bedroom door, silently revealing his New Kids On The Block poster and he felt as if he might die. He sent her a pleading look, almost certain his face was completely pink, and a small smirk found its way onto her face. She returned the door to its original position without another word, hiding the poster where it would remain their little secret.

Taking advantage of Ben’s diverted attention, Stan turned to Richie, Eddie and Y/n in a hushed whisper.

“Why is he showing us this stuff?”

Y/n was finally pulled from her quizzical trance and directed her attention back to the boys. Richie shrugged, also speaking in something of a whisper.

“Maybe he’s just trying to make some friends, Stanley.”

Bill, who had been drawn in by a small selection of slides on Ben’s desk, spoke up for the first time since they had arrived.

“Where was the well house?”

Everyone turned to face Ben. Y/n noticed that Eddie had picked up a bottle of what must have been cologne, and took a big whiff. The strong smell caught him off guard and Y/n smiled mischievously. She quickly and lightly smacked her palm against the bottom of the bottle, bumping it against his face and nearly knocking it out of his grasp. Some of its contents flew up against the glass and splashed his nose leaving droplets on his face as well as the rim of the bottle and she snickered.

“I don’t know,” Ben answered, shrugging. “Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?”

Feverishly, Eddie wiped his face. His nose was scrunched up in disgust, unable to escape the strong and overpowering musk that clung to his nose.

Bill, who like the other kids - save for Richie who caught the tail end of Y/n’s little trick and was hiding laughter of his own - had not noticed Eddie’s discomfort. His lips pressed into a firm line and he looked away distracted with thoughts of his own.

×××

Eddie turned the corner passing the old church, his feet carrying him down Neibolt Street. His backpack clutched tight, he brought his hands up to his mouth, hoping he could still do the trick he had been so proud to learn.

Sure enough, he managed a few discernible notes. But the tune he held and all desire to practice the skill died down as he approached the familiar broken down house at the end of the block. Everything around it was either dead or dying and if one were to look at that and only that lot they’d think it was mid-October. His Mama always warned him against that house and going anywhere near it.

No good could come from it Eddie Bear, no good. God forbid you ever find yourself around that house, or any one like it, you just keep to yourself and you keep on walking, you hear me, Eddie? You keep on walking. Places like that are a hotspot for death and disease and you’d be making a fool outta me if you do otherwise. Now tell me, is your mama a fool Eddie?

“No, Ma.”

“Good boy,”

He could hear her scolding him even now as clear as if she was standing next to him. He could not say why he had stopped just outside the house, perhaps it was the memory of her warning him against such things or the way the house seemed to cast a shadow over the whole street but he found himself in a daze unable to move.

Channeling his mother and her fearful worried cries, the stopwatch beeped rhythmically on his wrist as if telling him, “Keep on walking! Keep on walking! Keep on walking!” He brought himself out of his trance and the stopwatch, not unlike his mother, was now wailing at him, reminding him it was time for his afternoon pill.

He unzipped his fanny pack, his small hands dug through its contents for the familiar plastic container. Popping open the cap, he grabbed the pill in his hands and raised it to his lips but he felt himself stiffen at the creek of an old door. He watched frozen as the front door of the dreaded house on Neibolt sat wide open.

He knew it wasn’t open before, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, it was wide open and it was so dark inside the house it seemed to swallow up all light that entered. He could hear a bone-chilling voice echoing in the back of his mind, calling out to him.

Eddie.

His eyes remained on the front door, almost too afraid that if he looked away something would swallow him up. The voice he believed to be from the darkest depths of his twisted imagination continued.

What are you looking for?

But his mother’s shrill voice was louder in his subconscious and he had never been so thankful.

No good can come from it, Eddie Bear. No good. Keep on walking!

Thankful to be pulled from his trance he tore his gaze away from the house and continued on. He opened up his fanny pack, his hands still trembling. Unfortunately, the container slipped from his sweaty hands and hit the pavement cracking it open. All his meds spilled out onto the dirty concrete and he cursed himself.

“Fuck. Mom’s gonna fucking flip.”

Eddie picked up far too many pills to carry and he quickly crawled forward, grabbing the blue container to hold them all. He could already hear his mother’s lecture that would come.

Do you have any idea how expensive these are Eddie? And you might as well have chucked ‘em down the drain! You need them, Eddie! You know how fragile you are, how could you be so careless?

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, he had picked up nearly all of his pills, not bothering to sort them in the container. He followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, plucking them up and quickly discarding them into the container one by one. He reached for the last remaining capsule, it’s bright red hue making it easy to spot on the grey concrete.

The last thing he expected was a long, discolored and bony hand with blackened nails wrap around the pill. The hand was shaking as much Eddie’s was and it slowly raised the capsule in front of his face. The hand was wrapped poorly in a dirty cloth, and Eddie realized it wasn’t just the fingernails that were black but nearly all of the fingers. It was curled around the pill, and Eddie could swear he saw every bone.

The same raspy voice from before was now loud and clear.

“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

The figure attached to the hand leaned forward suddenly, giving Eddie a look at Its horribly disfigured face for the first time. It was a leper, Eddie recognized. Its face was a sickly grey, bulbous pink warts bubbled on the grey skin that hung off Its face. One of Its eyes was completely rotted and drool dribbled from Its chin and if Eddie had to pick what was most jarring to see, it was the shriveled up slit where Its nose was supposed to be.

The first breath of air Eddie managed to get was the sharp gasp that left his mouth. He tumbled onto his back, his pills now completely forgotten. He scrambled away though his limbs felt like they were made of lead and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t seem to go fast enough. The leper could barely balance properly, and It’s twig thin legs wobbled as It walked. He charged forward after Eddie. Eddie hadn’t realized he had been heading in the direction of the Neibolt house until he felt the crunch of dead grass beneath his palms.

All he could see apart from the drooling figure was the blinding sun poking from behind the leper’s head. Scrounging up every ounce of energy he could muster Eddie jumped back, somehow able to mind the rusted iron gate.

The leper lurched for Eddie once more, swiping Its frail arm at him. Miraculously, Eddie was able to dodge the attack and he scrambled to his feet. He had to pull his legs up high as he ran to keep from tripping over the tall grass. The leper growled and Eddie zipped through the yard at a speed he didn’t know he had. But it didn’t matter, the leper was still hot on his trail, swinging Its arms back and forth as he sped after him.

His fearful cries ripped from his throat as he ran around the side of the house.

“Help! Help!”

Much to his horror, Eddie felt himself lose his balance and he tumbled to the ground and the momentum rolled him forward across the grass. The leper was closing in and he scrambled to his feet once more, he risked the chance of capture and spared a glance behind him. The leper swiped at him and Eddie yelped in fear.

Eddie thought he spotted a small hole in the fence just behind the shrubbery and he thanked any all-knowing force in the universe he had an exit. He feverishly swiped at the shrubbery, trying desperately to get by. But the leper must be inches away from him by now, his head whipped around and he unexpectedly stopped. What he saw made him stop in his tracks even though everything in screamed to move but the sight was all too strange he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

The leper was gone and just across the yard a tall and lanky figure. It was dressed in a silver puffy suit, with bright orange pom-poms and it looked to be from across many different decades. But of course, the shocking image that mystified Eddie was the array of blood-red balloons that formed an upside-down triangle that defied the laws of physics. Its head was hidden behind the singular balloon at the base of the pyramid.

The balloon simultaneously slowly rose, revealing the face of a clown. It was pale white apart from his lips that were painted blood red and the edge of his lips trailed up all the way above his brows, bisecting each yellow eye. He had three large tufts of orange hair and his forehead was chipped and cracking like cheap paint. The clown stared at Eddie, hatred in his eyes.

And yet, the clown’s lips curled up into a smile, his bottom lip making a sharp ‘v’ revealing large buck teeth that reminded Eddie of a rabbit’s.

“Where ya goin’ Eds? If you lived here, you’d be home by now.”

When the clown spoke, Eddie felt as if all that was good and pure in the world had shriveled up and died and he felt his stomach plummet. It was a gravelly and squeaky voice, a voice that chilled him to the bone.

He gulped in fear and Eddie felt the absence of air in his lungs and he had no idea if it was his asthma or the fear that gripped his heart. As if sensing this, the clown’s smile grew, a feat Eddie hadn’t previously thought possible.

“Come and join the clown, Eds. You’ll float down here. We all float down here. Yes, we do.”

The clown shook It’s head, speaking in a voice that might remind one of someone speaking down to a dog. A sharp and squeaky cackle left the clown’s mouth, startling Eddie out of his trance. He returned his attention to the shrubbery, desperately swiping aside the thin branches blocking him from the fence. A scream ripped from his throat in a combination of fear and hope that someone would hear him.

Eddie scrambled for the hole in the fence, for once in his life not concerned about the possibility of any damage he might take in the process. He felt dirt and pebbles wedge into his the creases of his knees but nothing compared to the dangerous hammering of his heart against his chest. The sounds of thousands of balloons popping grabbed his attention once more and he glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but an empty yard.

×××

Beverly closed the front door behind her, she made her way to the end of the hallway towards her bedroom. The entire apartment was quiet, and the only sounds that carried down the halls were the rattling of the old fan in the living room. She took a seat on her bed, opening up her bag she had taken to the quarry. She unzipped the main pocket and began sifting through her belongings when she heard something tumble to the ground. Curious, she picked it up.

It was a postcard of Derry. Someone must have slipped it into her bag at the quarry. Beverly flipped the postcard over to find a little note etched in pencil.

That was all she allowed herself to read before she stood from her bed and retreated to the bathroom, the only safe space in the house. Her heart was aflutter as she closed the door behind her, locking it.

To: Beverly

From: Secret Admirer

Bev took another lingering look at the front of the postcard and the sound of her boot heels clicked against the tile as she headed for the bathtub. She lowered herself into the mint green tub, her legs dangling over the side and she rested her back against the other side.

She held the postcard up to the light, excitedly. A smile tugged at her lips as she read the scratchy handwriting. She read aloud in a quiet whisper, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest and her stomach did flips. Not the kind she was used to, this was a giddy feeling and she never knew she could experience such a beautiful feeling.

“Your hair is winter fire, January Embers, My heart burns there too,”

Beverly was certain she had never smiled so hard. She read the poem once more, making sure she wasn’t imagining it and she brought it close to her heart.

“Beverly,”

Bev frowned, and her attention was drawn across the room. All she could hear at the moment was the sound water droplets falling from the faucet and into the drain. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had imagined it. Right on cue, the voice spoke again, calling out her name and she was almost certain it was coming from the drain in the sink.

“Help me,”

It sounded like a familiar female voice. Y/n? No, it couldn’t be, that wouldn’t make any sense. Then again, none of this did. Cautiously, she rose from the tub and inched towards the sink.

"Help me, please" the voice spoke again, this time in a harsh whisper.

She slowly approached the sink to examine it. Her heartbeat was still fairly slow, though it pounded against her ribcage and it was forceful. The voice from the drain continued, though now it was accompanied by a few other voices, all of which sounded fairly young.

“We all want to meet you, Beverly. We all float down here”

Maybe this was all a dream. She was imagining the whole thing, including the postcard. The poem seemed much too good to be true anyway. And yet, curiosity still drew her in.

“Hello? Who are you?” She asked, peering down the drain.

“I’m Veronica.”

“Betty Ripsom.”

“Patrick Hockstetter.”

She leaned closer, racking her brain for some kind of explanation as to what could possibly explain this. Maybe if she could see them. Maybe they got stuck below the apartment building somehow and were communicating through the pipes? It was a long shot and it didn’t make much sense, but again, none of this did. The voices seemed to have read her mind and they spoke once more, encouraging her.

“Come closer.” One said.

“Wanna see?” Another asked.

“We float.”

“We change.” The last voice grew deep and hoarse, and it let out a distorted giggle that echoed through the pipes.

A tape measure, it just might work. Beverly thought she last saw it in the living room. Where her father was. Well, hopefully, she could sneak in and grab it without him waking up. The last thing she needed was being bombarded with a bunch of questions she herself couldn’t answer.

Beverly crept into the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard near the corner’s edge. When she approached the living room, the sound of the rattling fan and the static of the television set grew louder. Her father was still fast asleep, past out in front of the TV, beer cans on the side table. But just across the room sat the tape measure.

When she returned to the bathroom, she closed the door behind her gently once more, neglecting to lock it. She stood above the sink, tape measure in hand, and the bathroom now silent as a tomb. Extending the end of the yellow coil, it snaked further and further down the drain. She extended the measure until her fingers touched the sink, expecting a dull thud from the curve of the pipes but none came. Further and further down it went, defying the shape of the pipes. Finally, to her relief, she felt a thud, and a small metallic clang echoed up the drain.

Beverly sighed and began reeling in the tape, up and up, and up some more. It had nearly reached the rim of the drain when Beverly noticed a change in color. The yellow strip blended into a bright red hue and she grimaced when she found the tape measure was now covered in blood. It was restricted by a thick rope of hair that was tangled around the lip, making it harder for Beverly to retract it and she grimaced at the ugly sight.

Clumps of blood were threaded through the strands and it knotted at the ends where it gripped the blade. Beverly was too slow and vastly unprepared to rip her hand away from the unexpected attack. Strands of hair whipped out and curled around her hand and wrist. The tape measure dropped into the sink making a loud clang, though it was quickly drowned out by Beverly’s frightened screams.

Beverly was pulled closed to the sink no matter how hard she fought. Her other wrist was quickly restrained in another lock of sentient hair and she grunted trying to escape its strength. Bev felt her throat grow raw from the screams that erupted from her throat. Twines of hair coiled around her neck, pulling her closer. Thick tendrils of hair burst from the drain and wrapped firmly around her head and curling around her face. She felt the hair grow and wrap around her body, restraining her legs so it was impossible to run away.

“Daddy! Help!”

Her words were barely discernible as they were lost in her screams but she knew that didn’t matter. The hair pulled tighter and she was jerked harshly towards the drain. The hair was now sprawled all across her face like roots spreading in every direction. Her voice never wavered and her screams grew harsher if at all possible.

A dark red substance bubbled up from the drain and oozed out into the sink. It was blood so dark it was almost black and it was thick and slow but it bubbled like a stew being brought to a boil. Before her brain could instruct her mouth to close, gallons and gallons of blood spewed from the drain like a guiser. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste and she felt every inch of her skin soaked in blood. It splashed off her face and hit the walls around her.

It reached every corner and crevice of the room, it even splattered across her poem. The current of blood was so strong it moved the glass lampshade of the light above the sink. The pressure of the blast stung her face and the blood stung her eyes.

Finally, the grip on her body loosened and she was able to wiggle free. She stumbled back and crashed on the slippery floor. Her screams withered into weak whimpers of fear and she felt her feet and hands slipped out from under her several times. Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest and she never stopped scrambling until she felt her back hit the wall. She cowered in fear, her whole body was trembling and the blood was still gushing from the sink like a hose.

Beverly closed her eyes and sobs shook her body. The blood had finally stopped and she barely registered the sound of the hair slithering back down the drain. Her sobs turned into weak screams and she was still wailing when her father swung the down open.

“The hell’s going on?” He asked.

He looked more annoyed than concerned and he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

“T-t-the sink…” her lips quivered and she looked desperately around the room. “And the b-b-blood… I-it’s…”

“What blood?”

She gaped at him and she tried not to open her eyes too wide, lest more blood sting her eyes.

“T-the s-sink. You d-don’t see it?”

Her words were lost in her shaky breaths. No matter how hard she tried to get the words out, only incoherent mumbles tumbled out.

Her father knelt down before her, and he tilted his head.

“You worry me, Bevvie.” He looked her up and down, and he clicked his tongue. “You worry me a lot.”

She stared at him astonished, thankful she had gathered enough composure to get a sentence out. Her voice quivered and it came out in a hoarse whisper, sore from the screaming.

“But don’t you see?”

He frowned distastefully and brushed away her bangs.

“Why’d you do this to your hair? Makes you look like a boy.”

His voice was filled with disappointment and disgust. He gave her one more once over. He rose to his feet and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving behind a sobbing Beverly.

×××

All was quiet in the Denbrough residence. The only signs of life came from Bill’s room, his small bedside lamp was on and he lays in bed, watercolor pencil in hand. The leak in his ceiling had dampened once more and droplets of rainwater fell onto his sketchbook. It was opened next to his pillow where he had created a rough but accurate sketch of Beverly Marsh with her new haircut.

The rainwater had landed on the shading of her hair created a small red splatter that reminded Bill of blood. He frowned, knowing he had to get up from his warm bed and go across the hall to retrieve the bucket they kept in the closet for these such occasions. The soft lamplight poured lightly into the hallway becoming his only source of light. Thankfully though, Bill’s eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark.

Bill felt the familiar dull ache in his heart when his eyes flickered to his brother’s bedroom door. It had not been touched since Georgie’s disappearance, apart from the times Bill had come in to silently grieve. It was still open a crack just as he had left it from his last visit. He cast the saddening thoughts from his brain, not allowing himself the emotional toll.

Bill retrieved the bucket from the lower shelf, remembering where he had placed it from the last leak. He was sure to close the closet door quietly as to not wake his parents and he heard his feet patter against the hardwood floor.

CLICK

Bill froze. He recognized the sound as Georgie’s bedside lamp but it took seconds for his brain to register that as unusual. Bill looked over his shoulder to find a soft light flooding out into the hall from his brother’s room. He set the metal bucket down, it made a quiet clang, and cautiously he crept forward. Perhaps one of his parents had come to grieve? That couldn’t be. To Bill, that was just as likely as flying pigs, because ever since Georgie’s disappearance, both of his parents refused to talk about him. It’s like they had always had just one child.

With cautious steps, he entered his brother’s room. He felt the heavy weight settle back onto his heart and chest, the room looked exactly how Georgie had left it. Bill felt all sense of caution and tension vanish as he stepped into his brother’s room. All of Georgie’s toys and trinkets where right where he left them. Even the turtle he built with Bill.

With a heavy heart, Bill crossed the room to pick up the turtle and he took a seat on his brother’s bed. He felt a familiar lump in his throat and sting in his eyes, and yet no tears came. Bill had shed them all. He was so swept up in the overwhelming floodgate memories of his younger brother, he failed to notice the silhouette of Georgie being cast onto the door from the hall, watching him. It turned and fled and only then was Bill pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of wet galoshes scurrying down the hall.

The boy rose to his feet, the turtle still clutched tightly in his hands. It gave him an odd sense of comfort that he could not explain and he followed the footsteps all the way downstairs. When he reached the entryway Bill tensed when he saw the living room light had been on, like it had been waiting for him. He stood across from the kitchen, moonlight was spilling from the skylight and it cast a pale green light on the tile floor. The sound of squeaky footsteps had stopped and so did he.

A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him, much like it had for Georgie the day that he died. But Bill saw a small figure, dressed in a familiar yellow rain slicker dart across the end of the kitchen and into the cellar. The sudden sight startled Bill and the plastic turtle he forgot he had been carrying fell to the floor, shattering into its original pieces.

“G-Georgie.” The name left his tongue in a weak whisper and yet it felt foreign.

Like it didn’t belong to the youngest Denbrough boy.

Bill could hear the blood pounding in his ears but he followed the figure. He hesitated when he reached the cellar door, his gut screaming at him to turn around and go to bed and forget the whole thing. But Bill couldn’t, not when there was even a chance he could see Georgie again.

Bill tried not to let the creaking of the old cellar stairs add to his nerves, though it didn’t help. The basement had flooded, Bill realized. Moonlight from the cellar windows had spilled into the room, hitting the water and casting an ominous glow that danced along the walls. Bill heard a disturbance in the water, he could hear the water sloshing around and the noise brought his attention to the sight of his little brother hiding behind a shelf.

Bill couldn’t believe it. Georgie looked exactly as Bill remembered, the very same bright yellow rain slicker and matching galoshes. Even his hood was up, just as it had been when he waved Bill goodbye. Georgie looked to Bill, with the very same big doe eyes and spoke in a whisper Bill could barely hear.

“I lost it, Billy. Don’t be mad.”

Bill felt the grip on his heart grow tighter and he struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He knew, even if by some chance he had never left his bed and he was still curled up safe and sound, dreaming he was seeing Georgie again, he would regret not speaking to him.

“I-I’m not mad at you.”

The moonlight bouncing off the surface of the water illuminated Georgie’s paled face in waves. He was hugging the wall, and his head was tilted down like he had been gazing at the reflecting pool. He wore a smirk but it didn’t look or feel right to Bill. His brother’s eyes were dark and the smirk held a malicious glint. Bill could see that this Georgie was as real as he was but when he looked at him, he felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

In a way, he was.

Georgie stalked forward, creeping around the corner of the shelf.

“It just floated off.” His voice was barely audible above his breath and he stared at Bill. “But, Bill, if you’ll come with me, you’ll float, too.”

“Georgie,”

Bill’s voice came out in a weak plea, though he did not know what he was pleading for. Georgie’s smile widened and it didn’t sit well with Bill.

“You’ll float, too.” Georgie giggled, and his voice began increasingly gradually in volume. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.”

His entire demeanor changed, he wore a scowl and his face began to rot. His voice deepened into a demonic growl and his chanting increased.

“You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.” A large bulbous head emerged from the water beside Georgie’s feet that Bill almost missed. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

The large swollen head now had it’s pointed chin just above the water. Dark hair clung to its distorted forehead, it’s glowing eyes were pointed in different directions, one eye on the fake Georgie and one on Bill. It was mouthing along to Georgie’s unsettling chant as one might lip-sync to their favorite song. It was mocking Bill.

“You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

The clown, Bill realized it was, had an arm up Georgie’s back, much like a puppeteer would on its puppet. The next words to be spoken came from the clown, in a shrill demented shriek and he shoved Georgie into the water as he did so.

“You’ll float, too!”

Georgie’s tiny, now rotted body, hit the surface of the water with a giant splash. The face glared at Bill for a brief fleeting moment, before it burst forth from the water, charging after him. A terrible shriek erupted from the clown and it twisted violently as it flew after Bill.

Not daring to waste another precious second, Bill turned and sped up the cellar stairs. He ripped open the door and slammed it shut after him, not caring if the noise woke his parents.

The clown landed on the cellar landing, grinning maliciously up at where Bill disappeared. With one last hungry look, Its eyes rolled back into Its head and It slithered back into the murky depths of the basement.

×××

Y/n’s head shot up for the fourth time in the past hour, and she blinked several times. She lay on her couch, her favorite quilt draped around her shoulders. Y/n looked at the ticking clock on the wall above the TV and sighed, rubbing her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. The moment she feared had come.

She had put off her attempts at sleep for as long as she could in front of the TV. She now feared sleep, afraid of allowing herself the vulnerability she was in when she was attacked. She had nodded off a few times on the couch, her head rolling on her shoulders only to be awakened by the cheering of the audience as Johnny Carson welcomed a new guest to the stage. Fearing the possibility of another nightmare like the one only nights earlier - a lie she told herself to stay sane, even though she knew deep down it had been very real - she rose from the couch and crossed the living room to turn up the volume hoping it would keep her from drifting.

It didn’t, had she not adjusted the set, Beverly’s screams from upstairs would have woken her. Instead, she had nodded off, her feet tucked tightly under the quilt, and the blood-curdling screams were drowned out by the bustling late-night television program and her unconscious mind. That was until roughly an hour later she had been woken up by a sharp whistled from the cheering crowd as Johnny Carson signed off.

Y/n switched off the TV set, the low hum brought a quiet ambiance to the room as the screen dimmed. She stood on the tips of her toes, ignoring the dull throbbing in her left ankle as she reached for the metal chain of the ceiling fan light. She cursed herself for not leaving the hall light on before turning everything off in the living room, now she had to rush down the hall to the safety of her room before her imagination got the best of her.

Lights now on and the door shut tight, Y/n trudged across her room to her bed and shed her clothes. She had completely forgotten that she had been wearing her bathing suit underneath and she was reminded of the day’s events. Her eyes wandered to the mirror across the room and she found that she had been smiling. Y/n had not expected to have as much fun as she did. And it had not been Beverly so much as it was the Tozier boy who had brought her out of her shell.

While it was true they had known one another for at least a year, and they only just really interacted, it felt as if she knew him a lifetime. In fact, during her time at the quarry, she felt as if she had known each of them for a lifetime. Like some cosmic force in the universe had always meant for these seven misfits - these losers - to meet and form an unbreakable bond. And yet, it felt as if there was something - or someone missing - like the last piece of the puzzle and it filled Y/n with a sense of hope. Hope for good things to come - new memories to be made.

Y/n, who had peeled off her bathing suit and exchanged it for a fresh pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, slipped under her covers and snuggled into her pillow. And it was the new and budding sense of warmth spreading in her chest that replaced the icy grip of fear that allowed her to turn off her bedside lamp in peace. A darkness fell over her room, and her mind replayed the joyous memories of the day like a slideshow in her mind.

The chicken fight with Richie “the trash mouth” Tozier and his cheeky remarks. The new kid, Ben Hanscom, and his kind and soft-spoken nature that brought a peaceful presence to the energetic group dynamic. She enjoyed the sarcastic remarks of Stan Uris and getting to know him and watch as walls of his own slowly came down throughout the day. The effect of comradery that Bill Denbrough so effortlessly instilled into the group. And of course, she enjoyed the company and stable feeling Beverly gifted to her, grateful she had overcome her fears and joined the fun, defying the little green monster that loved to tear her down.

And of course, the kind and quirky boy, Eddie Kaspbrak, who had been nice enough to bandage her leg that day in the alley. She could tell he was a very hyper boy, with a great deal of energy bouncing around in that unusually small stature of his. And he had a very odd habit of staring, she noticed. But nevertheless, he had a knack for making her smile. She was smiling even now, eyes closed and curled under her blankets - despite it being another hot summer night, she made sure to take extra precaution, toes tucked in and safe, just in case.

A weak laugh escaped her, though her body had grown so tired one might have mistaken it for an exhale. Her mind had wandered to the little prank she had pulled and how enduring Eddie had looked when his nose was scrunched up from the splash of cologne. And she was of course very grateful he was willing to jump with her when she was hesitant. And something she had not admitted to herself until now was the small flutter in her stomach when she interacted with Eddie. From his kind offer of taking the leap together, to the sportsmanship exchanged between them during the chicken fight. And though she had pretended not to have noticed, she had, in fact, caught the glimpses the hypochondriac boy had stolen while she had been sunbathing.

The way he looked at her gave her butterflies, not while sunbathing, but innocent moments that made up the bliss of childhood. While she had been caught in an unflattering belly laugh from one of Richie’s jokes, he smiled fondly at her. Or even after she had snuck up on him in the water and splashed him, he still had beaming smile and mischief in his eyes.

The way Eddie Kaspbrak looked at Y/n L/n was very different from the way most boys looked at Beverly Marsh.

It was never out of lust, nor was it out of obsession, but admiration. The way one might watch the fireworks on a warm night in July. It was quick and it was fleeting, and you had to be looking at the right moment to catch him, for you see, his adoration for her soon would quickly be replaced by irritation at Richie, or a witty comeback to mask his feelings that even he was denying seeing as it was a foreign concept to him. But Y/n noticed it anyway, and while she brushed it off in the moment, it was times like these in the dead of night and the safety of her own mind that she allowed herself to consider these feelings.

Only once more did she think of the safe feeling Eddie and the other losers brought her before sleep blanketed her conscious. And thus was the first time since her traumatic encounter and her injury that she had enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep.

@seasidecrowbar @bevxmarsh @supernovavisionary @readyforitbitch @edsloveshisrichie @sivords @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica @kaitlynjones12 @songbird-writes @traceylader @eggytozier @annimalq @lexylovesfandoms @russian-romanova @paigey-mcfreedomly @whitetrash12345 @witch-of-all-things-soft

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years ago

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Phantom Plane Crashes

Phantom Plane Crashes are a relatively recent phenomenon, but there have been several cases reported. The scenario usually goes something like this: Witnesses see a plane going down, often in flames. They hear the crash and feel the ground shake as the plane impacts. Sometimes smoke and flames are seen, and witnesses can smell spilled fuel. Upon investigation, however, no sign of a crash is evident.

Not only is no wreckage ever found, but no record of a missing or delayed flight is cataloged. So what are these people experiencing?

Here are several of these mysterious reports from around the country.

People in Westbrook, Connecticut were amazed Wednesday morning, January 15, 1997 when they heard that a single-engine plane dive toward the waters of Long Island Sound… and then vanish. According to the newspaper The Day, “The Coast Guard, state Department of Environmental Protection, two rescue helicopters, fire departments from Westbrook, Old Saybrook, Madison, and Clinton, and some marine patrols and private boats searched 100 square miles after a man reported he had seen a plane dive into the water.

“Daniel Bowes of Meetinghouse Lane was having a cup of coffee at about 7:30 a.m. at West Beach on Salt Island Road when he saw a plane flying low over the water, according to Ralph Buck, a captain of the Westbrook Fire Department. He told authorities it looked as if the plane took a nose dive, though he didn’t see a splash, Buck said.

No airport in the area reported any planes missing, according to state police Lt. Cliff M’Sadoques.”

At 4 p.m., the Coast Guard called off the search. No trace of any aircraft was found.

____________________________________________

Three women in the Ovando, Montana, area, about 50 miles northeast of Missoula, reported seeing an airplane trailing smoke, and falling from it were objects looking like parachutes. A ranchwoman told officers she saw a “board-like object” fall from the plane. Sheriff Ed Barrow and a deputy, despite falling temperatures and four feet of snow, made a ground search, joined by a ski-equipped plane which flew over the designated area, but nothing was found.

Two days later, there was a new hope when a boy living near Ovando reported an explosion he had seen on a hillside near his home. He described it as a “big explosion” with red and yellow flames. The time and general location given by the boy agrees with the stories told by the three women, officers said. Malmstrom AFB officials at Great Falls and Civilian Aeronautics Administration authorities all agreed that no planes, military, commercial, or private were missing.

On Feb. 18, Carl Schirmer, coordinator of the Montana search and rescue team announced, “There is nothing warranting any further search. The Sheriff went up where the disturbance was reported to be seen and could not find a thing.” ____________________________________________

“Butler County, Ohio, deputies discontinued a search yesterday afternoon for a plane, which reportedly had crashed in Reily Township near Imhoff and Indian Creek Roads late Wednesday night,” said this newspaper report. “Deputies said an amateur radio operator heard what he thought was a distress call from a plane believed to be flying from Oxford to Cincinnati about 11 p.m.

“About 1:45 a.m. yesterday, George Mosley, 1203 Azel Avenue, Hamilton, his son and two other boys became separated in the same area while coon hunting. During the separation the boys said they saw a white flash in the sky at treetop level, then heard screaming and a crash. Airports in Hamilton and Butler County had no record of any small craft filing a flight plan during those hours. Deputies used a plane and walked the area in search of a downed plane Wednesday night until fog set in on the Reily area. The search was continued yesterday morning and discontinued after nothing was found.” ____________________________________________

Nov. 18, 1955. The first reports told of extensive search parties combing the mountainous region of Dark Hollow, Pennsylvania, looking for a plane believed crashed. The search began after Dale Murphy, civil defense coordinator of Cumberland County, said he received reports from ten GOC members of either hearing or seeing a plane, “probably in trouble,” flying about 1,000 feet.

One spotter said she saw it go out of sight behind a hill, then heard something like an explosion. However, checks with various air control agencies failed to turn up any reports of either a plane missing or in trouble.

Air-sea rescue planes were dispatched by Westover Air Force Base in Massachusetts to aid ground crews in the search. The planes were requested after two flares were reported over a deep ravine in Dark Hollow. But the aerial search by the Air Force and the Civil Air Patrol along with nearly 300 firemen, police, civil defense workers, and volunteers found no trace of a crashed plane. But the persistence of flares renewed the searchers efforts.

On the 20th, yellow flares were reported at 1:30 a.m. and 6 p.m. At 9:30 that night Murphy ordered sirens blown on all fire equipment in the region. Fifteen minutes later, another flare arched into the sky. Finally, on the 22nd Nov., the search was halted, and the “ghost plane” became a legend. ____________________________________________

On November 29, 1996, the day after Thanksgiving, a Miami Township, Ohio, resident was unloading groceries from his car. As he walked into his house, something disruptive happened. “The ground shook, and my house vibrated,” commented the gentleman during an interview from his living room three weeks afterward. “It sounded like two concrete slabs crashing together. I could feel the shock of it. My windows and shades even rattled for about thirty seconds. I’d say that the sound shook the house between seven-thirty and eight,” the witness added. “About a half-hour or so later, the Franklin Police Department showed up checking around for an airplane crash.”

Later that same night, a visit to the Franklin Police Department to inquire about the Franklin search with Lieutenant Massey revealed some conflicting information. “I believe your witness is mistaken,” Massey said. “Our search and rescue operation didn’t begin until 9:07 p.m., which was in response to the county-wide advisement of a possible plane down in the area.”

The search and rescue mission was enormous, and was conducted by several police agencies from the Warren and Montgomery County areas. The search began at 8:49 p.m. when the Miami Township police headquarters received a telephone call from the FAA Flight Service Station located at the Dayton International Airport. Apparently, Rescue Coordination Services advised the Miami Township department of the detection of an ELT beacon (Emergency Locator Transmission), which had originated from an area two miles west of Dayton General Airport. Strangely, the ELT signal was not received locally, as would be expected, but rather was detected by orbiting satellite.

Once the rescue operation was enacted, the search crews raced into an area west — and then later south — of the Wright Brothers/South Dayton General Airport. The reasoning behind the initial change in the search locations is that the ELT signal was evidently changing position, appearing first approximately 15 miles to the northwest of the Wright-Brothers Airport, and then was strangely tracked to a distance of over two miles west of the airport.

At 9:17 p.m., Springboro and Miamisburg units on foot began to detect the profuse smell of hot burning rubber. Strangely, a third location on State Route 741 is also where a second area resident complained of an explosive sound heard, also between 7:30 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. No physical evidence is known to have been recovered that would indicate there was an aircraft emergency resulting in a crash, as no known debris has been found.

The entire state of affairs regarding the mystery ELT signal, loud booming and crashing sounds heard by independent witnesses from two locations, the visual observation of an object with one red light, the uncertain chain of events at Post 83, the radar track announced to the police agencies by the Dayton International Airport, the smell of burning rubber, the subsequent denial of certain reporting procedures by the DIA which were later found to have occurred, the lack of log entries maintained by DIA operators, the subsequent inquiries as to how the calls were handled by C.A.P., and the involvement of Langley in announcing this to Flight Services are various issues that remain unresolved in this tangled, complicated drama.

#Phantom Plane Crashes #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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chiauve · 5 years ago

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“Okay, I have to ask.”

“What?”

“The welcome sign outside town.”

“Oh no, did it fall over again?”

“What? No, no I mean, I don’t get it. Umbrella people?”

Chris Redfield came to Raccoon City to join the Special Tactics and Rescue Service, or STARS. His old Air Force buddy Barry Burton had called him some months ago with an opportunity and Chris was in no position to say no. It had been ridiculously easy, Barry’s word enough to get him hired after an interview and background check, granted part of the interview had been conducted in the firing range, and Chris didn’t feel it was boasting when he said he was one of the best marksmen around. That was weeks ago and yet the drive into the coastal city and it’s peculiar sign still niggled at him.

Welcome to Raccoon City Home of the Umbrella People

Jill gave him a quick, surprised look before she grabbed a banana for her tray. The cafeteria line was probably not the best place for this but best to ask before he forgot again.

“You haven’t seen the little figurines they sell in the gift shops? Or the cute red and white umbrella keychains?” she asked before sliding up to the register.

“I have,” he bought one for Claire, “but I don’t know what they are.”

She wait for him to pay for his own lunch and found a table before she answered.

“The Umbrella People are kinda the local cryptid. I don’t know if it’s some old Indian legend or if it’s newer. Hell a drunkard probably made it all up and everyone ran with it.”

“It’s Native,” Joseph said, sliding in next to Chris and giving him an elbow to move over, “Wait, what are we talking about?”

“Umbrella People. If you didn’t know then how do you know it’s Native in origin?”

“Around here everything weird and creepy was already here before the White Man came.” Joseph took a bite of what was probably supposed to be spaghetti but had a consistency closer to oatmeal and then waved over the rest of Alpha Team who’d finished getting their food.

Jill rolled her eyes and continued. “Either way, the Umbrella People are basically sea monsters who can take human form. That’s how they hunt people.” She actually wiggled her fingers at Chris and added a ‘spooky’ tone to her voice.

“Okay,” Chris said slowly, “What do umbrellas have to do with it?”

She grinned very wide, “Legend has it,” wow she was getting into this, “that if they get wet, the spell that makes them appear human is broken and they turn back into monsters.”

“And it’s the coast,” Joseph added, “’Tends to rain a lot.”

“So they always carry with them umbrellas when they hunt, just in case it rains. The slightest bit of drizzle and up go the umbrellas.”

Chris glared at both of them. “Are you messing with me? That’s the worst story I ever heard.”

Jill just shrugged but Joseph said, “I know, right? Up north they got a giant wolf-bat that harasses campers or something, but we get dudes with sunglasses and umbrellas. We can’t even get something obvious like... wereraccoons.”

“Oh sunglasses now too?”

Jill sniggered, “The sun bothers their eyes because they are from the deep, dark depths.” Again with the fingers.

Barry, who’d sat down and listened to the conversation, finally spoke. “Legends are profitable, especially quirky ones. The umbrella crap was tacked on years ago and is now just kind of a local joke. Something to entice the tourists. The original stories are more like the old mermaid tales, you’ll be walking along the beach or the boardwalk and someone will pop up calling for help. If you follow them you don’t come back. Your chewed remains may show up some time later.”

“So basically Raccoon City sirens?” Chris asked.

“Pretty much. Even today disappearances will be blamed on them.”

“No proof though, right?”

“Yeah, people who go missing are usually found, one way or another. Has nothing to do with mermaids or weirdos with umbrellas.”

“Well,” Brad added, “some bodies still turn up mangled and chewed.”

“Those are called sharks. Someone dumps a body and the marine life gets dinner,” Jill said, her silly tone gone now that reality had taken over the story.

Barry nodded, “And it’s been a while since any bodies have been washed ashore anyway. If there ever were any sea monsters swimming around out there, they’ve long died out or moved on.”

“Like you all should be doing.”

And the lighthearted conversation was over. The captain of STARS, Albert Wesker, had come to collect them. Joseph made a dramatic sigh and actually argued:

“Come on, Captain, we just sat down!”

“I said a short lunch today, we have a lot to do. It’s not my fault you all wasted time talking about nonsense.”

Wesker marched off and with eyerolls and grumbling Alpha Team gathered their uneaten food and followed.

“I bet Bravo gets to eat their meals,” Joseph mumbled to Chris.

“At least you guys get to do stuff, I’m still landlocked.”

STARS was a special tactical unit officially attached to the RPD to handle terrorist activities and rescue missions, but with their skill sets they often acted as a small coastal force for local problems and as an assist for the actual Coast Guard when they needed to get involved.

Chris had settled into the RPD aspect of things quick enough but he hadn’t been cleared yet for the aquatic training, so more often than not he was forced to remain behind while his teammates handled their duties.

“I should be scuba qualified by the end of the week,” Chris said, “Technically I got a bit longer for the boat training but I’ve been fishing for years I know the basics already.”

“And today you got your crash-course in capitalizing on local legends.”

“I’m not joking, Joseph, that was the stupidest story I ever heard.”

“Yeah well, let’s you know how exciting things are around here.”

#resident evil #chris redfield #jill valentine #joseph frost #barry burton #albert wesker #brad vickers #mermay #aquarius #STARS

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oneshul · 6 years ago

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This Thanksgiving, Thank God You’re American: The Tale of Asser Levy, New Amsterdam Jew, 1654

Sholom Aleichem, Stranger! My name is Asser, Asser Levy, of—so many places! First Spain, then Holland; Brazil after, and now, America. And you know, something about you made me take you for a Jew. Keep your voice down; Governor Pieter Stuyvesant’s spies are everywhere—not unlike the Inquisition, which I, and belike yourself, escaped. Never mind: come inside—the winds blow coldly across Mannahatta Bay at this time of year, and my missus will prepare a cup of hot tea to warm your bones—(shouts) Gertruida, my dear! Tea, for our guest!

How did I know that you are Jewish? I will tell you this: my old father, God rest his soul, would tell me from an early age that we Jews appear—different from other folk. Not that I wish any harm to the gentiles, regardless of what they may think of me. And, to speak truth, my gentile neighbors and I have worked together to build this little piece of Holland, here in the New World. I consider most of them to be friends. Ha! (laughs bitterly) Even those who denigrate our kind for being usurers and blasphemers of their Saviour’s Name, are first at my door when I butcher a cow or goat, and my dear wife, Gertruida, cooks her famous stew. The delicious smell permeates the neighborhood!

There are, indeed, dangers: plague, Indians, and even nature, which plots against us, especially in the winter. I cannot remember such a cold, or so much snow, in Old Holland, let alone in Spain. We huddle together beneath bearskin blankets and wait for spring to arrive.

How is life here? The Dutch people are fair enough: some better, some worse than others. I have found that most Jew-hatred stems from ignorance, and fight it by being, simply, the best human being I can be. It seems to work—that, as well as there simply not being very many of us here. That fool (whispering), Governor Stuyvesant, only grudgingly accepted our twenty-four Jews to enter his colony. It’s not his—it’s the property of the Dutch West Indian Company! After the French captain tossed us off the ship like trash, after the riskiest voyage of our lives, we huddled on the dock like water rats. Imagine: first, escaping Brazil when the Portuguese Navy—with those devil-priests of the Inquisition undoubtedly on board—suddenly appeared in Pernambuco Bay.

We narrowly escaped, on a French ship, the Sint Catrina, whose thieving captain, one Jaques de la Mothe, thought we were rich—are not all Jews rich? He was disappointed in our poverty, and we were disappointed in his seamanship—my little boy Solomon could have escaped the pirates that attacked us, but de la Mothe panicked and ran up a white flag. We losteverything! Still, I thank God that we are all alive and well, except Isaac Carmiel, who was so fearful of the pirates, that he leapt overboard and was eaten by sharks. No great loss: he was a drunkard and cheated at dice;he defamed the Name of God.

As for Stuyvesant—pah! (spits on the ground) I have met Jew-haters before, but he is paramount. He first refused to let us Jews into the colony—does he think that Europeans are flocking to this icy, godforsaken place? He wrote to the Board of Directors of the West Indian Company—and so did we. Luckily, the Company ordered him to allow us entrance—there are a number of Jews on the Board, and still more own shares in the Company. Ha! Still, Stuyvesant has spurned our every petition for equality—he refuses to let us build our own houses, construct a synagogue, open various shops—I am a skilled butcher; my friend Jacob Barsimson is a baker—or even join the town guard, despite the ongoing danger of Indian attack.

The first time that Jacob and I presented his Governorship with a petition, Peg-leg Peter presented his most frightening mien—he is a tall man, of muscular build—well, he has been a soldier for most of his life. He roared at us, shook his fists, and whacked his silver-headed walking-stick on his desk—so hard, we were surprised it did not break. Of course, he knew nothing about what he was speaking—stuff and nonsense about how we were all on welfare. We waited for him to take a breath, and then explained, politely, that, as former Spanish subjects and current Dutch burgher-citizens, we are entitled to the same civil rights as any other Dutchman. Never mind: another letter to the Board, another petition to the Court—it all builds our position here in New Amsterdam, little by little. Not to be disloyal, but (whispering) my friend Chaim Henriques saw a small sloop with the British Union Jack scouting our coast, just t’other day—we suspect that the English may be planning to take over our little colony, and soon.

Must you leave so soon, Stranger? Ah, you are headed north, to Massachusetts? Is that a good idea? After all, neither Puritans nor Pilgrims are, despite their love of Scripture, particularly fond of us folks who wrote it. Sit, stay a while! I have a little jug of rum in the cupboard for emergencies, and, with the snow falling outside, this seems as good an emergency as any—Sit! Gertruida—fetch those wooden cups, and join us for a nip of toddy!

Nothing like rum for thickening the blood. A question? About me? Ah, but Friend, I am but a simple butcher, an American—dare I say it?—who happens to be Jewish. Why do I fight so hard against that petty tyrant, that old Peg-Leg (He teases up his hair to cover his Royal Baldness, too, he does; my Gertruida does laundry for his missus, and they talk), that rotten excuse for a Governor? Because I want—I want—(drinks) to see our people free. Yes: free, in this New World. There is room here enow for Jews, Christians, agnostic, atheists—yes, and Blacks and Indians, too! All free. You ask, and I answer: that is all I want, and I will spend my life fighting for it. Drink, Stranger—l’chaim!

Asser Levy, among the first twenty-four Jews to enter the New World, never hesitated to fight for his rights as an immigrant to New Amsterdam. An Ashkenazi, rather than a Sephardic Jew, he tirelessly petitioned the governor to allow the Jews to participate in the Town Guard, rather than pay the “Jew Tax” customary in Europe. This succeeded, but Jews were not allowed to run for public office until Francis Salvador of SC in 1775, who later died in the Revolution. The Jews never did get their synagogue during Levy’s lifetime; Cong. Shearith Israel (The Remnant of Israel) was not built until 1730, long after Levy’s passing. (A Jewish Cemetery was founded in 1756, however; death was a near and frequent visitor, regardless of religion.) Levy did, eventually, get his butcher shop, on the understanding that he was not allowed to dispatch pigs. He is buried in an unknown grave, but both a public school and a public park in NYC bear his name.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

#progressive judaism #judaism #jewish #torah study #drash #parsha #weekly parsha #rabbi david hartley mark #shabbat #shabbos #sabbath #thanksgiving #oneshul

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indiavacancyjob · 5 years ago

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West Bengal Police Recruitment 2020 - FreeJobAlert

West Bengal Police Recruitment 2020 139 SI, ASI & Constable Posts

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Name Of the Organization West Bengal Police Recruitment Board Advertisement No 09/2020. Recruitment Process Online Application. Start Date Of Apply 24/03/2020 (24th March 2020). Last Date Of Apply 24/04/2020 (24th April 2020). Post SI, ASI & Constable. Job Location West Bengal. Who Can Apply All Eligible and Interested candidates Can Apply. Number Of Vacancies 139 Posts Age Limit Applicants Age Limit Must be a maximum of 45 years. Age relaxations will be applicable as per the Government Reservation rules. Education Qualification Sub-Inspector:- Candidate must have served as a Chief Petty Officer/Petty Officer in Navy, Seaman Branch only (Navigation, Communication, Gunnery, Anti-Submarine Warfare, Clearance Driver and Survey Recorders) Or As an Adhikari/Pradhan Navik in Coast Guard, GD Branch only. Assistant Sub-Inspector:- Candidate must have served as a Petty Officer in Navy, Seaman Branch only (Navigation, Communication, Gunnery, Anti-Submarine Warfare, Clearance Driver and Survey Recorders) Or Artificer III/IV, Mechanic III/IV, Mechanic (Power/Radio), Petty Officer Electrical (Power/Radio) in Navy Technical Branch (Non-aviation sailor only). Constable:- Candidate must have served as a Leading Seaman/Seaman-I/Seaman-II in Navy equivalent all branches Or As Uttam Navik/Navik in Coast Guard in GD/Technical Branch only. Application Fees See the official notification. Nationality Must be Indian. Salary 32100/- to 82900/- How to apply All Eligible and Interested candidates Can Apply Online through the official website. SELECTION PROCESS - If you submit your application form than After verification of all application forms, All the eligible candidates will be selected through the following steps. 1. Test / Interview. DOWNLOAD PDF 🇮🇳 Get all Free Job Alert Click Here 🇮🇳 West Bengal Police Recruitment 2020 Get all Government Job Alert Click Here Apply Now The above information has been collected for various newspapers or Govt websites. We are not any Recruiter Agency or we do not hold any kind of Recruitment Process. So Job Finders are requested to go to the Official website of the Government Organization for more details. We are not liable for any kind of Misunderstanding or False information given by the third party Media Agency or Website. Join Telegram Railway Jobs In India Police Jobs in India Defense Jobs in India Research Jobs in India Teaching Jobs in India Bank Jobs in India Hospitality Jobs in India Central Government Jobs Check Exam Result Download Admit Card

Recruitment 2020 – FAQ Q1. What is the Full Form of WBP? The Full Form of WBP is West Bengal Police. Q2. What is WBP? The West Bengal Police is one of the two police forces of the Indian state of West Bengal. The West Bengal Police was reorganized under provisions of the Police Act 1861 during the British Raj. Q3. What is Recent Recruitment? West Bengal Police Recruitment Board has brought you the golden opportunity of the SI, ASI & Constable post. Q4. How to Apply? All Eligible and Interested candidates/Applicants Can Apply Online through the official website. Q5. What is the selection process of WBP? After submitting your application form, Than After verification of all application forms, All the eligible candidates will be selected through Test & Interview. 🇮🇳 Government Job Vacancy 🇮🇳

West Bengal Police Recruitment 2020 – FreeJobAlert

Posted: March 25, 2020 West Bengal Police Recruitment 2020 139 SI, ASI & Constable Posts 🇮🇳 👉 Government Job Vacancy 👈 🇮🇳 Are you looking for a government job? West Bengal Police Recruitment Board has brought you the golden opportunity of the SI, ASI & Constable post. If you are interested, please read the information below regarding the West 0 comments

UP Postal Circle Recruitment 2020 | Free Job Alert

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Posted: March 22, 2020 BHEl Bhopal Recruitment (Bharat Heavy Electrical Limited Bhopal) 229 Graduate Apprentice & Diploma Apprentice Posts 🇮🇳 👉 Government Job Vacancy 👈 🇮🇳 Are you looking for a government job? BHEl Bhopal Recruitment Board has brought you the golden opportunity of the Graduate Apprentice & Diploma Apprentice post. If you are interested, please read the information 0 comments Read the full article

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golfwi52 · 7 years ago

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Round 26 – Gentleman, Start Your Slices

Quit Qui Oc Golf Course, Elkhart Lake, WI 53020 Par 36 Back Nine, White Tees, 3,113 yards Par 35 Glacier, White Tees, 2,993 yards, $40 walking Sunday, June 25th, 2017, 10:00am, 62 degrees, 12 mph winds, sunny

So for my last round of the quarter and to get me to my halfway point of the year I chose to slide up north 40 minutes to Elkhart Lake and play the mysteriously named Quit Qui Oc Golf Course. I learned that Quit-Qui-Oc comes from the Menominee Indians meaning "Crooked River" and it has a long history in the Plymouth - Elkhart Lake area. The Elkhart Lake area is also home to Road America, which today is running the Verizon IndyCar Series KOHLER Grand Prix and Pirelli World Challenge. For some reason (insert “dork” here) I’ve never been to Road America, so it was going to be fun to check out this new area for future reference.

I was set to play off the front nine with a local threesome when the starter approached me on the practice green and notified me that the threesome arrived with a fourth, but they could have her return home if there wasn’t room. The starter said I had the other option of playing with three active duty guys who were late to their tee time and who he was going to send off the back nine and then the Glacier nine. There were also no other open spots going off the front as a special 6 person, 2-man scotch doubles event was just about to start. No brainer. I’d prefer to not to be the bad guy and bust up the four friends and instead play with the active duty guys in a round that includes the “Glacier Nine”. Lesson learned – avoid threesomes on or off the golf course. You never know who else might show up.

Jesse’s wife, Jesse, Riley, and Mike (aka Rio)

So my active duty playing partners were three Sheboygan Coast Guarders who were part of a 12 man crew, manning our Lake Michigan coast from my home town of Port Washington up to around Manitowoc. Jesse was the level headed senior guy at 8 years in the service and his wife joined him on the cart to ride along. I wish I could remember her name because it was unique. She did get 4+ hours of cell phone texting time during the ride – which is also unique for a round of golf. Jesse was the best golfer of the 3, hitting a VERY long ball, but unfortunately too often VERY wide left or right. Riley was a 2 year vet and he was the rookie hacker golfer of the bunch. Riley shanked almost every drive 45 degrees right and his buds were constantly repositioning him 45 degrees to the left. But Riley had a great attitude and enjoyed the round nevertheless. Mike (aka Rio) was with service for only around 8 months and he as by far the most entertaining of the three. Mike was a skinny leftie who had a big swing and draw. He was the most animated, especially when his swing went overboard in the second nine. It was fun hanging out with a bunch of youngsters, but the slower pace and lower level of play did my shaky game no favors.

Jesse’s elevated tee shot

So we played the back nine first and I quickly tripled the first as I misjudged the distance on my approach shot and dubbed 2 wedge shots. I’m sure the youngsters were in awe of my old-timer game. I struggled with club selection the whole round as the wind sometimes disappeared within deep tree coverage. While the course layout was relatively simple, with little water and few bunkers, it was lined with pretty thick trees which I visited much too often. I was out of rhythm the whole first nine, scraping out only one par and a birdie to card an embarrassing 46. Even though I bit my tongue on giving rookie Riley advice, I did offer my Taylor Made driver to him on a couple of drives to give him a better chance of hitting a sweet spot. I’ve learned to greatly limit my golf advice, especially with my partner Lauren. I’m sure if I was a better golfer, my advice would be much better received. But until I greatly improve, I need to just focus on my own game. And my driver and longer tee tip didn’t help Riley. Only divine intervention could really help Riley today. But he was still having fun. And the folks at Road America were probably also having fun as we were hearing the loud Indy car engines and seeing military jets fly overhead as the big race was happening just a few miles away.

The 1/2 mile ride to the Glacier #2 tee - on the back of Jesse’s cart

To get to the Glacier Nine the starter had to give me a ride on his cart and lead us about a mile through the regular course and volatile driving range. He also advised me to ride along on Jesse’s cart between the first and second holes as that is around another ½ mile journey. Hmm, that’s unique. At the first tee we saw the little mini clubhouse they use to send folks off this nine when they are just playing nine. More uniqueness. So the Glacier Nine was opened just 15 years ago and I can see why. It was a very rolling hill track with a lot of interesting fairway layouts. On the sharp dogleg number 4, I hit a 7 iron 150 yards to the green into what seemed like a strong headwind. Unfortunately there was no wind around the green because it was protected by thick trees and my approach shot landed past the green, bounding hard on the cart path, skying 40 feet into the air, banking off a large tree, and coming back to land on the green, about 20 feet from the pin. 2 putts later and I had a nice little lucky par. Now that’s how golf should work. Or maybe I should just look at the flag next time to see if there’s any wind around the green. Whatever. I ended up shooting a 42 on the Glacier but I should have broke 40 easily. Double on 6 and 9 did me in. Old man got tired towards the end. Same “old” story.

Mike setting up his slice to fly the dogleg left

Shot 88 (46 Back Nine, 42 Glacier Nine). 4 pars, 1 birdie, 1 lost ball – on the last hole. The round took 4 hours and 40 minutes – but it seemed much longer. I felt pretty strong carrying for 18 holes, but very disappointed that I shot in the high 80’s and didn’t break 40 on the Glacier 9. It was a very slow round with these guys so that probably played into an uneven rhythm. I really felt bad for Mike who really lost his swing on the back nine and started to shank a lot of his shots. I have so been there. I also didn’t throw out the $100 shot challenge during this round as the young guys didn’t seem too interested in my little golf journey stuff when I mentioned it – even though Riley did ask for the link. I love Riley. I really should have given him the $100 chance. But the real crime of the round was that the youngsters had no great Coast Guard stories when I queried them on it. But they are still basically kids. Their great stories are still to come…

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robertmcangusgroup · 8 years ago

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The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Saturday 25th March 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. Dark Clouds are scudding quickly across the sky this morning as Bella and I come out the door, smells like rain and the air feels damp, I would have used the word “Humid” but that to me implies warm and sticky and this morning it’s certainly not that, the wind is blowing from the North West and that means the wind will bring rain to Estepona… But at this moment I am not interested, just getting the walk completed without us both getting wet is at the forefront of my thoughts.. and coffee when I get home!.. So today Fellow Scot, Bella and I are going to complete our trip without the stargazing and satilitte watching that normally takes place, no Spielberg moments today with shooting stars rushing across the sky because I can’t see the stars but I can hear the rain drops splattering on the trees as we hurry back home, .. success, no matter how small, even not getting wet counts, it’s a victory, be it personal .. but never the less a victory, makes for a good day, you should try to remember that, it’s something positive that starts the day … I’ve used it all my life .. The Power of Positive Thinking and NO! I am not plugging Norman Vincent Peale who wrote a book of the same name, I’m talking about how I get through the day.. Days aren’t always fantastic, sometimes things suck, as Robbie Burn’s said “The best laid plans often go astray” that when I think positive and find good in the bad.. and march on.. maybe to victory and maybe to defeat… but at least I marched!

APOLOGY AFTER AIR AMBULANCE SENT TO SHETLAND INSTEAD OF ORKNEY…. NHS Grampian has apologised after an air ambulance meant to airlift a sick baby to Aberdeen was sent to Shetland instead of Orkney. The Orkney infant needed treatment in Aberdeen last Friday, however the fixed-wing air ambulance was sent to Shetland. The Scottish Ambulance Service said the patient was later safely transferred to Aberdeen. NHS Grampian said a member of staff had made an error. An NHS Grampian spokeswoman said: "Following an initial analysis of the timeline of last Friday's events, it is clear that a member of NHS Grampian staff made an error during the process of arranging transport. "This led to the Scottish Ambulance Service aircraft wrongly travelling to Shetland. "We must stress that this is an extremely unusual incident. We have seen nothing to suggest this was anything other than an isolated mistake. "NHS Grampian would like to apologise unreservedly to the family involved in this incident. "We would also wish to apologise to our colleagues in the Scottish Ambulance Service."

SHEEPDOG MISSING FOR 12 DAYS IS RESCUED FROM GORGE NEAR FORT WILLIAM…. A sheepdog that went missing 12 days ago has been rescued from a gorge. Nell the collie was spotted stuck down Monessie Gorge, at Roybridge near Fort William, by a person on a train that was passing on the nearby West Highland Line. Members of Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team used ropes to get down into the gorge on Thursday evening and rescued the cold and hungry dog. Team leader John Stevenson said: "The dog belongs to a local crofter." He added: "It is an older dog and retired from working and it had been missing for 12 days. "The gorge cannot be seen from the side of the road, but the driver or a passenger on a train passing on the nearby line saw the dog. "We were having a committee meeting at the time. We left that and headed for the gorge. "It is not deep, but you can only get down into it using ropes. "But it was a nice quick job. It was over in an hour, and provided a little bit of training for the team." He added: "The collie was a bit timid and took a bit of coaxing to come out from where it was. "I think it was glad to see us and the crofter was glad to have his dog back."

PARTNER OF SCOT HELD IN INDIAN JAIL RAISES SAFETY CONCERNS…. The partner of a Scot held in jail in India on firearms charges says she fears for his life. Billy Irving, from Connel, Argyll, was among 35 sailors and guards who were arrested on the anti-piracy ship MV Seaman Guard Ohio on 12 October 2013. His fiancée Yvonne MacHugh raised concerns about his safety after an alleged assault on another British man also being held in the prison. She told BBC Scotland: "Our men are good men. They are innocent." Former soldier Mr Irving is among six UK nationals arrested after the anti-piracy ship they were working on strayed into Indian waters without permission. The charges against them were later quashed but the men were unable to leave India while prosecutors pursued an appeal which was successful. They were subsequently jailed for five years. They have always denied any wrongdoing and their families have been campaigning tirelessly for their release. Earlier this month, relatives of John Armstrong claimed he had been taken by prison guards to a mental institute where he was drugged and beaten. Ms MacHugh, along with the Mr Armstrong's sister Joanne Thomlison, is meeting with officials from the Foreign Office and later with the High Commissioner of India to raise the matter.

UNDERBELLY WINS EDINBURGH WINTER FESTIVALS CONTRACT…. Underbelly has won the contract to produce Edinburgh's world-famous winter festivals for the next three years. Councillors agreed to award the tender for the city's Christmas and Hogmanay festivities to Underbelly, the operator of Edinburgh's Christmas since 2013. Unique Events has had the contract for Edinburgh's Hogmanay previously. In January City of Edinburgh Council said funding for Edinburgh's winter festivals had been cut by £450,000 with no money being allocated for Christmas. Ed Bartlam and Charlie Wood, of Underbelly, said: "We're absolutely delighted to have been given the opportunity to produce Edinburgh's Christmas and Hogmanay. "We've hugely enjoyed helping to develop Edinburgh's Christmas for the last four years and we couldn't be more excited about the next three years. "We're honoured to be building on the extraordinary work and success of Pete Irvine and Unique Events since the start of Edinburgh's Hogmanay. We look forward to announcing our plans for both events in due course. "We can however confidently say that our plans for both events are exciting and hugely ambitious and will see an expansion and growth of Edinburgh's Winter Festivals rather than any diminishing of them. Watch this space."

LASSIE COMES HOME AS OSPREYS REUNITE AT LOCH OF THE LOWES RESERVE…. A female osprey has reunited with her mate at the Scottish Wildlife Trust's Loch of the Lowes reserve in Perthshire. LF15, nicknamed "Lassie", touched down on Thursday afternoon to join her mate LM12, who arrived on 17 March. The charity said Lassie began rearranging her nest before the birds made their first attempts at mating. The pair, who can be watched on the reserve's live webcam, fledged three chicks in both 2015 and 2016. Charlotte Fleming, Perthshire ranger for the Scottish Wildlife Trust, said: "We knew it was LF15 as soon as she arrived. "She has unmistakable features including a prominent dark brown "Y" on the top of her head and quickly set to work rearranging her nest to her satisfaction." Ms Fleming said LM12, who has spent the last week fending off crows and creating a deep cup on the nest to hold this season's eggs, joined his mate within an hour. She said: "While it was a frosty reception with lots of shouting and mantling at first, it only took a matter of minutes for them to begin to mate."

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of four West Highland Terriers.. I can hear the Oh's and Ah's already....

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Saturday 25th March 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in ….. Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

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jeffwhorton · 4 years ago

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Could Cyberwarfare or Cyber-Terrorists Potentially Force a Nuclear Power Plant to Meltdown?

Technology Discussion: Could Cyberwarfare or Cyber-Terrorists Potentially Force a Nuclear Power Plant to Meltdown?

From the NPR Website:

Russia Hacked U.S. Power Grid — So What Will The Trump Administration Do About It?

March 23, 20185:00 AM ET

Brian Naylor in 2018.

BRIAN NAYLOR

The U.S. government says Russian government hackers have targeted and gained access to U.S energy computer networks.

Rich Pedroncelli/AP

When President Trump phoned Russian President Vladimir Putin to congratulate him on his re-election Wednesday, Trump made no mention of one of the latest irritants between Russia and the West — his administration's announcement that Russia successfully hacked the U.S. power grid.

The Department of Homeland Security and the FBI issued a joint alert last week: "Russian government cyber actors" have been targeting U.S. critical infrastructure sectors, including energy, nuclear and commercial facilities, since at least March 2016.

The announcement came the same day that the U.S. imposed sanctions against 19 Russian individuals and five entities for interfering in the 2016 election and for other cyber-intrusions.

NATIONAL SECURITY

U.S. Security Officials Uncertain Of How To Address Infrastructure Vulnerabilities

James Lewis, a cybersecurity expert and vice president of the Center for Strategic and International Studies, said the news that Russia penetrated the energy grid does not exactly come as a surprise.

"The Russians have been doing this for years," Lewis said. "The change is that the U.S. government came out and said the Russians hacked the utilities."

The government informed electric companies last summer that Russia undertook what DHS calls a "multistage intrusion campaign" against the utilities, using common hacking techniques such as malware and spear-phishing. The hackers were able to to gain access to at least one power plant's control system.

The Department of Homeland Security was able to reconstruct screenshot fragments of a human machine interface that was accessed.

US-CERT/Department of Homeland Security

"They were not simply looking around that system and reconnoitering it," Joel Brenner, head of counterintelligence under the Director of National Intelligence in the Obama administration, told NPR. "They were placing the tools that they would have to place in order to turn off the power. That's a serious vulnerability for us, and we're not anywhere near ready to deal with it."

The Russians have targeted other countries' electrical grids, most notably Ukraine in 2015, disrupting power for more than 200,000 people.

Scott Aaronson, vice president of security and preparedness at the Edison Electric Institute, which represents the nation's electric companies, said U.S. power companies have tried to learn from that attack.

Can Americans feel confident the U.S. grid is protected?

For more information visit click here: Russia Hacked U.S. Power Grid

In 2011 an earthquake off the coast of Japan triggered a Tsunami some 45-feet in height, which damaged the cooling system at the plant, triggering a meltdown.

Following a major earthquake, a 15-metre tsunami disabled the power supply and cooling of three Fukushima Daiichi reactors, causing a nuclear accident on 11 March 2011. All three cores largely melted in the first three days.

Fukushima Accident - World Nuclear Association

www.world-nuclear.org/information-library/safety-and...of.../fukushima-accident.aspx

The Japanese evacuated some 100,000 people from the area, which prevented deaths or reports of major illnesses (yet). So, I probably should have done a lot more research, right? Well, that probably is true. But in my defense, in Cybersp@ce we’re talking about New York. Indian Point Energy Center (IPEC), the power plant on which Indian Lake was based, is a three-unit nuclear power plant station located in Buchanan, New York, just south of Peekskill. It sits on the east bank of the Hudson River, about 36 miles (58 km) north of Midtown Manhattan. Imagine trying to evacuate 8.5 million people! Again, if you live in the greater New York area you can relax, a little. The Indian Point plant is scheduled to shut down in 2022, largely in part to concerns over a “natural disaster” devastating New York. Reading between the lines I have to imagine that means man-caused disaster…oh, how impolitic of me, we don’t use Obama double-speak anymore. Please allow me to restate; I have to imagine they are worried about terrorism attacks on the plant more than they are natural disasters, since earthquakes in New York are well, not something we see every day.

So, we’ve established that loss of secondary systems, like the programmable logic controllers (PLCs), which control the pumps that keep the reactors cool could, in fact, possibly lead to a meltdown. So back to the original question, Could Cyberwarfare or Cyber-Terrorists Potentially Force a Nuclear Power Plant to Meltdown? I’ll have to leave a definitive answer to that question to the experts. It certainly would appear to be possible, given the amount of concern by so many knowledgeable people. I spent decades in the IT field and I can say, with some confidence, that sometimes it’s not only a good idea to unplug from the Internet, it can be the difference between life and death.

“—and the local sheriff’s office informed us only moments ago that they have done all that they can do to evacuate the area, given the extremely congested roadways which are already virtually nothing but parking lots. The National Guard is also being deployed, although few believe they will be able to evacuate so many in such a brief period of time. If you’ve just joined us, we have some very important, late-breaking news. New York City, along with the Department of Homeland Defense, held a joint press conference just fifteen minutes ago, announcing that a serious problem was detected at the Indian Lake nuclear power plant only two hours ago. The problem, which has been closely monitored since, is reported to be a problem with the coolant system at the plant, a problem which could very well lead to a meltdown. While not yet calling such a meltdown imminent, the government has issued an evacuation for anyone living or working within thirty miles of the Indian Lake nuclear power plant, warning of a deadly threat from radiation fallout facing anyone within the evacuation zone. We’ve invited Dr. Marcella Blanco to join us; she is an expert with the CDC. Welcome, Dr. Blanco, thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“Dr. Blanco, if both reactors do somehow melt down, how bad will it be? Will it result in many deaths?”

“Absolutely. Early estimates from a decade ago suggested that at least one hundred thousand people would receive a fatal dose of radiation. That area has seen a significant amount of growth over the past decade, however, so the number has climbed to perhaps as high as one hundred twenty-five thousand people.”

The anchor sat silently, looking stunned for a moment. It was one of those rare moments of silence on live television when no one speaks. One of the producers must have yelled at her through her earpiece because she suddenly jolted out of it.

“Excuse me, Dr. Blanco, but you’re saying over one hundred twenty-five thousand people are going to die tonight?”

Her face was still pale, white as a sheet.

“Well, if both reactors melt down, as many as one hundred twenty-five thousand people would likely be exposed to a fatal dose of radiation, yes. Depending on their level of exposure, death could take days, weeks, possibly even months to occur.”

“If someone cannot get away in time, is there anything they can do?”

“Anyone who is within ten to twenty miles of the plant and is unable to leave should get inside and as far underground as possible. But let me please reiterate that this is a very serious danger to everyone in the area. If at all possible, everyone within a thirty-mile radius should evacuate immediately. Please don’t wait until it’s too late.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blanco.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The news anchor turned to face the camera.

“Next up, we have Jason Michaels, a former consultant to the Department of Homeland Security. Welcome Mr. Michaels, it’s great to have you with us today.”

“Thank you, Michelle; it’s great to be here, though I wish it were under better circumstances of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated. “So, Jason, do you have any idea what happened at the plant; was it some kind of equipment failure?”

“From what I’m told, Michelle, at approximately 2:05 p.m. today, the systems at the plant that control the water used for cooling the control rods in both reactors suddenly shut down, but only after sending instructions to the programmable logic controllers to close all valves in the cooling system. At this time the PLCs continue to be unresponsive and all valves remain closed. Once the super-heated water evaporates, the rods will be exposed, and the reactors will melt down. I’ll tell you something else, too…the most disturbing aspect of this disaster is that the shutdown appears to have been done intentionally by someone, remotely.”

“So, the system was shut down remotely. Why would someone with the power company have done that intentionally, while the plants are still in operation; isn’t that dangerous?”

“Very. Apparently, the systems were not shut down by anyone at the plant though. Based on all the information I’ve been able to gather, everyone associated with the Indian Lake plant denies having anything to do with what’s happened. My contacts told me that the system wasn’t designed like that anyway. That’s why this was, in my opinion, an act of terrorism.”

“Wow, that is really frightening!” exclaimed the anchor, staring in disbelief. “How could an unauthorized person access the water control system remotely? Why would that even be possible?”

“I asked that same question. It seems that the company installed the remote access capability, so they would be able to activate the water control pumps remotely in the event of some kind of accident, in case there was no one able to do it at the plant itself. Unfortunately, with so many systems connected to the Internet these days, it’s possible—let me stress possible—that someone hacked in, circumvented the considerable security, and shut them down remotely.”

“But wouldn’t it require substantial resources to be able to pull something like that off without being caught?”

“Yes, it would. Typically, only nation states have the kind of access to the resources needed to pull something like this off, not to mention the skills. It might be possible that an individual could do this I suppose, but I don’t see how.”

“Does the DHS have any idea where the attack originated?”

“Well, as you noted earlier, I no longer work at the DHS. A source of mine does still work there, however, and they called me thirty minutes after they learned the systems had been shut down.”

“What did they tell you?”

“They told me that they had traced the IP address of the intruder.”

“To where?” asked the anchor.

“China.”

Excerpt from Cybersp@ce, Cybsesp@ce Series Book One

In my 2013 novel, Cybersp@ce, the Indian Lake nuclear power plant in New York is attacked. Fictional programmable logic controllers that supposedly control the reactor coolant system are hacked and disabled, eventually resulting in a reactor meltdown, and the subsequent release of radiation that results in the deaths of 100,000 people. Relax; it’s fiction, or is it?

In 2011 an earthquake off the coast of Japan triggered a Tsunami some 45-feet in height, which damaged the cooling system at the plant, triggering a meltdown.

Fukushima Accident - World Nuclear Association

www.world-nuclear.org/information-library/safety-and...of.../fukushima-accident.aspx

Follow this link for more information.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/nuclear-power-plants-vulnerable-hacking-attack-cyber-nightmare-united-nations-a7479546.html

Follow my blog by following this link and entering your contact information: http://www.hortonlibrary.com/?page_id=148

Visit my website: at www.hortonlibrary.com

[From Blog Post #1028, July 25, 2018]

Read more posts by Author Jeff W. Horton by clicking on the link below...

https://www.hortonlibrary.com/home/blog-the-horton-post

#Jeff W. Horton The Horton Library Books Cyberwarfare Cyberterorism

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keywestlou · 5 years ago

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EARLY KEY WEST BURIALS

The Key West Cemetery is one of Key West’s most famous tourist spots. Now located in Old Town. Not always the location.

I came across 2 interesting bits about early Key West burials.

The first involves location.

In the early 1800’s, the first cemetery was located on the “western beach between the town and Whitehead’s Point.” Most of the graves were located in the space between Emma Street and the Marine Hospital Building.

The cemetery was not like today’s or anything even similar to what we have come to know as a cemetery. A body was buried and a few stones randomly placed on top of the grave. No grave stone as such.

An 1830 visitor described the stones. Few had any names etched on them. Most were “a few plain stones to tell that the possessions of the little tenant below once lived and died.”

Some stones marked the length of the body below.

The question generally asked was: “Who sleeps below?”

The use of stones was probably copied from the Indians who frequented the lower Keys. They sprinkled/set a few small stones above a grave.

For several years when my children were young, we vacationed on Block Island. An island off the coast of Rhode Island.

There was a “painted rock.” A stone about 4 x 4 feet. Kids used to go and paint the stone. My children did it several times. Everyone always painted over the previous person’s paint job.

A tradition.

I was standing watching my children one day when a Block Island local began talking to me. He asked if I had seen the Indian cemetery. I had not. It was across the street from painted rock and a way in the woods.

A small open area. Weedy. Small tones in an irregular grouping here and there. The Indians of Block Island were buried similarly as the early residents and the Indians of Key West.

Respect for the dead was common place. As it is today. Except the respect evidenced in a different manner.

From the mid 1800’s to the early 1900’s, the Key West custom re burials involved the closing of the doors of all stores while a funeral procession was passing by. All business along the line of march was suspended.

The late 1960’s and into the 1970’s, public demonstrations were frequent. By those opposed to the Vietnam War. College students and adults alike.

An anti-war demonstration had bean going on for several days on the Kent State University campus. The National Guard had been called in.

On the third day of the National Guard presence, the National Guard shot at the students. I recall the TV showing of the shootings. The students were running down a slightly slopping hill to get away from the Guardsmen. Shots were being fired. Four students were killed. One paralyzed.

Similar shootings will take place at some point in the U.S. At State capitols. The difference with Kent State is the demonstrators will be shooting at government officials.

Armed protesters make such an occurrence inevitable.

J. Crew filed for bankruptcy protection last week. A Chapter 11. Means the company will continue in business while working out a debt repayment plan that the company can handle. The Bankruptcy Court says who gets paid and when. Gives a company such as J. Crew breathing room to get going again.

It was announced that 5 northeast States have joined together to purchase ventilators and protective gear such as masks and gloves. New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania and Delaware.

The Governors of the 5 States decided they could get better prices and avoid getting into a bidding war with each other.

I am confused. Trump keeps saying we have so many ventilators now. He has them stored in a federal facility. So many, that he keeps telling us how he is providing them to other countries. Whether free or for money, I am not sure.

If Trump has so many, why do the 5 States need to go elsewhere for ventilators?

Does not make sense to me. I suspect somewhere along the line Trump is bullshitting us or perhaps charging too much.

Trump was interviewed last night by FOX in the Lincoln Memorial. Sitting directly in front of Lincoln.

I consider it an insult that Trump featured himself in such place. An Abraham Lincoln he is not.

A top Italian medical authority revealed that 75 percent of the people who died in Italy from coronavirus had high blood pressure.

I’m doing good. I’m 84 and have a bad heart. Also have high blood pressure. Since I was 30 years old.

Involves the heart, I know. However I view it as another malady. Mine is controlled by pills each day. Keeps my blood pressure low. Exceptionally low.

God bless the pills!

An observation. Coronavirus is nowhere under control. I believe the reopenings are foolish and too soon. People who are on the side of what I consider early reopenings are gambling with their lives.

Why don’t they understand?

The U.S. Senate is returning to Washington today. Washington is infested with coronavirus. Trump insists there are enough tests for the law makers.

He tweeted, “There is tremendous caronavirus testing capacity in Washington.” Despite multiple reports of the Senate’s shortage of tests.

At 10 this morning, the stock market was down 300 points.

Enjoy your day!

EARLY KEY WEST BURIALS was originally published on Key West Lou

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jacewilliams1 · 5 years ago

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I survived the deadliest helicopter crash in European history

On the 6th of November 1986, at 1132 hours, I was the Captain of a Chinook helicopter that crashed just two miles short of its destination, the Sumburgh Airport in the Shetland Islands, 150 nautical miles north of the mainland of the United Kingdom. At the time it was the worst-ever civilian helicopter crash, taking the lives of 45 out of the 47 people on board.

One passenger and I survived the crash. How or why we survived is a mystery. There is absolutely no explanation—just pure luck! For a long time after the accident, I used to ask myself, “why were the other passengers not lucky?” I guess nobody can answer that question.

When the helicopter wreckage was retrieved from the sea, the British Aircraft accident investigating inspector met me and wondered how I could have possibly survived the crash. I not only survived the crash, I came out with very minor injuries.

I joined British Airways Helicopters in 1975 after leaving the Indian Air Force. In 1982 I converted on to Chinooks, the Boeing Vertol BV-234, the biggest civilian helicopter in the world. By 1986 I had already flown over 2500 hours on the Chinooks and loved every minute of it

I have flown helicopters for over 45 years. In spite of the accident, I would say that the Chinook is the best helicopter I have ever flown, because of the tremendous amount power it has and with full fuel we had six hours of endurance. We were always able to carry a full load of passengers with full fuel on board.We had six Chinooks in the company. One of our Chinooks used to go to Sumburgh, Shetland Islands, on Monday morning and operate out of Sumburgh for five days, returning to Aberdeen on Friday evening.

The Chinook is the largest civilian helicopter, and was a workhorse of the North Sea oil fields.

I had taken G-BWFC, a Chinook helicopter, to Sumburgh for the week on November 3, 1986. We had two sets of crews: one did the morning two flights to the East Shetland Basin (just over 100nm northeast of Sumburgh Airport) and the second came in at 1300 hours and did one flight in the afternoon.

First Officer Neville Nixon, my co-pilot, who was 43, had left Bristow Helicopters a few years earlier and had given up flying to help his wife, Pauline, to set up a chemist shop in York, England. After three years the shop was doing very well and he found that Pauline could manage the shop by herself. He loved flying and decided to come back to flying.

He joined British Airways Helicopters in the summer of 1986. Since Neville hadn’t flown for nearly three years, he was very keen to fly as much as possible. On the 6th of November, he was roistered to do the afternoon shift. Since morning shift did two flights and the afternoon shift did only one, Neville had swapped his shift with First Officer Mike Stanley. Sadly for him, this change of shift cost him his life.

Thursday, the 6th of November 1986, was a beautiful day at Sumburgh Airport. The wind was light and it didn’t feel cold. I expected good flying conditions. Neville was already in the operations doing the planning for our flight by the time I arrived that morning. After finishing the planning he rang up his home. That was the last time he spoke to his wife.

Mike Walton, our cabin attendant, arrived about 0730 and went to do his checks on the helicopter. Checks included making sure that cabin was clean and all the safety equipment was on board.

Our original plan was to land at Brent Bravo and Brent Delta. At the last minute we were given a load to drop at Brent Alpha also. This added about ten minutes to our trip. These ten minutes became very important when we were returning to base and we crashed just two miles short (about two minutes before touchdown) of our destination. Destiny, yes?

We taxied across from our hanger at Virkie to Wilsness passenger terminal, on other side of the runway, to pick up our passengers. After doing the onboard briefing, we taxied at 0900 for our flight to the Brent field.

I was the handling pilot on the way out and my co-pilot was looking after all the radios and other admin duties, like load sheets. The flight was uneventful and after landing at Brent Alpha, Charlie and Delta we set course back to Sumburgh at 1043. We had a full complement of 44 passengers and three crew on board. Neville was the handling pilot now and I was doing all the paperwork plus the radio calls.

We climbed to 2500 feet and our route back to Sumburgh was via track Mike. We flew in and out of clouds, but the weather was nice and we had a very pleasant flight. We talked about all sorts of things to pass the time. Neville told me about his brother who had been to India and had loved it there.

And all the time our bevel ring gear in the front gearbox was breaking up and we had no way of knowing of the looming disaster. I discovered this when I listened to the cockpit voice recorder at the Aircraft Accident Investigation Board’s workshop. I could hear the noise of the gear breaking up for the entire 30 minutes of the tape. HUMs would have been a great help.

This should have been a routine flight for an experienced helicopter pilot.

At 40nm we changed from Sumburgh radar to Sumburgh approach. We started a slow descent down to 1000 feet, and did our approach checks. At 10nm we changed over to the tower and continued our descent to 500 feet. When we were just over two minutes to land, I contacted my company and gave them the routine two minutes to landing call.

In the Bristow hanger, Captain Gordon Mitchell and the rest of the coast guard crew were getting ready to do search and rescue training that morning. They had the helicopter fuelled and ready. They were just waiting for one of the crews to return from an errand; otherwise they would have been airborne earlier. It was a coincident that they got airborne just after 1129, just when we were on finals for landing. The control tower advised the Coast Guard helicopter, “Oscar Charlie” to look out for the Chinook which was on finals.

About 3.5 nm from the runway, we started hearing a whining noise and it seemed to be getting louder. The noise did not sound dangerous. Just then our cabin attendant, Mike Walton, came through the door and told us that he had checked the cabin and that the passengers were all strapped in and ready for landing. He heard us discussing the noise, so he told us the noise was coming from the front gearbox, which was just above his head, behind the cockpit. He also didn’t seem alarmed by the noise.

By now we were only two minutes from landing, approximately 250-300 feet above the surface of the water, in the descent, and our speed was reducing below 100 knots. We decided that on landing we would inform the engineers to sort out the noise before we went for our next flight.

I informed the control tower that “Foxtrot Charlie” was on finals and we were cleared to land. On finals, I saw the Coast Guard Sikorsky S-61 take off for their training.

After informing us that the passengers were all ready for landing, our cabin attendant had opened the cabin door and closed it behind him. I don’t think he had a chance to sit down and strap himself in. A fraction of a second after he closed the door, at 1132 to be exact, we heard a very loud bang. Suddenly the helicopter pitched up and was pointing vertically up—I could see the sky ahead of me. I had no time to give a mayday call.

But of course we were falling backwards towards the North Sea. The helicopter, which had been travelling at about 100 knots, had came to a sudden stop and was now pointing vertically up. Sadly, the whiplash effect killed at least half of the passengers.

My co-pilot probably died at that moment. Being the handling pilot, he was sitting without his back touching the backrest, with the result that the whiplash effect broke his neck. I, being the non-handling pilot, had my back resting at the backrest. The whiplash effect on me was not as great, though thinking about it or talking about it, like right now, I start feeling the pain in my back.

What happened? I found out later that the whining noise we had been hearing was actually our front gear (spiral bevel ring gear) breaking up. Once the gear split, it was a matter of 20-30 seconds before the two counter-rotating rotor blades hit each other and that was the loud bang that we heard. The rear rotor blades where shaking so much that they, along with the gearbox (weighing more than a ton), parted company from the helicopter and splashed into the water about one nautical mile away from us.

One gentleman standing about five miles away on top of a hill, near Sumburgh Airport, saw our helicopter falling towards the sea and he actually pointed out to the salvage team where to look for the rear rotor blades. No, he didn’t have a video camera!

The result of the gearbox failure was catastrophic breakup.

Now there was no rear rotor. Nothing was holding the back end of the helicopter up. So the back fell and the nose was pointing up to the sky. Sitting in the cockpit, I could see the sky straight in front of me. I got the feeling we were going straight up. Instinctively I grabbed the cyclic control and pushed it all the way forward to level the helicopter. It appeared I had done an outside loop. I felt negative G force when the helicopter seemed to move from pointing vertically up to vertically down. Now I could see the sea in front of me. It appeared the helicopter was now rushing, nose-down, vertically towards the sea.

What actually happened was that, with the break away of the rear set of rotor blades and the gearbox from the helicopter, the whole body of the helicopter had become weak and had started breaking up. When I pushed the cyclic stick all the way forward, the front rotor blades, which were still responding to the controls, flipped the cockpit section of the helicopter over. Now only the floor of the cockpit was attached to the main part of the helicopter.

My action of moving the cyclic stick forward was perhaps responsible for saving the two of us who survived. The whole helicopter was falling backwards towards the sea. The cockpit, which had tipped over and was still attached to the cabin at the floor, seemed to be going straight towards the sea. That also meant that there was a huge hole at the top of the cabin, where the cockpit had been. This hole is the one through which Eric Morrans, the other survivor, was thrown when he was unconscious under water.

While we were falling, I was aware that everything around me was breaking up. I was thinking double time to see if there was anything I could do to save the helicopter and all of us in it. To me it felt as if I was on a roller coaster ride and I was wishfully thinking/ hoping that at the bottom, the helicopter would roll out, we would land on the water, and everybody would come out. Strange—not for a moment did I think that anybody was going to die!

Later I discovered that the front rotor blade had chopped off the part of windscreen in front of the co-pilot. Broken bits from the windscreen were flying in and some were hitting me on the face all the way down to the sea. The left side of my face was all cut up and my nose was broken. I discovered this when I was in the hospital. Amazingly, nothing hit my eyes.

When we hit the water, the rear end of the helicopter took all the impact. Nearly 20 feet of the rear end of the helicopter was completely smashed. All the seats came off their moorings. Only my seat looked like a seat after the accident; I discovered this when the cockpit had been salvaged.

Later I also discovered that the cockpit broke off from the main cabin on impact, and seemed to splash in the water from a height of about 30-40 feet. The rest of the passengers and our cabin attendant died on impact. No one drowned. Only one passenger survived.

The North Sea is pretty cold. The water temperature that day must have been around seven or eight degrees Celsius.

The helicopter was within sight of Sumburgh Airport when it crashed into the North Sea.

The cockpit, with me still in it, seemed to keep going down and down and down in the water. It must have gone down at least 30 feet (10 meters) below the surface, before it stopped moving. I could see the sunlight and I knew which way I had to swim. However, when I left the seat and started to move I discovered that I was going the wrong way. It was getting darker. I turned around and headed towards the sunlight. I passed through the emergency window, which had blown away on impact, I think, and started to swim up towards the surface.

Later I discovered that I had not even unbuckled my belt. When the cockpit was salvaged, we discovered that one strap had broken but the other three were still in the locked position. I have no idea how I came out of those straps.

It was a beautiful sunshine which met me when I reached the surface. I was feeling very cold and was breathing very fast and hard. I saw what looked like a big bowl. I think it was part of the fuel tank cover. I managed to climb into it. But two seconds later a small wave tipped me over and I was back in the water. I wasn’t worried; in the back of my mind I knew the rescue helicopter would be overhead in a few minutes. I was just waiting for them to come and pick me up.

Then a body popped up next to me and then another and another. There must have been at least seven bodies floating close to me. They were not moving or doing anything. That was the first time it occurred to me that perhaps some people were dead. Then there was a lot of hydraulic fluid and broken pieces of the helicopter that were floating around in the sea near me. I could see broken pieces everywhere.

When the Coast Guard helicopter turned to go to his training area, he asked the control tower where the Chinook was. The controller looked up and couldn’t see the Chinook on finals and was amazed because he had seen us just 30 seconds earlier and had given us clearance to land.

The Coast Guard crew saw some things floating in the sea and headed towards that area. As soon as I saw the coast guard helicopter, I waved. The helicopter came overhead me, the winch man came down, put a strap around me, and winched me up. My shoes were coming off but for some reason I kept hanging on to them. However, I never saw my shoes again.

Only one 20-year-old passenger, Eric Morrans, survived the crash. He was sitting in the front row of seats, which faces backwards. He was facing the 42 passengers and he saw the fear of death in the faces of them, when the helicopter was plunging vertically backwards into the sea. He could make out that all of them knew that they were going to die. In fact, some of the passengers had already died because of whiplash, when the rear set of blades parted company from the helicopter.

Eric was just plain lucky—like me. Instinctively he had zipped up his survival suit when he heard the big bang. There were a lot of broken pieces flying around in the cabin and he was injured and became unconscious. When the helicopter plunged into the water he went with it. However, when he was about thirty feet under water, his survival suit, which was full of air, acted like a football under water, and threw him out through the hole behind him and towards the surface of the water.

When he reached the surface, one wave came over his face and woke him up. Luckily for him, just as his eyes opened a dinghy inflated just next to him. He quickly got hold of it and tied his hand with the rope from the dinghy and passed out again. Then he heard the helicopter overhead and saw me being winched up. He got worried that he might be left behind, so he started waving frantically.

He was winched up after me. We were now both in the coast guard helicopter. My suit was full of cold water, so even though I was out of the sea, I was still in cold water. Every time the crew came to see him I made a hand signal, requesting him to cut the survival suit so the water could go out. With all the helicopter noise he couldn’t understand me, however ten minutes later he realised what I was telling him and he cut my survival suit and the water came out. My eyes were closing by now. When the crew realised that both of us were closing our eyes, he went and told the captain to take us to the hospital. By this time other helicopters were on the scene and a rescue ship was on the way.

When we arrived at the hospital, my body temperature was around 33 degree Celsius. They cut open all my clothes and wrapped me up in a space blanket. It is like a tin foil; the idea was that I would warm my own self up. My eyes were still closed, but suddenly I heard the doctor talking to me in Hindi, my native language. Then I knew I was still alive. They don’t speak Hindi in heaven, do they? Or maybe they do!

The mechanical failure that caused the gearbox break was a one in a million chance. That it resulted in so many fatalities was a terrible orchestration of events. The Chinook was withdrawn from civil operation, though it is still popularly used by the military. Friends advised me not to go back to flying. After all, the company would pension me off comfortably. But I knew “money wouldn’t fill the hours.” Flying was all I had ever wanted to do. By February, I was ready to fly again. The company insisted on psychiatric checks, however, so I resumed flying in April.

I was 45 when the accident happened and flew for another 20 years before retiring.

The post I survived the deadliest helicopter crash in European history appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/04/i-survived-the-deadliest-helicopter-crash-in-european-history/

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courtneytincher · 5 years ago

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Pompeo says willing to go to Iran as Tehran test fires medium-range missile

The US secretary of state said on Friday he was willing to travel to Iran for talks, as reports emerged that the regime had test-fired a medium-range missile. Mike Pompeo, who has taken a hard line against Tehran as part of a US maximum-pressure policy, said he would be open to meeting its leaders. "Sure. If that's the call, I'd happily go there,” he told Bloomberg. “I would welcome the chance to speak directly to the people." Tensions between Iran and the US have ratcheted up since last year, when President Donald Trump withdrew America from the nuclear deal, saying it was not strong enough. Mr Trump and Iranian leaders have both publicly said talks were possible, but the prospect for dialogue appeared to recede on Wednesday when the top military adviser to Iran's Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei said Tehran would not negotiate with Washington under any circumstances. British Royal Navy's HMS Montrose, a Type 23 Frigate, performing turns during exercise "Marstrike 05", off the coast of Oman Credit: AFP As Mr Pompeo made his offer, it emerged that the regime had Wednesday night tested what appeared to be a medium-range ballistic missile, according to a US defence official quoted in US media. The Shahab-3 missile was launched from the southern coast of Iran and landed east of Tehran. It flew about 680 miles and stayed inside Iran for the entire flight. Missile launches are not a violation of the nuclear deal that Iran signed in 2015 with the US and other world powers, including the UK. President Trump, however, wants to see Tehran's missile programme curbed as part of a new deal he wants to hammer out with the Iranian regime. Mr Pompeo also called on Britain and other nations to join a maritime force to guard oil tankers sailing through the Strait of Hormuz in the Gulf. The UK Government earlier this week announced plans for a European-led task force, seemingly snubbing the US. "Every country that has an interest in ensuring that those waterways are open and crude oil and other products can flow through the Strait of Hormuz needs to participate," Mr Pompeo said, adding that Washington had already asked Japan, France, Germany, South Korea, Australia and other nations. A senior diplomat in Japan, Washington's key Asian ally, said that Tokyo was not in a position to decide if or how it could join any maritime force until the US provided a blueprint of how such an operation would work. Meanwhile, Iran and the UK are still locked in a stand-off over the fate of two impounded ships. However, Tehran on Friday released nine Indian crew members from a Panama-flagged tanker they seized on July 14 for allegedly smuggling Iranian fuel.

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

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getseriouser · 5 years ago

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20 THOUGHTS: Bald-headed flog

CARLTON are on the winners list.

A rare victory last week and all of a sudden the aroma of optimism reeks again down at Princes Park.

But to those who could see, despite the roof being open, it appeared they were playing Fitzroy. The Roys haven’t won a game in 20 years so I don’t want to read too much into it for the Blues.

Although, on a serious note, how good was that jumper – and we’ll touch on that shortly.

Let’s go.

1. Let’s not get bogged down in the umpire abuse-fan eviction on Saturday. If we had endless instances of similar incidents, sure, but it’ll be a one-off stuff up with an overly power-tripped security guard, and for anyone whose been out after dark the last 100 years we know that situation all too well. Nothing to see here. It’s just fodder for talkback radio.

2. Speaking of crowds though, lets address booing. Firstly, Cricket World Cup, Steve Smith and David Warner will cop it, especially in 12 days time when the Aussies have England, let alone the Ashes in two months, I wouldn’t have thought it was an issue, but how good was Virat Kohli? Walks over, mid-innings, to the Indian fans giving Smith shit on the boundary, and requests they 180 their behaviour to clap the former-Aussie captian instead. That’s massive class. Virat Kohli – a Buy.

3. And given it will not go away up until and then after Channel Ten airs it probably around August – the Adam Goodes doco. Apparently its very confronting and its nothing but evoking total remorse and guilt from those who watch and feel somewhat responsible. And no question, its horrible someone felt that way about the end of a stellar career.

However, the Sunday Footy Show, a reasonably conservative, knockabout program who are happy to have strong onfield opinion but very rarely venture outside of that, were unanimous in their view on the infamous booing. Billy Brownless suggested some of the booing might have been racist, but the majority wasn’t. The rest of the panel agreed. So either that’s properly racist television or there’s massive divide this doco will create and not unity.

Disappointing.

4. We mentioned Fitzroy, bloody hell that’s a sharp jumper. We like that Brisbane decided to wear Fitzroy colours for Melbourne games, and that on the day of the Hall of Fame dinner they donned a one-off Roys replica. But why can’t there be an annual ‘Fitzroy’ game at worst, that if you’re going to call all old-school Fitzroy folk to a game once a year, that’s the game, and really Fitzroy it up, make sure you acknowledge what until 1996 was a properly historical, important and beloved inner-Melbourne club…. Up the Roys!

5. And same for Sydney. For example, they play Essendon Saturday the 6th of July at the MCG. Wear an old South jumper that day and engage the huge Melbourne-based Bloods supporter base and get some good back in the footy. Crowds and booing will be less an issue if there’s good stuff like that going on. Bloody hell.

6. As for other stuff we don’t like – the score review. Now, the NRL has its bunker, the NHL has its centralised room in Toronto, a lot of leagues have these sorts of systems. But the technology and process is only as good as the organic organisms watching the vision. There was nothing wrong with the technology at the Collingwood-Freo game, nor on the weekend gone with Richmond-Geelong. It was the moron entrusted with and then pressing the buttons. If the bunker prevents the morons, I’m in, otherwise solve that issue first Gillon.

7. Luke Shuey, Elliott Yeo and Shannon Hurn. Unless all three blokes are playing, and are unencumbered, the Eagles can win flags. But if they miss any or if someone’s got the hard tag on one of them – they’re trash. Look at their losses this year, utter dogs breakfasts. In hindsight Sydney were morals on the weekend given Hurn and Yeo missed, and whilst Shuey looked brilliant he was a lone hand with about 21 passenger mates. Kennedy is no good if Yeo doesn’t play. Gaff looks like a waste of time if Hurn isn’t playing. And so on. The underbelly is ripe for the taking with the reigning premier, don’t get sucked in.

8. Called Patrick Naish last week and in a crap game for the Tigers he looked pretty good. He is an absolute keeper for that footy club, the father-son once again a brilliant innovation this league can be proud of.

9. Gotta mention Ash Barty in the first half of this column, surely. I know, I went with Chris Naish’s boy first but don’t get bogged down in the detail. Yes, a softish draw, only copped one seed the whole way or something, but other than Serena or maybe world no.1 Naomi Osaka there’s probably no-one better than her at the moment, which is fantastic. And her best surface is grass – if only there’s a Grand Slam upcoming that would suit…. Well done Ash, bloody good on you!

10. Whilst we’re hijacking the middle of this with tennis – Roger Federer. Now he is seen as the GOAT. However, there’s a bloke whose won 24 of 39 head to head contests with Fed, won 10 of 13 times they’ve met in a Grand Slam and six of nine times in Grand Slam finals, is four years younger and only two Grand Slam titles behind. So if Federer is the greatest of all time, and Rafa Nadal is better than him, then……?

11. Back to footy – Patrick Cripps. I’ve said Nat Fyfe is the best player in the comp, but gee, I can barely get the burnt matchstick between those two, both big-bodied country boys from regional WA. Cripps won that game for Carlton on the weekend basically on his own, credit to Sam Walsh for his impact too. But it was essentially Cripps v Brisbane and the former got up, an absolute gem.

12. Chuck in Charlie Curnow who’s as good a centre-half-forward under 23 we’ve seen for a while, this footy club will win plenty more in good time. So any heat on SOS’s position, that he should feel the squeeze, no thanks, he has done as good a job as most in his role.

13. How are the Dees fans with 6-6-6 right now? How’s the irony in that, the devil’s number itself is pretty much the main reason for the Demons shit season after a Prelim last year. Melbourne was strong in starting extra men in defence and running through, and now with teams holding their structure longer they’re re-working from scratch what made them good last year.

14. Jake Lever and Steven May make the footy side look so much better though, but their impact is far too late for it to bear fruit in 2019. So that’s a bit of bad luck and it needs to soften the fallout for Melbourne come the end of the season. This is all not doom and gloom, the team that won two finals last year hasn’t fallen in a complete heap – you don’t call this year a write off, sure, but it’s not a totally accurate reflection of where they’re at.

15. Geelong, wow, could not be going any better. One loss to the third best team in the comp aside it’s a blemish-free first half of the season. But the 2007 Cats, who reigned supreme like few other sides, even they had some stumbles that year so for the 2019 edition this team will have some hiccups along the way no question. The query is will it be soon enough or have they gone too hot too early, clubs can work them out and by the Spring they haven’t the time or personnel to adjust?

16. Good news at St Kilda. Jack Steven is back and is training. Jake Carlisle, yes, remember him, he trained too and he will play VFL this weekend for Sandy. He will join Dan Hannebery and Max King who both are finding touch and both are likely to debut for the Saints after the bye. It’s all looking much better all of a sudden down at Moorabbin.

17. Good news too at West Coast – Nic Naitanui looks like playing WAFL next weekend, so his return isn’t far away and his impact upon doing so is the catalyst for the Eagles back-to-back prospects.

18. Brayden Sier is one of the most important mids down at Collingwood and his return was timely. This was becoming a team that wasn’t winning enough of the tough ball and starting to suffer at clearances, despite having the game’s number one ruckman. The kid had four clearances but critically laid a game-high nine tackles and had too a game-high seven inside 50s from his 23 touches. Adam Treloar was best on ground, but Brayden Sier was more important.

19. State of Origin, the best prime time TV all year Wednesday last week. Shame the next one is in Perth, and it’ll be rugby league players on show and not Fyfe and Cripps and Franklin and Naitunui and Tom Mitchell and….. you get the picture.

20. And lets finish with ice hockey – today the St Louis Blues won the city’s first Stanley Cup defeating the Boston Bruins in the winner-takes-all Game 7. And the message here for Carlton fans is clear, not only do they share a moniker with the new NHL champions, but the optimism for resurgence is there for all to see. The Blues, of the hockey variety, were dead last in the competition on January 3, roughly halfway through the season. 31st of 31. But got going late January, made inroads, shot up the standings and created an irresistible momentum into the playoffs. From there, as the form team, they were hard to beat. Great comeback story.

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