#jon likes the songs better — he can still remember his grandmother playing those old songs

[totheidiot]

bengali!jon introducing martin to the poetry of rabindranath and kazi nazrul islam. he himself isn't really interested in poetry of course, and Jon finds them quite frankly, a bit boring (me. but I have matured and understood that they are actually genuinely very good and the only reason i couldn't appreciate it was because i had to write Essays about them in 1st grade) but he figures martin might like them because he's a poet and all. now, martin can understand a bit of bengali and jon's there to help and there's the translated versions, so he gives it a shot and reads them all. he loves them all, you can see him carry around the gitanjali book and he quotes all the more romantic lines to jon. i just know martin would love ami chini go chini tomare (i know, I know you — basically a song about knowing your lover well and lamenting about their presence in every part of their life) by rabindranath tagore and tomar holo shuru amar holo sara (i start, you end — pretty obvious, a song about eternal love.)

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

[selfcallednowhere]

March 3, 2018 San Francisco, CA

This was my second time being at the Fillmore, after an Apollo 18 show a couple of years ago. It's a really awesome venue! I just love all things historic, and it really is just a cool venue even aside from that--I especially love the beautiful chandeliers (so does Flans, but I'll get to that).

So I was hoping they were actually gonna change the setlist this time after having the exact same one the previous two nights, and there are few songs that could've made me more excited than what they opened with: "Everything Right is Wrong Again"!!! Seeing the songs I have lyric tattoos from is always so intense for me. I've seen the other one, "Ana Ng," quite a few times, but this was only the third time I'd seen this one, and it was a majorly big deal. So that was the show highlight right off the bat!

After the song was over Flans said it was a sold out show, and that selling it out had "changed our whole self-image" and now they were "strutting around all arrogant and sticking our fingers into other people's chests." Then he said they were playing two sets and he wanted us to hold our applause for the second set (he actually said "second show," but he clearly meant to say "second set") and "treat us like any other opener" and feel free to do things like catch up on our emails.

Then he asked John how his day was (I love that he usually asks him this, because I'm always curious). John said that he'd slept for most of it, and Flans said he had too but he'd been trying to keep it a secret. Then he said it was part of his "two-part program: sleep all day, then drink an insane amount of coffee."

Then they had some whole long conversation about this self-help guru I don't really know named Tony Robbins. Flans said he'd just watched some Netflix documentary about him, which he expected to be some sort of exposé but was actually "a Trojan horse for him." John said he makes you not believe in self-help and think "I'll help myself, thank you very much." Then he said that his act has gotten a lot more obscene and he's now saying things like "How do you fucking feel?" whereas before he was more "G-rated." Then Flans said he'll yell at someone who "looks like someone's grandmother 'What the fuck is wrong with you?'" John said we should watch this documentary, and Flans said we should set a timer and just watch it for ten minutes.

Then Flans said they were going to be playing "new songs, old songs, and songs we barely know how to play." People cheered, and he said, "Those are our favorites too." Then he said they have a new album and it's really good. John: "We were holding the vial of good and someone jostled our elbow." Then Flans said they're "chuffed" about how good it is.

After "I Left My Body" and "Damn Good Times" (both great as per usual), Flans said the previous song had featured "the psychedelic experience of Dan Miller," and that the Fillmore is "no stranger to endless guitar sounds." Then he said that he didn't have "enough weird guitar sounds" on the next song, and John said that "the stakes are higher" cos it's the Fillmore.

Next they played "Mrs. Bluebeard"--John did not break his sad little streak of screwing up the lyrics every single time I've seen it, siiiiiiiiigh.

After "Your Racist Friend," they played "I Palindrome I," which was another delightful surprise and show highlight for sure--I've only seen it a handful of times, and it's such a good song.

Then, John picked up the contra-alto clarinet.

JF: This is the contra-alto clarinet. The signal for political revolution! JL: Cells, awaken! JF: If not here, when? If not now, where? Maybe I'm harping on this too much. *long pause*

Then they played "All Time What." Afterwards, Flans said that Dan had provided "an adult portion of high notes" on that song.

At the Fillmore they have a person walking around carrying a tray over their head bringing people drinks so they don't have to leave their spot to go to the bar. So the girl who was doing it this time was walking up near the stage (she was nice, I chatted with her a bit at the second show) and Flans said, "It would be interesting if that person didn't work here. There's not enough mustache wax in the world to top that. Not enough top hats in the world to mustache wax that."

Then they played "Bangs" and "Hearing Aid." They're doing an interesting cacophony of sound at the end of the latter, and it's good with Curt's trumpet too. That song is one of the ones I rank lowest on Flood (I don't hate it or anything, just not particularly into it), but it's still been rather enjoyable live somehow (I've been having that experience with quite a few songs that are currently in the set, actually).

Then Flans said that he's seen some movie called Last Waltz (another pop culture reference that was entirely lost on me) like 14 times, so when they play here he imagines an announcer announcing Neil Diamond. Then he asked if they could turn the chandeliers on "at a low volume." Then he said that there was going to be a "Neil Diamond/Van Morrison cage match--only one pantsuit will survive." Then John said that they've played a bunch of shows here before but he can't remember the chandeliers ever being turned on before, and Flans said you have to play a sold-out show to make it happen. They were very pretty, once they were on!

Then they played "The Mesopotamians." I've been burned out on this song live for quite some time, just cos I've seen it a million times, so I was pleasantly surprised when I actually enjoyed it this time.

Next they did the back-to-back thing that I was loving so much at the other shows of "When the Lights Come On" followed by "Nothing's Gonna Change My Clothes." GOD, I cannot even handle how good it is seeing two songs as amazing as those two back-to-back like that.

After that, Flans was describing the chandeliers as jellyfish, which was really silly. He said he wished he'd taken some psychedelic drugs to appreciate them more.

JF: There's some commercial on cable TV for some memory tablet that says "Includes an active ingredient found in jellyfish." Because jellyfish remember everything. GUY IN AUDIENCE: IT'S THE STINGER! JF: Yeh, I guess if you're stung by a jellyfish you won't forget it. JL: And neither will the jellyfish. JF: There has to be a German word for that sort of dream logic...This next song features the whole band. JL: The word "features" is being taffy-pulled to mean "includes." JF: It includes an ingredient found in jellyfish.

The song was "This Microphone," which I have been enjoying live (though I think there are several other songs from the album that would be even more suited to a live setting which they haven't yet played for some reason). Afterwards, Flans said they should play it again because there had been some sort of sound coming off the amp during it (I didn't hear anything). He said it reminded him of playing at the 9:30 Club, "where the PA liked to jam with us." Then a couple of crew guys came out to set up new amps, and Flans seemed pretty upset by them having to do this in the middle of the show. He said that one of them was "on the lam from the FBI" and that the other (Jon Carter, one of the very few crew members I can recognize just because he's been working with them forever) is from Vermont and is "made of pure maple syrup."

Flans said they only had a couple more songs to get through before the break between sets. John suggested they take the break now cos of the technical difficulties, but Flans didn't want to for some reason.

To kill time they started talking about Tony Robbins again. Flans said, "He doesn't have an asterisk, but I think he's icing," and that "his head and body are huge. He's going to join the Marvel team." John said he would be saying "How do you fucking feel now?," and Flans said he would be saying "Admit it, Hulk, your mom never loved you!" Then they were asking if the amp was working now and were apparently told that it had been working for several minutes. John: "They're waiting for us!"

So then they played "Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal," and as usual I was completely rocking out. And then they played "Birdhouse in Your Soul," and I was thinking that I didn't know if I could handle rocking out to that one when I'd already rocked out so hard to the previous one. But rock out I did!

The second set started the usual way: the "Last Wave" video, then the Quiet Storm section beginning with "Older." John was doing the amusing/creepy pointing as he sang it thing again.

Afterwards, Flans said this section of the show features electronic drums, trumpet, and his "haunted mic chip," followed by some silly sounds.

They played "I Like Fun," then Flans introduced "Tippecanoe and Tyler Too" in a way I haven't heard him do it before. He said that these are "contentious times, troubling times" and this next song is an election song from 1840 and is  "mean-spirited and super-hostile," so we should take this as evidence that things being that way now isn't new and "things get better, then they get shittier again, but that doesn't mean it's over." I thought this was an interesting way of thinking of it, and I wonder if it was part of the motivation for them bringing the song into the set.

So they played the song, and then John introduced "James K. Polk" in the same way he has been (with some variation)--by saying that this song is from WAY IN THE FUTURE of 1844, where there are "flying driverless beards" and "electric buggy whips."

After they finished, they bowed, and when they stood all the way up again John said he should finish the bow by playing a flourish on his accordion. I know he was just being silly, but I actually thought that would be cool.

Then they were joking again about the "haunted mic stand." John: "When they got home they found that the mic stand was attached to the car handle somehow!"

Then Flans said their next song was going to be from 1848, and sang the silly "Zachary Taylor has a tail" song he made up the night before. Then he said their next song was from 1852, but neither of them could remember who was president then. Someone yelled that it was Pierce. Flans said he couldn't think of anything to make up about him, and John said he was one in a string of crappy presidents. Flans asked him how, and he said he did things that were contributing factors to the start of the Civil War (I was as always quite excited to hear him showing off his intellect). Then he said his son died in a train wreck so they weren't really allowed to make fun of him, which led to some silence and nervous laughter. Flans: "I think we should take a moment of silence for how badly we're managing this part of the show. It's gone completely off the rails." (Perhaps not the best choice of words in light of what was just said...)

Then they played MY THEME SONG, and it was incredibly special and moving and emotional for me just like every other time I've seen it.

After "Istanbul," Flans started introducing "Bills, Bills, Bills." Once again he was talking about "Tubthumping" first, and some people were cheering, presumably thinking they were going to play that one instead. "For those of you not applauding, don't worry, we're not going to play that song. Because it is a song that, once heard, cannot be unheard."

After "Particle Man" and "The Famous Polka," Flans introduced "Wicked Little Critta" by saying, "Though we're from New York City, we have deep origins in New England. Haunted, cranky, emotionally unavailable New England."

Afterwards, Flans said the next song features Dan on acoustic guitar. John: "It features the word 'feature' as well." Then Flans said Marty only plays kick drum for the whole song, and they tried to talk him into playing other things but he refused.

At some point the chandeliers had turned off, and Flans was saying he wanted them to come on again. People started chanting "Jellyfish! Jellyfish!" I saw Flans saying it too, but I didn't hear him say it at the beginning and I wasn't looking at him right then, so I'm not sure if he was actually the one who started it or if it just started spontaneously in the crowd and then he picked up on it. Then he said that whoever was in charge probably wasn't going to listen because "they might think the band Jellyfish is reuniting." Then: "It's clear someone is on their break." But then they did come on and everyone cheered.

After "Number Three" and "Answer," Flans introduced "Man, It's So Loud in Here" by saying that a few months ago they'd done a Mink Car show. "We played all the songs we know how to play. We left out the ones we don't know how to play, cos we thought that might be socially awkward."

Next was "Twisting" (rocked my face off, as always), and then it was time for band intros. Flans introduced Curt, Dan, and Danny, then he said, "Well, that just about does it!" John was really amused. But then of course he did actually introduce Marty after that, he was just pretending to have forgotten him to be funny.

They closed out the main set with "Doctor Worm," which was superfun as usual.

When they came back for the first encore, they had the house lights on.

JL: Now you know how it feels for us. JF: Confess! I want to do a special long-distance dedication to the guy flipping double birds. I know where you're coming from. I just keep it inside.

Then Flans was saying that in the dressing room they have a poster from some time the Black Crowes (man, this show was just full of pop culture references that went entirely over my head) played five nights in a row, which makes it seem like not such a big deal for them to do two.

The first encore was the same as the previous two nights: "Dead" followed by "Don't Let's Start." Even though it was no longer a surprise at this point, I was still ecstatic to see them playing two of my all-time favorite songs back-to-back.

When they were backstage again between the first encore and the second, I was trying to figure out what the second encore might be. At the previous two shows it was "Doctor Worm," but they'd already played that one so that couldn't be it this time. I decided that I'd love it if it was "No One Knows My Plan," cos I really wanted to conga again.

So they came back and Flans said, "We just have one more song. It's a dance party. We're done thinking, it's time to start dancing." And then they played "The Guitar," which yeh makes a great closer and normally I would've been perfectly contented with it, but since the idea had come into my head minutes before I'd just really had my heart set on "No One Knows My Plan," and Flans's "just one more song" absolutely ruled the possibility out.

But then! But then!! They surprised me by ACTUALLY PLAYING IT!!! I was SO EXCITED. Congaing during that song is seriously THE MOST FUN FUCKING THING EVER. The first two times I got to do it the people in front of me jumped out halfway through the song and I couldn't see where I could get in again, but this time I got to do it for the whole song, and it was so fun. Towards the end two parts of the line were passing by each other and we just all started high-fiving as we went by each other, and I was thinking that we knew how to have a real good time as opposed to all the people who were just standing around watching and MISSIN' OUT. A truly fantastic ending to a fantastic show!

The all-important JL wardrobe report: the same long-sleeved black shirt as the night before for the main set, but a black-and-white stripey t-shirt for the encores.

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Starks at War, ch3

Ao3 Link

1940 begins. At the end of January, Arya turns fifteen, and along with her birthday comes the start of food rationing.

Hot Pie is outraged. He says nothing of quality can be baked with the butter and sugar they are allotted. Bran misses bacon terribly. But the day before her birthday, the greengrocer in the village has apples in stock, and Hot Pie whips up a fairly decent apple pudding.

Even the things that aren’t on ration seem to be getting harder to get. Shopping involves waiting endlessly in long lines.

And with the end of winter, comes the first casualty of the war.

It doesn’t really seem right to call it a casualty, but that’s how it feels. After Old Nan doesn’t show up for a few days, Arya rides down to the church to check on her.

Her sister says it looked like an apoplexy, in the night.

It’s a blow to the whole family.

“Nan was our nurse when I was a child too,” Ned says when they leave the church after her memorial. “I knew she was old, but I didn’t ever really think this would happen.”

“What are we going to do about Rickon?” Cat wants to know.

Rickon, the youngest, who less than ten minutes after the memorial has already taken off to play football with the evacuee boys.

Cat gazes after him.

“Gilly seems to be good enough with him, but I don’t know if there’s really anything we could do about Rickon that would change him,” is Ned’s take on it.

“I know I used to worry about Arya,” Cat muses, “too much probably. But I never worried she might slip away, just one day sneak away through a spot in this world and slip free.”

Slip free, Ned thinks, does sound like something that might explain Rickon.

As soon as the ground starts to thaw in early spring, Catelyn throws shovels at all of them with packets of seed and pamphlets on digging for Victory.

Arya groans. Some of the Guides in her patrol had helped type and print those.

Bran rolls himself outside to watch them dig up the roses and rhododendrons to replace them with potatoes, and carrots and turnips.

He reads the back of the packet of carrot seeds and tosses it to Gilly to take a look.

“It doesn’t say that there are other colored carrots too. We mostly eat the orange kind in tribute to William of Orange.” he comments.

Gilly laughs at him,

“I don’t know how you remember all of this.”

“Well it’s more interesting than remembering who William of Orange was,” Bran insists. Bran has been spending more time with Gilly in the new year. The realization that the girl was borderline illiterate had been a shock to him he had desperately wanted to correct.

“I don’t understand, don’t they make you go to school in London?” he asks her.

“No one really pays attention,” Gilly says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, “And it’s not like I can’t read anything, I can write my name and do all my letters. But I don’t understand how you can look at all those words on that pamphlet and make sense of it.”

And so Bran embarks on a quest.

Ned asks Arya every week what her and the guides are doing. She’s already finished her first aid badge, and her electrician badge, and next week their starting on the signalling badge. She’s been looking forward to that one, she’s still terribly jealous of Meera’s proximity to boats. She doesn’t tell her father that their even talking about doing riflery badges too.

In the springtime, Bran helps her get her telegraphist badge. The requirements are that she build her own receiver and be able to transmit in Morse code at at least 30 letters per minute. Jojen and Bran both manage it easily, and eventually, she can too.

They all listen to the wireless more.

The news of the invasion of Norway is hard to listen to, it’s far too close to Scotland.

“You don’t think Robb and Jon…” Cat starts off.

“I don’t think so, “ Bran comments, “Their more recent letters say their squadrons have only been over France.

Jon in particular, has waxed poetic about how France looks from above. His letters he’s sent to Sansa in Kent are mostly recounts of what he has seen of the country.

Sansa tries not to be jealous when she reads them at school.

“You’ve never been to France?” Margaery asks her one day when she’s recounting what he’s written. They’re stretched out side by side on her bedspread in the dormitory, most of the other girls outside in the warm spring day.

Sansa shakes her head.

“I’ve been to Scotland a few times, but never overseas. Have you?”

Margaery nods.

“My grandmother is French, she lived in Paris as a girl, she spoke French to all of us as children. We’ve gone back multiple times. We can’t anymore, obviously, especially with the way things are going, but..”

Sansa doesn’t really notice her pause. She’s done all the things they say she should to support the war effort, but sometimes it feels like she doesn’t grasp it.

“I’ve been to where my mother’s from, but Suffolk isn’t really anything like a different country.” And no one in the family was terribly close to Uncle Brynden, who was a career soldier, or Uncle Edmure, who didn’t really seem to know what he was.

“Maybe I’ll take you someday,” Margaery tells her quietly. When Sansa turns seventeen in early May, she gives her a pair of gramophone records of a singer her grandmother had spoken to her about being one of France’s greatest.

When France falls, school has already let out for summer, so Sansa doesn’t have to see her cry.

Olenna scolds her for it.

“Don’t get upset, get angry. You should be angry that your homeland has been taken over by those lousy krauts.”

She doesn’t correct her that she was born in Britain and that it is actually what she would call her homeland, but correcting her grandmother has never gotten Margaery anywhere in life so she just wipes her cheeks clean and goes on.

After France falls, Gendry’s letters to Arya transform from belligerent to sorrowful.

 There were so many fleeing, the Navy didn’t have enough ships to take them all. We had people piled up on top of each other across the channel. There were fishing boats and cruise ships trying to rescue people who were fleeing, and there still weren’t enough. I saw people trying to swim...I don’t even want to try and imagine if any of them made it. And then we had to go back, again, for eight days straight.

 I haven’t felt like this since hearing about Norway. Stories of pilots whose planes couldn’t even take off because everything was frozen. It was only weeks ago,

 Our ship was moored early because of a special assignment. We were escorting a small group of civilians, patients from Institut Pasteur. One of them was the ten year old daughter of some high up politician. The girl was there for experimental treatment of leprosy. Leprosy! As if her life wasn’t going poorly enough, there has to be a war on.

 Even though we brought the patients on board first, we packed the ship to the gills before leaving. Soldiers packed in like sardines, sweaty, bloodied, scared out of their minds. Don’t tell Robb and Jon, but I heard a lot of men cursing the RAF because the sky was too thick with gunfire to see if the planes were doing anything to help.

 The leper girl- her name’s Shireen something- somehow seemed perfectly happy through it all. She has big patches all over the side of her face, and some of the others onboard seem wary of being near her, but she didn’t pay them any mind. She was singing songs and reading from a book she had carried with her the whole trip. Oh to have her heart in the face of horror.

France falls and summer comes, and thank God Sansa’s returned home. Because over the summer comes the bombardment.

Robb not only doesn’t get leave for his birthday, he doesn’t even get to write letters home during it. The RAF is trying to fight off the attacks on the Channel Islands shipping lanes. They aren’t succeeding.

Meera had been stationed in Devonport, near Plymouth, which starting in July, begins to take a beating. She writes as frequently as she can. Her letters from earlier in the year had been mild by comparison. She had spoken of her training, and the other women on her ship. She’s always had a mild temperament, and took orders easily enough. The other women it seems, mostly think of her as distant and aloof, or the more charitable ones, like she has her head in the clouds. The ones who are intrigued by her title are put off when they realize she really isn’t that grand.

 I guess I should accept that I never have really felt like I fit in. I don’t pick fights though, so most of others just ignore me. I’ve never thought myself unfriendly, but apparently I keep to myself more than most. It was strange, before the war I didn’t really know who I was. I’m hardly some fine lady, born for a life of theater and socials, and many of the upper class would think me no better than a street urchin. But the working class girls spot my accent immediately, and I have far more schooling than them. Even here. But at least here we’re all Wrens, we know who we are here. My bunk mate, Dacey is nice though. She’s from up north, her father owns a mine. Sometimes when we have time off we ride bikes around the town. I miss swimming, I miss fishing too. It’s hard to remember families use to holiday in Devon. The beaches are blocked off now, with thick rings of barbed wire. We helped place mines there too. I hope we can clear them easily enough when their not needed.

Plymouth begins being struck from the air first. She can’t write as often then. When she does, Jojen begins bringing by pieces of paper marked with just Bran’s name. He doesn’t understand why, and Jojen doesn’t seem to either, fixing Bran with looks that are somehow both curious and suspicious.

Reading them it’s understandable.

 I marked these for you Bran because I didn’t really think I should tell some of this to Arya. The letters she writes me are hot blooded as it is. You can share with her if you want.

 Seeing the after effects of the bombs is harrowing, both the buildings and the people. I was upset that I didn’t get stationed in Portsmouth at first, but I don’t think I could watch this happen to something so close to home.

 I was partially right. We may not be at sea, but as soon as the bombs started to fall, those first ones in Cardiff, they asked for volunteers to learn to crew the anti-aircraft guns.

 The guns we have fire so fast you can barely keep track. It takes four of us to fire the damn thing, and if you’re not careful it can knock you on your arse. If we bring any of the Luftwaffe down, I like to imagine it was me.

After Plymouth, Portsmouth is next.

Winterfell’s not that close to Portsmouth, the Stark children had always though, not really anyway. Arya could have made the journey by bike, but her legs would ache and her chest burn with exertion by the time she reached the outskirts.

But now it is somehow both far away and right outside the window.

Every day it seems, the roads are packed with the injured, clutching bundles of possessions, fleeing their destroyed homes. If anyone’s outside when the sirens blare, they can see the sky filling with smoke and fire. Any time of day RAF pilots might pass over head. One morning, when the all-clear blows, Arya sees the red-orange glow of the city on fire over the far horizon, and thinks that it looks frighteningly beautiful.

It’s too far away for most of the volunteers from the village, yet Arya’s guide patrol still makes the journey by bus a few times. They try to clear some of the injured from the first aid stations. She’s growing surprisingly numb to the sight of blood and burns, the sounds of children and grown men screaming. The smell is another story.

Twice, the guides have to take shelter themselves in town, when the sirens announce daytime strikes.

Bran spends his own birthday in the cellar. It’s not like they’re going to be able to have a cake anyway.

They’ve dragged bedding and pillows down, they’re all in the cellar so much. Having been dragged down the steps by both of his parents, and one memorable occasion by Arya and Gilly, Bran’s beginning to think he ought to just find a way to set up a cot or something and sleep down here. Maybe do his schoolwork. Never leave the cellar.

That particular day, Ned is in the village, sheltering at the station where he had gone to refill the petrol with their remaining ration. Cat, Sansa and Gilly are knitting socks, and Arya is pacing.

There’s a loud whistle and a crash that feels far too close. There’s no explosion.

“That was an incendiary,” Arya mutters while pacing, “It won’t explode, it will burst into flames and shoot out bits of metal-”

Bran cuts her off. Sansa is crying and their mother’s face is tight.

“How do you tell the difference?”

“It’s the sound.”

Arya stops herself from telling them about the incendiary charges went off the last time her patrol had been in town. It had set the house next to their shelter on fire, and provided light for the next charge to be aimed at. It had flattened the block. Had they been in one of those pop up shelters instead of a proper underground one, they would have all died.

In the middle of August, Arya is shocked to discover Sansa’s planning to return to school the beginning of September.

“How can you leave? Bombs are falling from the sky!”

“Bombs are falling all over the country, Arya,” This isn’t entirely true, but it remains that the entire southern coast is taking a beating and dogfights are happening over Kent every day as well.

“But if you stay, you’ll be able to be with all of us.” Arya’s eyes are welling up. Her and Sansa were never close, but this whole war has made her heart feel tender in ways it never had. After losing Robb and Jon, and Gendry and Meera, Arya had no desire to let anyone else in her family get away from her.

“It’s my last year of school, I have to finish. If I don’t, it’s like we’re letting the Nazis beat us. It’s not like I can just stay home forever.”

Arya clenches her fists. Is that what this is about? Sansa’s always talked about leaving Winterfell, going to London or Paris or New York, and meeting glamorous people and having some grand romance. Did she still want that, even when she might lose everyone?

“You just want to get away from all of us. We’re not good enough for you anymore are we? You just want to fuck off and leave us all behind.”

Her language is harsh, and her sentiment more so. Sansa has tears running down face, and turns to run away.

Her mother scolds her that night, and when everyone has gone to bed (thankfully, free of air raids for the night), Arya sits up in the parlor by herself.

Ned joins her, offering her a cup of newly rationed tea.

“You were cruel to your sister.”

Arya hangs her head.

“You should apologize before she leaves, or you might regret it.”

“She wouldn’t even care.”

Ned sighs, and wraps an arm around his daughter.

“Sansa loves you, she loves all of us. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared what you said to her.”

“Then why does she want to leave again?”

Ned looks at her carefully,

“Arya, what do you want from life?”

Arya tilts her head,

“I don’t really know. I’d like to learn to drive a car. I’d like to swim in the ocean. I’d like to try riding my bike further north, maybe over several days.”

She pauses, for a long time.

“I’d like to get a job, see what it’s like to support myself. I want to go swimming with Meera and Jojen. I want to take rides with Robb, I want Jon to explain everything to me that’s happening in the newspaper. I want to fight with Gendry over Weird Tales, then bring it home and read it with Bran anyway.”

“You want to stay at Winterfell.”

You want things to stay the way they used to be, is what he means, but doesn’t say.

It all sounds strange on Arya’s tongue. She’s always wanted adventure, read stories of jungle expeditions and space flights. Listening to her father’s stories from his days in the Navy as a young child, she’d once asked if she would ever do something so great. Ned had laughed, and the next day brought home a copy of 20,000 League Under the Sea.

The Nazis had stolen that from Arya. Now she longed for the war to end, and for her family to return home. She longed to help bring them home.

Arya nods, eventually. That really is the rub.

“Your mother’s always wanted the same for both you and Sansa what she had. She wants you two to marry well. To marry men of means who love you. For you to be good ladies, who live lives of ease. That would always involve you leaving, and I think that’s one of the reasons you’ve always fought so hard against it.”

Ned suddenly looks very sad.

“I don’t think any of that will happen any time soon. Sansa’s always been more open to the life your mother’s wanted. She’s seen life outside and wants more of it. There’s a lot of wonderful things in the world, outside of Wintefell. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, or her home.”

Ned leans over the squeeze Arya’s shoulders.

“I’m going on the train with Sansa tomorrow, to spend a few days in London.”

“What? Why.”

“Got a call from the foreman. Emergency he needs me to deal with.”

“Why doesn’t he ever call Robert with these?”

Ned laughs. Robert Baratheon, longtime friend, was part owner in the factory. Part owner, but Ned would be pressed to find if Robert gave it any thought whatsoever.

“Because Robert is all the way out in Cheshire, God’s knows how he spends his days.”

Arya still looks terribly downcast.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I understand what you were trying to tell Sansa, but you should still apologize for making her cry. I want to be together with all of you just as much as you do.”

And with that, Ned sends his daughter off to bed.

Sansa and Ned leave the next day on the same train, an hour later disembarking and parting ways.

Arya had watched the two of them leave, and try as she might, couldn’t take her father’s advice. Sansa hadn’t even looked her in the eye over breakfast.

Bombs fall again that night, and in the cellar, Arya feels empty.

The next day, Bran is listening to the wireless and tells her,

“They’re bombing London now.”

Arya feels her insides seize.

A few days he’d said. For once, Catelyn looks as upset as Arya. Ned had telephoned the first day, and the second, but they hadn’t heard from him since.

“They’re aiming for the docks, and the East End,” Bran tells everyone on the third day. “

Gilly chokes a bit, but doesn’t cry.

“My sisters- I hope some of them at least fled.”

“What about your father?” Bran asks.

“He can burn for all I care”.

On the end of the fourth day, Catelyn finally dials the telephone of the factory office.

They haven’t seen Ned since the day before. She tries again the next day. And the next.

Finally, someone gives them the answer.

Arya has never seen her mother collapse before. She’s making noises, like she’s gasping for air. She drops the phone.

Arya picks it up, and demands to know what her mother has just been told.

Parts of her feared, perhaps parts already knew.

Eddark Stark, believed deceased on the 9th of September in structural collapse of the Hotel Guilford….

[chiseler]

Little Devils: 50 Years of Killer Kid Movies

Face it, children are just plain creepy—especially the really cute ones.

Historically—and I’m talking about going back thousands of years—we’ve always been scared to death of the children we’ve spawned. Before they’re born we worry they might be physically deformed or just a little off in the head somehow. And after they’re born and as they start to grow and think and talk, hoo boy, that’s when things really start getting scary, as you start to glean a little something about what’s going on behind those cold, staring eyes. I’m not a parent myself, but having been a kid once I fully understand the panic and fear that can grip parents as they come to better understand their kids. What if they’re no good at sports? What if they start hanging out with a bad crowd and using drugs? What if they get bullied by the other kids and take revenge by shooting up the school? Worse still, what if they decide to bludgeon us to death with a crowbar in our sleep one night? What if they turn out to be the bona fide offspring of Satan himself? What the hell do we do then? Sure, we all pretend to be shocked and dismayed when we hear news stories about some eight-year-old in Kansas or Oregon stabbing the little neighbor girl twenty times for no apparent reason, but let’s be honest—we all know what these pint-sized miscreants are capable of doing, and have simply come to expect it.

As with a few of those other fundamental adult fears, like asteroids, nuclear war, clowns and deadly plagues, over the years our fear of children has led to its own unheralded cinematic subgenre of Killer Kid movies.

While countless slasher films from Halloween onwards feature tykes with butcher knives who grow up to become adults with butcher knives, I’m focusing here on those films in which the snot-nosed killers remain snot-nosed throughout. While I could have included those rambunctious hobo youths from William Wellman’s Wild Boys of the Road (1933), those little back-to-nature wastrels from Lord of the Flies (1963) and the matricidal zombie girl with the trowel from George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), I, um, didn’t. So sue me.

Here’s a quick chronological list of a double handful of notable features about murderous children. It’s interesting to note that as the years pass, the films themselves seem to grow less clever, endearing, original and interesting. Just like kids!

The Bad Seed (1956)

I’ve long been a big fan of that Mervyn LeRoy. As a director, he always understood the darker side of human nature, and had a sly sense of humor about it. In 1931 he directed my two favorite (and two of the bleakest) Edward G. Robinson pictures, Five-Star Final and Two Seconds. Then eight years later he directed The Wizard of Oz. I always like to think (though I’m undoubtedly wrong about this) he intended his 1956 creeper The Bad Seed as a kind of bonk on the head to those audience members who hadn’t recognized the darkness that lay at the heart of The Wizard of Oz.

Okay, Nancy Kelly plays Christine, the nightmare-plagued mother of the world’s most perfect little girl. Not only is blonde, pigtailed and always immaculately dressed Rhoda (Patty McCormack) perfect, the ten-year old knows she’s perfect. As a perfect child, she also knows what she deserves out of life and those around her, and lord help anyone who doesn’t cough it up. As time goes on, Christine  begins to suspect Rhoda may somehow be responsible for the tragic drowning of a classmate who’d recently won an award Rhoda felt she rightly deserved. And if she was responsible for that, maybe she was responsible for all those other weird deaths that have been happening all over town, too. And what the hell’s the deal with that recurring nightmare, anyway?

Although based on a stage play that was itself based on a novel, it was LeRoy’s film that would become the standard reference point and template for so many of the Killer Kid movies down the line, though few would come close to matching it.

Village of the Damned 1960

John Wyndham was a reasonably popular pulp writer in the 1930s. While his crime stories gained him the most attention at the time, these days he’s best remembered for his occasional forays into sci-fi and horror. Day of the Triffids, his end-of-the-world masterpiece about killer plants (a personal phobia) was a major hit when adapted for the big screen, but his cautionary evil kid tale Village of the Damned had a much longer reach after director Wolf Rilla got ahold of it.

Yes, we all know the story: one day everyone living in a small English village falls asleep at the same time for some unknown reason. When they awaken several hours later, all the women of child-bearing age (even the virgins!) find they’re pregnant. Weirder still, they all go into labor at exactly the same time.

Ten years later, all the kids born that day have turned out to be extremely intelligent, blond, beautiful, and emotionless. Snappy dressers though they may be, they’re also arrogant little snots who have no time for adults or other kids, and only hang out with one another all the time. They also seem to share a psychic connection, and there are hints they have some larger purpose in mind. Anyone who tries to interfere with them gets the creepy glowing eyes treatment shortly before unexpectedly committing suicide. George Sanders at the top of his game plays a rational sort who tries to get to the Bottom of what all the hell,

It remains a starkly eerie and atmospheric picture that to this day can still make you want to punch blond British pre-teens right in the face.

The film went on to spawn one lesser sequel (1964’s Children of the Damned), one superior sort-of sequel (Joseph Losey’s 1962 These Are the Damned), a 1995 remake directed by Jon Carpenter, and a Simpsons parody. My favorite bit of cultural impact, however, is that some of your more out-there paranoids have worked Village of the Damned into the Montauk Project conspiracy, claiming beautiful, blond alien/human hybrids were created in the secret government labs in the caves beneath Montauk, Long Island. These Montauk Children, as they’re called, were set out into the world as sleeper agents (though most settled in Denver for some reason), and to this day are awaiting their secret orders from above.

The Twilight Zone: “It’s a Good Life” (1961)

It was included as one of the segments in Twilight Zone: The Movie, but good as that was, there’s just no topping the original. And there’s no topping the original because back in the early Sixties Billy Mumy was the creepiest kid on the planet. Rod Serling clearly recognized this, which is why he kept casting him.

Little Anthony Freemont (Mumy) lives in a pleasant small town where everyone knows him and everyone’s really nice to him. I mean really, really, REALLY nice to him,. And they’re really nice because over time they’ve come to realize that even if he doesn’t opt to simply blink them out of existence if they don’t do what he says, he has the power to make incredibly awful things happen to them. Even thinking bad things about Anthony isn’t such a hot idea. Things aren’t any better in the Freemont household, where his terrified parents (John Larch and Cloris Leachman) have to walk on eggshells out of fear he might do something else to his siblings, or them. )“It’s a…very GOOD thing that you did that…”)

It remains one of the most delightfully wicked and true portraits of just how terrified adults are of kids, and just how sinister kids can be.

Interestingly, Mumy apparently also had this power in real life, later going on to have a big hit with the novelty song, “Fish Heads.”

The Other (1972)

Kids alone are creepy enough, but you get twins to boot, you know you’re in for some bad news. And you get twin boys in a rural town in the 1930s? Holy mackerel, you might as well just pack it in right there and go home. Nothing good is going to come of it.

I don’t know how many times I watched Robert Mulligan’s film (based on the Thomas Tryon novel) on TV in the early Seventies, but it was a lot. Enough that to this day I still remember every shot and every line of dialog., but it still gets under my skin as one of the most effective of the lot.

Real twins Martin and Chris Udvarnoky play Holland and Niles Perry. As with most twins, one is mostly nice and sweet and innocent, while the other, Holland in this case, is the dominant, wickedly mischievous one.. Also like most twins, Niles and Holland share a weird psychic link. But in their case, and under the guidance of their Russian grandmother Eda (Uta Hagen), they can use a special ring to take things one step further. They call it The Game. As in Being John Malkovich, they can actually enter the consciousness of anyone they choose, from a magician in a traveling carnival, to a passing crow, to a corpse.

It’s a Northern Gothic tale complete with dark family secrets, farm accidents, dead babies, emotionally shattered mothers and real freaks. And an evil twin. It unfolds very slowly and quietly, and even though we get the Big Revelation at the halfway point, it doesn’t matter because the story rolls on with a few more twists and surprises left. It’s not shocking or terribly bloody, but extremely unnerving. Featuring an early turn by John Ritter and a Jerry Goldsmith score.

Don’t Look Now (1973)

Nicholas Roeg’s brilliantly shattered, hallucinatory narrative with the shock ending might be a loose fit here, but it had such an influence on other sort of Killer Kid movies (like David Cronenberg’s The Brood) it deserves mention.

The great Donald Sutherland was rarely better than he was here as John, an architect whose young daughter recently drowned near the family  home in England. He takes a job in Venice, thinking a few months away from home might be just the thing to help him and his wife cope. Shortly after they arrive, however, they encounter a blind psychic in a restaurant who tells them their daughter’s spirit is around, and seems happy. Being the slide Rule sort, John is less willing than his wife to accept this at face value. At least until he starts having recurring visions of what seems to be his daughter all over Venice. Dresses like her, anyway. He becomes a little obsessed with that little girl in the red cloak who may or may not be his daughter. Who cares if she might have something to do with that whole nasty string of brutal stabbings around the city?

The less said about it at this point, the better (and easier, to be honest). Almost 45 years on now, it still works, that ending still gets me, and there’s nothing else like it.    

It’s Alive! (1974)

People might cite Rosemary’s Baby as the be-all and end-all of films about pre-natal anxiety, but think about it. Sure, she gave birth to the Antichrist, but she has a good support network right there in the building, and if she treats him right, she’s set for life. No, for my money Larry Cohen’s breakthrough monstrous infant hint trumps them all, beginning with one of the most unsettling ad campaigns of the Seventies.

Funny thing is, though it’s remembered as a film about a baby with fangs and claws who slaughters all the doctors in the delivery room before escaping to go on a killing spree around town, if you go look at it again now you realize that’s only a minor subplot. It’s also a conspiracy film about government scientists using unwitting citizens as guinea pigs. Above all else, though, it’s an indictment of the mass media, which has the power to destroy the lives and reputations of innocent people on a whim, in this case the Davis family. And damn but that John P. Ryan is great as the horrified and disbelieving father who finds himself and his wife being publicly blamed (as is So often the case) for giving birth to a kid who isn’t quite right.

Much smarter and more subtle than most would give it credit for, It’s Alive ! Is loaded with Frankenstein references, and went on to spawn two equally good (and very different) sequels. To this day I will not put my face or fingers anywhere near a baby’s mouth.

Devil Times Five (1974)

The early to mid Seventies were mighty good years for Leif Garret. Not only was his picture plastered all over every teeny-bopper magazine in the country month after month, he was also scoring supporting roles in huge drive-in hits like Macon County Line and Walking Tall. Let’s just say considering his squeaky-clean image, Devil Times Five (aka Peopletoys) was a departure.

Garret plays one of five kids traveling on a bus which crashes in the mountains during a snowstorm. With the driver dead and not knowing what else to do, the five youngsters take refuge in a nearby resort.

It eventually comes out the bus was actually delivering the kids to an institution for the criminally insane, as they’re all kookoo bananas and extremely violent. There were hints of this beforehand, as per the standard asylum movie cliche, each nutty kid has a telltale tic—this one thinks she’s a nun, the black kid thinks he’s in the military. etc. But it’s all just mild comic relief until they pick up the knives.

Well, before you can say “Mr. Green Jeans,” they begin slaughtering everyone at the resort in a variety of hilarious ways, and occasionally in slow motion.

Unlike other Killer Kid movies which try to explain away antisocial behavior by blaming it on assorted external forces (government scientists, radiation, aliens, Satan, or an eclipse), these kids are just plain old evil by nature, and that’s all there is to it.

It wasn’t a big hit, it didn’t do much to propel Garret into leading roles, but today it’s earned itself solid cult status as a pre-slasher grind house number. And what’s not to love about the ol’ “piranhas in the bathtub” gag?

The Omen (1976)

In the Seventies and Eighties, a number of once-huge stars—Ray Milland, Richard Widmark, Henry Fonda, Rory Calhoun, Ida Lupino, George C. Scott and, in this case Gregory Peck—found themselves making genre pictures simply because that was all that was available to them. Granted, The Omen was a few cuts above The Devil’s Rain and Tentacles, but still.

Okay, regardless what the producers and screenwriter David Seltzer may claim about the franchise’s origins, the original trilogy of Omen films was lifted wholesale from “The Devil’s Platform” episode of Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

Be that as it may, when you get a cast like this, a smart director like Richard Donner, a simply astonishing score by Jerry Goldsmith, some diabolical camera trickery and editing, wonderful practical effects (Lee Remick’s fall from the balcony kept me going for years), and a story about a smiling, (mostly cheerful 3-year-old Son of Satan wandering around England leaving a trail of beheadings, impaled priests, seriously pissed off baboons and hanged nannies  in his wake, how can you go wrong? Even if the script itself is absurdly silly.

In an interesting postscript, like so many other child actors deeply associated with high-profile horror films of the era—think Danny Lloyd from The Shining—Harvey Stephens (who as Damien spoke, what, five words onscreen?) would not appear in another film for the next four decades. And even then he hasn’t been in much, though he did have a cameo as a reporter in the remake of, yes, The Omen a few years back.

Alice Sweet Alice (1976)

I dare you to show me one worthwhile horror film about Presbyterians. No, as far as religious sects go, Catholics have it all over everyone when it comes to horror. You got your robes, your chanting, your weird rituals, your transmutation, your Inquisition, your fetishism, your magic relics, your ghostly visions, oh, it just goes on and on. The Catholic Church is just one big horror show, top to bottom. As a result, Catholicism lay at the heart of countless horror films, and Alice, Sweet Alice is among the best.

The tagline read, “If you survive this night, nothing will ever scare you again,” which may or may not have been a reference to the fact this was Brooke Shields’ film debut. Shields plays 10-year—old Karen, the cute, quiet, polite and well-dressed younger sister of that moody, smart-mouthed and generally ornery Alice (Paula Sheppard), who likes to pull nasty pranks and doesn’t dress nearly as well as her sister. Everyone from  the neighbors to their own parents to the local priest adores Karen and showers her with gifts, while they just wish Alice would go away. She clearly needs to see a shrink or something. So when Karen is brutally stabbed to death outside the church on the morning of her first communion and Alice is found with Karen’s veil in her pocket, well, there you go. And then when a whole bunch of other people around town somehow connected with Alice end up all stabbed to death as well, well, there you go again. I mean, she just looks like someone who could do something like that, right?

Alice, Sweet Alice is an American Giallo, so the less said about the story the better. For having such a tiny budget, the visuals are rich and gorgeous, filled with Catholic imagery and ritual throughout, featuring a cast of wholly unlikable characters you honestly don’t mind seeing stabbed to death (especially that Little Miss Perfect Karen). The one standout is Alphonso DeNoble as the crass, sleazy, filthy and morbidly obese landlord Mr. Alphonso. DeNoble has a terrifying charisma, which may have come from being a bouncer at a gay nightclub in Jersey in real life.

Yes, the film owes quite a bit, and blatantly so, to Roeg’s Don’t Look Now, but aimed at a more lowbrow mainstream audience. It’s a bloody, nasty little shocker still held dear by thousands of disaffected girls who survived Catholic school.

The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane (1976)

1976 was not only a busy year for Killer Kid films, it was also  the busiest year of Jodie Foster’s career, during which she appeared in half a dozen films ranging from Taxi Driver to, well, this, a film she and other cast and crew members would bad mouth down the line. In retrospect, it’s not really as bad as all that.

A 13-year-old Foster plays 13-year-old Rynn Jacobs, a precocious girl who may or may not be living alone in a rented house in a secluded section of a small, affluent seaside town. Her rich, nosy and suspicious landlady keeps barging in uninvited to ask too many questions, the landlady’s perv of a son (Martin Sheen) keeps putting the moves on her, a local cop is endlessly curious but nice enough, and a gimpy teenage magician from the area knows the score. But Rynn is self-sufficient and smart beyond her years. Enough so anyway to dispatch with all those nosy yokels who’d try and pry into her business.

It’s less a horror film than an atmospheric mystery that ties up all the loose ends by the three-quarters mark. Based on a 1974 novel, the claustrophobic stagebound film is mostly forgotten today, but back in ’76 the poster creeped the hell out of me. Certainly more than the film did.

The Children (1980)

Although “creepy bloodthirsty children” seems to be a simple, straightforward notion just bursting with possible storylines, 1980 marked the point at which screenwriters and filmmakers everywhere seemed to run out of ideas, so simply began rehashing those earlier, better films. Case in point is this slight variation on Village of the Damned.

This time around, instead of mysterious alien impregnation, a school bus full of perfectly normal kids drives through a cloud of yellow radioactive fog released from a nearby nuclear power plant. The radiation, it seems, turns all the tykes into shambling, emotionless and murderous zombies. Instead of glowing eyes, the infected kids have black fingernails (which was easier on the fx budget), and instead of psychically driving adults to kill themselves, the mere touch of these evil zombie children can fry any adult to a crisp. With little else to do, the radioactive zombie kids lay siege to their small town as the adults try to figure out just how to handle this. I mean, it was already hard enough trying to get them to go to bed on time.

Oh, derivative as it is, the film does have it’s moments. In fact it includes one scene I must admit I’ve never seen repeated in any other Killer Kid film, in which a group of well-armed adults barricaded inside a house open fire on the army of evil radioactive curtain climbers massing in the front yard. And when the adults finally do figure out how to dispatch the little monsters, well, let’s just say it was unexpectedly gruesome.

The Godsend (1980)

Given the year had already provided a Village of the Damned knockoff, it was apparently time for a Bad Seed knockoff, and an obvious one at that.

A pleasant and kindly British couple, the Marlowes (Malcolm Stoddard and Cyd Hayman) decide to take in a young unmarried pregnant woman even though they already have six kids of their own, telling her she can stay with them until she has the baby.  What nice people those Marlowes are! But wouldn’t you know it? As soon as the ungrateful wench spits out the baby she vanishes without a word, leaving them with a seventh mouth to feed.

Being pleasant people they don’t complain too much, and over time the child grows into a polite and lovely little girl named Bonnie (Wilhelmina Green).

Well, sure enough before you know it all the other Marlowe kids start dropping like flies, and the parents take their own sweet time connecting the dots. I mean, come now people! We all know what happens to the youngest kid in a large family.

Itself based on a less-than-original novel, director Gabrielle Beaumont’s low-budget film plays like a TV movie, and lacks pretty much everything that made The Bad Seed so effective.

Bloody Birthday (1981)

On June 9th, 1970, three women in a small California town give birth during a total solar eclipse (uh-oh!). The resulting three kids—Debbie (Elizabeth Hoy), Curtis (Billy Jacoby) and Steven (Andy Freeman)—understandably share a tight bond, and as their tenth birthday approaches in 1980, plans are underway for a big bash pretty much everyone in town is expected to attend.

In the week before the party, maybe just to trim that guest list down a bit, the trio of little scamps undertakes a killing spree. They bludgeon and strangle a couple of stereotypical slasher film teens making out in a graveyard, beat Debbie’s dad (the local sheriff) to death with a baseball bat, shoot a teacher, and attempt to lock a classmate in a refrigerator in a junkyard. No one suspects them, of course, because they’re freaking nine years old. Nowadays we know better. While you’d expect the big party to be the film’s climactic scene, it just comes and goes without much happening, and those darn kids keep killing.

Around the halfway point, a teenaged amateur astrologer offers up the closest thing we get to an explanation for such naughty behavior. During that eclipse, see, both the sun and moon were blocking Saturn. Since Saturn controls the emotions, these kids were born with no conscience. Okay, so you come to accept a lot on faith in these things. Ultimately, though there are hits of both Village of the Damned and Bad Seed here, the picture owes much more to Devil Times Five.

Director Ed Hunt had made a handful of genre cheapies prior to this, but today Bloody Birthday remains his most memorable film. The dialogue is often painful, the soundtrack is comprised of library music from TV movies, and it’s not nearly as gory as would become standard for slasher films, but his three little killers all exude a believable David Berkowitz vibe, and the film contains enough boobs to earn an R rating. In an irrelevant sidenote, it remains one of the very few entries here in which the kids use guns, and, I think, the only one in which they use a bow and arrow.

Sleepaway Camp (1983)

Writer/director Robert Hiltzik’s weirdie is a delightfully oddball number not only within the Killer Kid subgenre, but also among slasher films, which is doubly surprising considering when it was released.

Although the film at the outset has all the standard earmarks of a cookie-cutter post-friday the 13th slasher film (a bunch of youngsters at summer camp, and endless supply of sharp implements, a fast-rising body count), careful viewers will note a few unsettling details. First, apart from the counselors, most of the campers (and victims) are pre-adolescent, and all the males, young and old alike, wear shorts that are just a little too short and a little too snug. Hmm.

Anyway, Angela (Felissa Rose), has been sent to summer camp against her will with her older brother. She’s pretty and nice and shy, but has clearly been damaged in some way. She adamantly refuses to go swimming or play games ore shower wit the other kids, despite repeated (and usually understanding) pleas  from the counselors. She prefers to be alone, and isn’t much interested in making new friends. I know the feeling. I was sent to summer camp once, and after a lummox named Trent got to go home because he got a fish hook in the eye, I considered bribing those kids with the fishing poles to do the same to me.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen it, the less said the better. Let’s just say it fits the category, but with a notorious twist, and remains near the top of the lists of many slasher film fanatics I know. I do wonder, though, given the age we’re living in, how this one would go over today. It also leaves me wondering what the deal is with that Robert Hiltzik.

Children of the Corn (1984)

Yes, it’s a stinker, but remains a memorable touchstone within the then exploding subgenre of Stephen King stinkers. I always find it funny that King continues to bitch about Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining, but never has a word to say about this, or The Mangler, or Silver Bullet, or Maximum Overdrive or…

But that’s beside the point. Given the subject at hand, both the original short story and Fritz Kiersch’s film adaptation are interesting in that they represent a genre-blending crossover between Killer Kid movies and Religious Zealot horror.

AS much as there is to chuckle at here—my goodness what an awful bit of filmmaking, from the script to the performances to the camera set-ups and fx—dammit I keep going back to it. I do enjoy that flashback in the diner, as well as the fact the initial slaughter of the adults is never clearly explained. Not really, anyway. And I do dig the amateurish overacting on the part of John Franklin as the crazy young preacher Isaac and Courtney Gains as his True Believer henchman Malachai. And I’ll watch that R.G. Armstrong in anything. Mostly, though, I think I keep going back time and again just to hear the line “He wants you, too…Malachai!,” which has been a catchphrase of mine for years now.

Firestarter (1984)

Amid the mid-‘80s flood of Stephen King quickies, at least director Mark L. Lester had a few more chops than most. He also had a much larger budget, which allowed him to sign a cast that included George C. Scott, Art Carney, Louise Fletcher, Martin Sheen and Heather Locklear (!).

So a young couple who met in college while volunteering as research guinea pigs in a secret government drug test later get married and have a daughter. As these things happen (see Blue Sunshine or Jacob’s Ladder), those secret government drug tests have a way of hanging around awhile, with some mighty unexpected side effects. In this case, their new daughter Charlie (Drew Barrymore, who was in a few King adaptations) was born with pyrokinetic powers, meaning she can set anyone or anything she doesn’t like ablaze, the lucky brat.

Well, a few years later when the secret government agency that ran the secret government drug test catches wind of what little Charlie can do, they decide they’d like to have a little chat with her, and maybe her dad too (the briefly popular David Keith), who himself might have psychic powers. Or maybe they’d like to have something more than a chat.

Less a horror movie than conspiracy thriller and chase picture, Firestarter remains an oddity here, as it’s one of the few Killer Kid films in which we’re asked to root for the Killer Kid, actually hoping the wee pyro in question, even though she’s cute and blond, will set a few of those icky, mean adults on fire.

It’s hardly on a par with The Shining, Carrie, or The Dead Zone, but at least it’s better than Night Shift, Sometimes They Come Back, Children of the Corn IV, Cat’s Eye, Maximum Overdrive…

The Omen IV: The Awakening (1991)

As would become standard for plenty of other franchises that had seemingly run their course, some bright TV executives thought there was still some money to be made with that whole Omen thing. A decade after the last and supposedly final entry came out, why not give it the TV movie treatment? And while we’re at it, why not give it a fresh twist by doing a little gender switcheroo, right? So this time around, why not make Damien a girl? That’d throw viewers for a loop, wouldn’t it?

(An Omen IV novel had actually been released shortly after The Final Conflict came out, but it had nothing to do with this.)

The events of the previous three films have long been forgotten by the time we get underway here, I mean, don’t we see the Second Coming of Christ at the end of Final Conflict? Okay, so I guess Jesus had gone on vacation or something by the time two young smug and wealthy lawyers (Michael Woods and Faye Grant) adopt a new daughter without asking too many questions.

Their daughter Delia (Asia Vieira) grows into a pretty, dark-haired young girl who is extremely unpleasant. Oooon, but she’s a bratty little smartass who could use a spanking.  I always thought the Antichrist was supposed to be charming and charismatic, but I’ll let it slide. In any case her New Age hippie nanny starts to suspect something far more sinister than smug parents might be at the heart of Delia’s bad attitude. When all her magic crystals turn black in the little girl’s presence, she starts making frantic calls to her other New Agey friends.

I’m going to stop there. Hilariously awful film, save for one scene, And that one scene alone is reason enough to forgive the film’s countless other unforgivable flaws.  

The nanny drags Delia to a New Age fair in a park in hopes of getting a snapshot of her aura, and let’s just say things don’t go well for much of anyone. In simple slapstick terms, it’s on a par with Final Conflict’s montage of baby murders.  

The Good Son (1993)

As he transitioned from the “dorky, buggy-eyed but still weirdly cute” kid in the Home Alone pictures into a “dorky, buggy-eyed and much less cute” adolescent, Macaulay Culkin decided to prove his range as an actor by playing against type in still another take on The Bad Seed.

Instead of telling the story through the mother’s eyes, in Joseph Ruben’s film we see things through the eyes of a nice, wholesome kid named Mark (a young Elijah Wood). After his mother dies, he’s sent to live with an aunt and uncle and two cousins. Not yet knowing he should avoid anyone named “Henry,” Mark and his cousin Henry (Culkin) become good friends. But after Henry is clearly delighted when one of his silly boyhood pranks triggers a deadly multi-car pileup, and after he shows off his homemade gun to Mark, and furthermore hints he once tried to kill his own brother, Mark starts to get the idea Henry might well be a psychopath with bigger diabolical schemes in mind.

Ruben’s picture is a slight cut above the likes of, say, The Godsend thanks to that change in perspective. Although Culkin makes for a believable psycho kid, it didn’t really do much to revamp his career and set him on that road to an Oscar. Thinking about it, though, Henry’s use of improvised and homemade weaponry wasn’t that big a step away from his Home Alone character, but with more fatalities and fewer cartoon sound effects..

Home Movie (2008)

The found footage/hand held video/POV horror film was pretty well dead and buried as a style by 2008, but that sure didn’t stop anyone. It was a cheap way to make a movie, after all. In this case, though, the story would have worked much better as a straight narrative, as the POV gimmick just gets in the way, leaving viewers (or maybe just me) repeatedly asking, “Why would anyone be filming this?”

Why, for instance, would an alcoholic Lutheran minister (Adrian Pasdar) choose to film an intimate argument with his psychiatrist wife (Cady McClain)? And why would a psychiatrist use the family video camera to record private patient notes, leaving them mixed in there with the Christmas and Easter home movies? Maybe writer/director Christopher Denham was trying to make a point about people so obsessed with living through screens that they can easily ignore the obvious and increasing threat posed by their clearly disturbed twin children, who mostly just lurk in the background as the parents focus on themselves. I doubt it though.

The creepy ten-year-olds Jack (Austin Williams) and Emily (Amber Joy Williams) were born on Halloween. While their parents try to desperately prove just how fun and cool and hip they are by setting up haunted houses in the basement and teaching their kids how to pick locks, Jack and Emily spend the first half of the film staring sullenly at the floor. Soon enough though, they begin killing goldfish, crushing toads in vices, crucifying the family cat, and attacking schoolmates, working their way up the evolutionary chain toward You Know Who.

Oh, I’m not giving a goddamn thing away here—the goddamn tagline gave it away! And even without the tagline if you couldn’t see exactly where this was headed with the first scene, maybe you need a nap or something.

To it’s credit, like Devil Times Five, Home Movie offers no explanation for why the kids are funny in the head. If you wanted to push it you could make something out of that Halloween birthday or the fact the family name is “Poe.” Myself, I just tend to accept that any kid unlucky enough to have a preacher or a shrink as a parent is fucked from the start.

Case 39 (2009)

Renee Zelwegger stars as a young sincere and overworked case worker at Children and Family Services. After the seemingly unbalanced parents of a shy, sweet and neglected girl on her case list try to cram the pre-adolescent into the oven (repeatedly!) one night, the parents are institutionalized and the social worker adopts the girl.

Okay, same as with Home Movie, if you can’t see where this one was headed ten minutes in, theres something wrong with you. Funny twist is, while I initially took it to be simply yet another Bad Seed knockoff (which it is) before deciding it was simply another Omen knockoff (which it is), by the half way point it finally  became clear: what I was watching was in fact a knockoff of Omen IV: The Awakening. And that’s pretty bad. To make it all even sadder and more pointless, Case 39 is capped by a climax that makes absolutely no sense, if you think about it even  for a little bit. Even the Omen IV had a better ending, and that’s saying something.

Considering all the above, the ultimate lesson to take away here is that, talk as we might about The Terrible Twos, it’s when the little monsters turn ten that you really need to watch out.

by Jim Knipfel

[one-of-us-blog]

The Impossible Astronaut (Doctor Who S06E01)

Today Jon is forced to watch and recap “The Impossible Astronaut”, the first episode of Doctor Who’s sixth series, as well its prequel. The Doctor and his companions are following a trail of clues leading them to America in 1969. Will the companions be able to figure out what’s going on in time to avoid a tragedy? Who’s the little girl calling the President’s phone? And who are those guys in those snazzy suits?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, I absolutely loved your last recap! I had a feeling Blanche’s handkerchief enthusiasm would win you over, but I didn’t expect this one to resonate with you so much! I think this is one of the better examples of the writers using the clip show format well, and I agree that each of the clips brought something to the table. My favorite is probably Sophia’s story, because I get a big kick out of Bea Arthur as her own grandmother, too. I hope you have a good time in season four, because we’re coming up on some of my favorite episodes!

For now, though, buttocks tight!

Prequel directed by Toby Haynes and written by Steven Moffat (I’m assuming, I couldn’t actually find a definitive answer on this one)

In the Oval Office, President Richard Nixon answers his phone to hear only static. He’s apparently spoken to the person on the other end before, but she sounds like a little girl. She tells him ‘they’ are everywhere, and that he must look behind him. She says the spaceman gave her this number and that she’s trying to warn the POTUS about monsters, but he resolutely states there are no monsters in the White House. Do I need to make the Trump joke here, or do you think you can carry this ball over the finish line on your own? Anyway, behind Nixon we see what appears to be a monster.

Episode directed by Toby Haynes and written by Steven Moffat

Because Steven Moffat very clearly has a fetish which he cannot let go of, we start off with yet another of the Doctor’s historical sexscapades. This time he’s banging a painter in Charles II’s court. Really, I can’t believe I’ve gotten through this individual sentence without it being revealed that the Doctor once had a three-way with Joan of Arc and Grandma Moses or that he ate out Marie Antoinette before she got executed. In 2011, Amy’s reading about the Doc’s adventures in a history book and she wonders if the Doc’s being so ridiculous because he’s trying to get their attention. She gets a letter with some coordinates on it, and elsewhere River Song gets the same coordinates. She’s got to break out of prison, yet again, but that’s apparently just not that big of an ish in the future. Amy and Rory meet up with the Doc, just in time for River to do us all a favor and shoot the dumb hat off his head. The four of them move to a diner and River and the Doc sync up their journals. The Doc says he’s been running for his whole life, and he’s ready to stop. First, though, they’re going to have a picnic and then they’re headed to space in 1969.

The picnic is underway, and we learn that the Doc’s now 1,103 years old. Amy catches sight of a tall, slender man in the distance, but immediately forgets about him after pointing him out to Rory. A truck pulls up and the Doc waves to a man, but just then River notices someone in a space suit standing in the lake nearby. The Doc approaches the astronaut while the rest of the group hangs back. The astronaut reveals their identity to only the Doc, and then shoots him. The Doc begins to regenerate, and it looks like we’re getting to the Peter Capaldi years a lot sooner than I realized! Only, we’re not, because the astronaut shoots the Doc again before he can finish regenerating. River, Amy and Rory rush over, but the Doc’s hella dead. River shoots after the astronaut, but they get away.

The man who arrived in the truck says this isn’t a clone or robot copy, this is the real Doctor and he’s really dead. He says the Doc told him to bring some gasoline so that the squad could burn his body. They send the stiff out onto the lake in a boat and it gets totally lit 😂👌💯🔥. River asks the old guy who he is, and he says he got a postcard just like the rest of them. He’s Canton Everett Delaware III, by the way, and he’s not going to see any of them again. They’ll see him, though, because time travel and all that. River realizes that the envelopes that were sent out were all numbered, with Amy and Rory getting 3, River got 2 and Delaware got 4. So who got 1? Amy’s shutting down, but Rory catches sight of envelope 1 nearby in the diner. The Doctor, of course, trusted himself the most, so he sent himself envelope #1. This Doc’s all hugs, but River gives him a well-deserved slap for making them watch him die. This Doc’s also only 909, meaning he’s about 200 years younger than he will be when he gets no-scoped by that astronaut. River gives the Doc a general idea of what they’re doing without revealing they’re working for a dead version of himself. Inside the TARDIS, Amy still isn’t coping well. She’s sure that they need to tell the Doc what they saw, but River says that’s a no-go. She isn’t scared by the Doctor’s death, or her own, because something even worse is waiting for her. *cue dramatic music*

The TARDIS wants to head to Washington, D.C., in ’69, but the Doc says that’s not where they’re going. He’s sending Amy and Rory home and River back to prison, because he won’t go where they want him to go without knowing all the facts. He assures them, in the most condescending manner possible, that they aren’t capable of playing games with him. River asks him to trust them, and he asks her to tell him who she is in his future. She won’t, so he asks her who she killed to wind up in prison. She also won’t answer that, so the Doc won’t trust her. Amy asks him to trust her instead, and she swears on fish fingers and custard that she genuinely needs him to go to D.C. in ’69. That does the trick, and they go to meet a younger Canton Everett Delaware III (Mark Sheppard). Delaware used to work for the FBI but got kicked out, only to be recruited by Nixon for a private mission. Nixon lets Delaware know that he’s been getting those calls from the prologue just about every night. The Doc lands the TARDIS and winds up right in the Oval Office while Nixon’s playing a recording of a call he got from the child, who identifies herself as Jefferson Adams Hamilton, from the prologue. Nixon says he gets the call no matter where he is, and then he notices the Doc. He tries to sneak back into the TARDIS but gets snatched by the secret service. River decloaks the TARDIS and the Doc makes enough of an impression to avoid being shot.

The Doc gets some maps and Amy catches sight of the faceless, slender man again, but as soon as her line of sight on it is broken she forgets it existed. She does feel sick, though, and an agent takes her to a restroom. In the restroom the creature is back, and Amy remembers it all over again. She realizes she’s forgetting it every time and tries to talk with it, but it doesn’t speak. A woman exits a stall and catches sight of it, but as soon as she turns around she forgets about it. This is repeated a few times until the creature reaches out one of its slender arms and eradicates the woman with a bolt of lightning. Amy takes a hot pic of the thing to help her remember. The thing says the woman’s name was Joy, and it knows Amy’s named Amelia. Amy stands her ground despite clearly being terrified of the giant creature, and That Ain’t So Bad at all. The creature says it has a message for the Doc and approaches her, but she runs outside before it can reach her. She knows she has to tell the Doctor something, but she doesn’t know why she said that.

Nixon gets another call from the wunderkind, and she tells the POTUS that the spaceman is there with her. The Doctor, River, Rory, Amy and Delaware make their way to a building near Cape Kennedy, Florida, which has a Jefferson St., an Adams St. and a Hamilton St. within eyesight. The group makes their way through a warehouse, where the astronaut is hidden. River finds what looks like an alien operating table alongside some apparently stolen human tech. She then finds a manhole leading to a series of tunnels and heads down into them. She finds a group of the be-suited, slender men and flips her lid. She runs back up but immediately forgets about the aliens and says she’s going back down to investigate. The Doc sends Rory in after her, and he finds her feeling nauseous. The slender men are still lurking around and Rory keeps thinking he’s hearing something, but River’s focused on how old the tunnels are and how weird it is that no one’s noticed them. Rory asks River about the worse day she mentioned earlier, and she tells him that when she first met the Doc he knew all about her and that threw her for a loop. River and the Doc are going in opposite directions temporally, so every time she sees him she knows more about him and he knows less about her. She knows someday she’ll see him and he won’t know who she is, and she thinks that will kill her.

With that exposition out of the way River gets the door unlocked but an alarm begins to sound. Rory checks to see if anyone’s noticed and sees a group of the slender men, but forgets about them before he can warn River. River discovers that the tunnels are all over the globe, and have been there for centuries. River calls out for Rory as a flash of light comes from his direction. Meanwhile, Delaware and Amy are bonding and Amy’s trying to remember what it is she was supposed to tell him. Suddenly Jefferson’s voice cries out for help and Amy’s stomach begins to hurt her again. Delaware runs off to find Jefferson, but when the Doc and Amy catch up to him he’s unconscious. Amy decides this is the perfect moment to let the Doctor know she’s pregnant.

The astronaut arrives and Amy, determined to save the Doctor, grabs Delaware’s gun and shoots at them. Unfortunately, the astronaut lifts their visor to reveal a young girl, who we can assume is Jefferson Adams Hamilton.

The End

~~~~~

I’m going to have a lot to say about these snazzy suit enthusiast aliens, but I’m going to save that for the conclusion in my next recap. I’ll be curious to find out what’s up with lil Jeff and how we’re going to get out of the Doc being killed by that lake. It would be nice if it were possible for the Doctor to trust his companions without Amy having to swear on fish and custard, and I don’t quite understand why we’ve moved in the direction of him being the only person he trusts in the whole universe. He’s the one who put them all through that mess with the Dream Master, remember? Also, Amy really has no sense of timing when it comes to dropping bombshells like her being pregnant. But, all that aside, I felt like we were getting a good performance from Alex Kingston and I always enjoy seeing Mark Sheppard in action. 

I give “The Impossible Astronaut” QQQ on the Five Q Scale.

We’ll see you on Tuesday when Eli will kick off the fourth season of The Golden Girls with a good ol’ fashioned love triangle with his recap of “Yes, We Have No Havanas”, and then I’ll check in on Wednesday we’ll keep on trucking through the sixth series of Doctor Who with “Day of the Moon”.

Until then, thanks for reading, thanks for shooting and thanks for being One of Us!