#willie big eyes smith | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

firelilyfox · 8 months ago

Text

Stardust Dreams

part three (final part)

Wonka: Willy Wonka x female reader

Warnings: very fluffy fluff

Words: 1k

__________________________

The sound of the harbour bell announces the time and Willy was getting more nervous with every second. He was waiting outside of the library for the past fifteen minutes just to make sure he wouldn’t be to late. It was freezing cold outside and the falling snow laid down on his shoulders like powdered sugar. His fingers were tightly wrapped around some flowers, he bought earlier at the nearby flower shop. Willy picked different colors because he couldn’t decide wich one she would like the most. So he choosed the colors that he reminded him of her. Warm orange, like her smile. Happy yellow, like her charisma. Lovely pink, like her blushed cheeks.

The big wooden door opens and y/n stepped out of it with a big smile on her beautiful face. Willys heart stumbled. She was like a magical figure that only existed in fairytales. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, because Willy was too afraid that she might vanish and he would find himself waking up in his bed again, to realize this was only a dream.

„Good evening, Willy“, she greeted him.

Willy smiled. „Hello y/n. These are for you.“ He handed her the flowers and when his hand touched hers for a split second, he could feel his skin tingling.

„Oh! They are beautiful Willy“, she said admiring and giving him a kiss on his cheek as a thank you. He had to lean down a bit, so she could reach it. „You must be freezing. Let’s hurry home. I prepared something to eat and after that … no. This will be a surprise.“ Y/n was thinking out loud.

She took him back to her tiny apartment right above a bookshop near the gallery gourmet. The view was breathtaking, but Willy wasn’t interested at all in looking at the city lights. He only had eyes for y/n while she was preparing the dinner table.

„I really want to help you. It feels wrong to just watch you do all the work“, he said.

Y/n looked at him sternly. „Willy Wonka I invited you to thank you for everything you did today for my little sister and for what you did for Noodle in the past. And I enjoy doing it, so don’t worry about me.“

She cooked him a wonderful meal and they shared it by candlelight. It felt nice and easy to talk about all kinds of stuff. Laughter filled the room and Willy wished he could capture this moment to make it last forever.

„Noodle is like a sister to me. Her mother took me and Ellie in, so they both are like family to us“, she told him.

Willy frowned. „You mean you were adopted by her? What about your parents?“

A sad expression flickered over her face. „They are always somewhere out there. Mom and Dad are not made to stay in one place for a long time, so they asked Ms. Smith to watch out for us in the meantime. And she did ever since.“

Willy knew the feeling of being alone way to well, so he understand the little tone of bitterness in her voice when she speaks about her parents.

„But enough about sad things for now“, she cleared her throat and got up from the table. „The evening is not over and I still have a little surprise for you, Willy.“

He smiled confused. „I thought the meal was the surprise?“

„Not at all!“ Y/n laughed. She held out her hand, waiting for Willy to take it in his. „Are you ready for some fun, Mr. Wonka?“

***

The music made Willy smile.

Y/n lead them to a little tavern that was full of people chattering in the corners, drinking wine and having a good time. On a small stage was a band of five members and their were playing some joyful songs. In the middle of the room was the dance floor and some couples already danced with bright smiles on their faces.

Y/n giggled because of the amazed look on Willys face. „You never visited a place like this am I right?“

„Well I saw many places around the world … but I never took the time to go into a pub or something. There were not much to find for my chocolate studies.“

She nodded understanding. „Well I love your chocolate Willy, but tonight we have other priorities.“

The lead singer just started another song and Willy had to speak a little louder for y/n to understand him. „And what are the priorities for tonight?“

„Having fun!“

Y/n pulled Willy to the middle of the room and started dancing. Her moves looked a bit uncontrolled and without a plan. He couldn’t help but laugh and joined her on this weird little dance-off. They had so much fun just jumping around and laughing until their faces hurt. After a couple of joyful songs, the band changes the mood and a slow rhythm started playing.

„May I?“, Willy asked and reaching out for her hand.

She smiled. „You may.“

Willy knew how to dance and he knew intuitively where to put his hands to take over the lead. Y/n rested her head on his shoulder and he enjoyed the feeling of being so close to her. Although he hoped silently she wouldn’t notice his fast beating heart.

„I need to thank you for today, y/n. I can’t remember the last time I was so carefree.“ Willy said with a lowered voice, so she would be the only one hearing him.

She looked up to him. The warm lights where shimmering in her eyes and he almost lost himself in them. „I’m glad you had a good time.“

„Maybe…“, he started. „Maybe we should do something like this again … sometime.“

Y/n looked a little nervous and for a second Willy wanted to take a step back to not make her feel uncomfortable, but then she stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. It was a soft kiss, light like a feather and before Willy even realized it was over.

„I would love to do something like this again“, she said as the music speed up again.

They danced for the rest of the night until their feet hurted, their hearts were full of laughter and the butterflies in their stomaches kept on flying.

Willy knew from this moment on, that the feeling of missing something would never come back. He found the piece that he was searching for. And he intended to keep her forever.

#fluff #willy wonka x reader #wonka movie #willy wonka in love #wonka fanfic #willy wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka x reader #willy wonka fanfic #wonka #wonka timothee #timothée chalamet #soft touch #soft aesthetic #dancing #first kiss #first date

108 notes · View notes

batmanonthecover · 8 months ago

Text

Batman #207 - December 1968 (DC Comics - USA)

Cover Art: Irv Novick

THE DOOMSDAY BALL

Script: Frank Robbins

Art: Irv Novick (Penicils) Joe Giella (Inks), Ray Holloway (Letters)

Characters: Batman [Bruce Wayne]; Robin [Dick Grayson]; Commissioner James Gordon; Mayor Hayes; Major-General Hawkins; Robertson; Fairbanks; Professor Willi von Gail; Master Sergeant Owens; Skinnay (young boy); Tillie Conway; a TV repairman; Bertram Smith (villain, blackmailer, death); Big Brill (villain); Brill's men [Snake-Eyes; One-Ear; rest unnamed] (villains)

Synopsis: A small nuclear device is stolen and is being used to threaten Gotham City, so Batman enlists the aid of a criminal named Brill to identify the blackmailer...but first, the Caped Crusaders must survive some death traps arranged by Brill and his men.

Batman story #1256

#comics #dc comics #batman #robin #irv novick #frank robbins #joe giella #ray holloway #1968

29 notes · View notes

notquiterobin · 2 months ago

Text

Into/explanation/boundaries post:

So into/explanation first: This is a DC rp blog with an oc of mine! If you don’t like things like that, just don’t interact with it, if you do that’s great! Feel free to interact through reblogs, comments, or asks! So going into the actual character:

Alexandra Catherine Todd-Wayne:

- Daughter of Willis and Catherine Todd

- Younger sister/sibling of Jason Todd (6 years younger)

- Adopted by Bruce Wayne at age 5 with Jason

- 16 years old

- Ace lesbian and Demigirl

- Aspired to be Robin when she was younger, is now a non-Batman-approved vigilante named Corvid (as a lot of corvids are preditors of robins, plus it’s the name I usually use online/lh)

- Generally keeps the non-killing rule as Corvid, but is a bit more harsh then some of the other bats

- Has similar goals to the robins (improving Gotham, keeping down crime, and generally keeping people safe) but after Jason’s death no longer wanted the moniker

- closest to Jason, but still very close to most other members of the batfamily

- In true bat fashion is usually very closed off about trauma and other emotional issues

- Nicknames: Alex (name they usually go by), Allie (mainly used when they were younger, so mostly used by Jason, Dick, Barbara, or Bruce), Lexie (less used, still open to it)

- lmk if I forgot anything important

Boundaries section:

Dni’s:

- Homophobes

- Transphobes

- Ableist’s (I’m disabled, a lot of that will reflect in any character I write or make)

- Racists

- Zionism

- Terf’s

- BATCEST. (I do not care how you try to rationalize it, I don’t want to see any Dick/Jason, Bruce/any of his children, Alfred/any of his grandkids. Any Dick/Tim, Jason/Tim, or Damian/Tim. Just no batcest okay?

- I’m dyslexic, if you find spelling mistakes please just ignore them unless they completely change the meaning of the scentence, autocorrect can’t catch everything

About me:

So if you got this far, hi! I’m Raven/Corvid (Corvid is mostly an online name but Raven is my name),

I got by primarily They/Them pronouns, I’m an aroace (maybe oriented? Let’s just say questioning/lh) Non-Binary teenager,

and I am a minor so please keep that in mind (I’m fine with any ages on here just keep it in mind that I’m under 18),

I’m disabled (not gonna put out my whole medical history but shortly put: chronic pain, t1d, autism & adhd, c!ptsd, dyslexia)

I’m a pretty longtime DC lover (on and off since I was 5), mostly Batman and Batman adjacent stuff, hellblazer, green arrow, young justice, and teen titans

Al Ghul lover, seriously I love them sm

Very into music (specifically Hole, Nirvana, Babes in Toyland, Big theif, Fiona apple, Mcr, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Bandhees, The cure, Ghost, Green Day, Alex G, and Elliott Smith)

^ also if you think Courtney killed Kurt fuck off, seriously I’m not going to argue with you, either don’t bring it up or just go away

Closing stuff:

Absolutely feel free to interact with this weather in character or not, I’d love any questions or asks it just may sometimes take me a second to get used to them

list of my other blogs: @not-a-robin, @dr-pamela-isley, @cassandra-e-sandsmark

#dc comics #dc #batman #dc robin #dc oc rp #oc #lesbian #asexual #demigirl

7 notes · View notes

theoutcastrogue · 6 months ago

Text

youtube

Britain's Outlaws: Highwaymen, Pirates and Rogues

"3-part BBC documentary series. Few figures in British history have captured the popular imagination as much as the outlaw. From gentleman highwaymen, via swashbuckling pirates to elusive urban thieves and rogues, the brazen escapades and the flamboyance of the outlaw made them the antihero of their time - feared by the rich, admired by the poor and celebrated by writers and artists. In this three-part series, historian Dr Sam Willis ... shows that, far from being 'outsiders', outlaws were very much a product of their time, shaped by powerful national events."

Episode 1 - Knights of the Road: The Highwayman's Story

"In 1714, Captain Alexander Smith's book The Complete History of the Lives and Robberies of the Most Notorious Highwaymen caused a sensation. It set the bar for colourful and slightly dubious accounts of the big names in highway robbery. But whilst the public might find them romantic, the elite weren't so keen. They represented a threat to the social order: not only were they attacking property with impunity without any regard to the rank of their victims, but the robberies were giving them wealth and pretensions of status.

To satirists, there was a delicious irony to the howls of outrage about highwaymen. For them, politicians in the Georgian government were even worse thieves. In 1728, John Gay penned The Beggar's Opera, using a highwayman called Macheath as a central character in his stage satire. Macheath was the theatrical incarnation of the gentleman robber, but he wasn't the villain of the peace. He was moral, he was noble, and it was set against the rapaciousness of the elite. His character was used to dissect the hypocrisy of the ruling classes, who were losing more at the gambling tables than they were on the roads. Then there was the corruption. In John Gay's eyes, highwaymen were more honest thieves than the government. The ruling class were committing robberies of their own, but they were getting away with it. Prime Minister Robert Walpole spirited away thousands of pounds, and when the Chancellor, the Earl of Macclesfield, took a hundred thousand pounds in bribes, all he got was a fine."

#highwayman #theory #exemplars #james hind #john nevison #swiftnick #dick turpin #claude duval #james mclean #william plunkett #rogues in fiction #the beggar's opera #theatre #big thief little thief #outlaw

8 notes · View notes

manwalksintobar · 1 year ago

Text

if we’ve gotta live underground and everybody’s got cancer/ will poetry be enuf? // Eisa Davis to Ntozake Shange

dear ntozake,

I got sacks of mercury under the skin beneath my eyes either cried too much or i’m abt to the cool war’s burnin up my retina again does poetry start where life ends? i know i’m supposed to be cool: i wear corrective lenses that feature high definition tragedy. baby in the dumpster ethnic cleansing assassinations multinational mergers i’m supposed to shake my head write a poem believe in ripples. but i ain’t cool. i emit inhuman noises i imagine terrorist acts as i flick my imaginary ash onto the imaginary tray i imagine going insane with a purpose and writing it down feels sorta unnecessary does poetry end where life begins? berkeley girl black girl red diaper baby born of the blood of the struggle but with reaganomics and prince pickin up steam in ‘81 nothing came between me and my calvins 10 yrs old unpressed hair playin beethoven readin madeleine l’engle got scared in my pants when i heard this girl testifying ‘TOUSSAINT’ in the black repertory group youth ensemble i was just sittin in a rockin chair pretendin to be 82 and talkin like I knew all bout langston’s ‘rivers’

i wasn’t as good as her and i definitely wadn’t cool so i gave up drama and decided to bake soufflés zake you wda beat me up in the playground if we’da grown up together and you did eighth grade ‘he dropped em’ at the regional oratorical competition i saw another fly honey rip it this time it’s ‘a nite with beau willie brown’ i was bleedin on the ground i became yours no more soufflés i jacked for colored girls right off my mama’s shelf my mama fania who was sweatin with you and raymond sawyer and ed mock and halifu osumare dancin on the grass back in the day in you i found a groove never knew i had one like that did that monologue over and over alone in my room my bunk bed the proscenium arch 13 yrs old screamin and cryin abt my kids gettin dropped out a window didn't know a damn thing about rivers but i knew abt my heart fallin five stories you were never abbreviated or lower case to me you just pimped that irony that global badass mackadocious funkology you not only had hígado you had ben-wa balls in yr pussy

betsey brown on my godmother's couch nappy edges in mendocino at the mouth of big river spell #7 after the earthquake in silverlake the love space demands had to be in brooklyn yr poems are invitations to live in yr body love letters yr admirers dream they coulda written themselves no one cd find a category that was yr size blackety black but never blacker than thou you teased me into sassiness when i had none to speak of made profane into sacred but never formed a church sanctified women's lives whether we were reading nietzsche or a box of kotex we were magical and regular you many-tongued st louis woman of barnard and barcelona you left us the residue of yr lust left us to wander life as freely as sassafrass cypress and indigo and even the unedumacated could get yr virtuosity cuz you always fried it up in grease you built an aqueduct from lorraine hansberry's groundwater and it bubbled straight to george c wolfe you never read what the critics said and you scrunched up the flesh between yr eyebrows like everybody else in my family

but zake is poetry enuf?

i beg the question cuz you grew me up you and adrienne kennedy and anna deavere smith and all my mothers you blew out the candles on my 26th so when there's mercury under the skin beneath my eyes and the world ain't so cool do you write a poem or a will?

like leroi jones said if bessie smith had killed some white people she wouldn't have needed that music so do we all write like amiri baraka does or do we all get our nat turner on?

i beg the question cuz i wanna get my life right do some real work and i really don't want to kill any white folk i mean can we talk abt this maybe it's just my red diaper that's itchin but i still got that will to uplift the race sans bootstraps or talented tenths or paper bag tests this time we uplift the human race and i know the rainbow might be but is poetry enuf?

it's a naive question but i'm old enuf to ask them once in a while if we do finally unload the canon clean it out stock up on some more colorful balls ain't we only gettin the ones that are available at a store near you? doesn't the market end up setting the new standards anyway? is poetry enuf if it ain't sellin? if ain't nobody readin it? can poetry keep a man who can't read from droppin his kids out a window?

and how can i call a ceasefire to this cool war in stanzas of eights when we've declared poetry a no fly zone? we have learned to protect it and its potential politics like a mother shoot down anyone who might overdetermine a poem's meaning (while we poets divebomb everyone else's politics with impunity like we're the United States or something)

if poetry is just poetry we save it from the conservatives but doesn't that mean it's of no use to the progressives?

is poetry enuf? cuz that's all i'm doin. makin up stories on stage on the page keepin the beat and that's all my friends are doin and that's what a lot of folks my age are doin

but if we've gone and burnt up everything in the sky if there's nothin else to eat but landfill stroganoff if we've gotta live underground and everybody's got cancer will poetry be enuf?

my aunt angela says i can do my thang and keep swinging left hooks to oppression if i stay up stay into it stay involved just one form of praxis will do. it's just my guilt that thinks i need twenty-two what's enuf?

shouldn't i (or somebody) be our secular bodhisattva become a real power player but skip the talk show can't we stabilize, rekindle collectives and cooperatives and collaborations therapeutic communities that double as creative juggernauts a publishing house a theatre where the plays cost less than the movies get the neighborhood coven back together take dance breaks in the cubicles sing until the flourescent lights burst into snow i ask you because you changed me zake you changed thousands of women and i know poetry can't be enuf if you drunk

i ain't tryin ta walk off wid alla yr stuff and i got nuttin but love for ya so that's why i gotta know i'm sittin on my bed encircled by every book you've ever published they're open like fans marking pages with the flint of genius all i want is for this circle to grow so tell me:

is this where poetry and life are twins? i felt so crumpled up when i started writing you poetry seemed so useless and dingy next to all the bright red bad news but now that the poem is over i feel wide open like an infant of the spring just tell me how to feed this light to my responsibilities and poetry just might be enuf love eisa

12 notes · View notes

lboogie1906 · 4 months ago

Text

Willie “Pinetop” Perkins (July 7, 1913 - March 21, 2011) Delta Blues and boogie-woogie piano player was born near Belzoni, Mississippi. He played with some of the best-known blues and rock and roll artists in history and influenced many more including Elton John, Billy Joel, and Greg Allman.

He began at age ten playing guitar and piano but dropped guitar after sustaining an injury to his left arm. He moved to Helena, Arkansas to work with bluesman Robert Nighthawk, appearing on the recordings Nighthawk made for Chess Records. He recorded with Earl Hooker for Sun Records. He recorded “Pinetop’s Boogie Woogie” for Sun Records. Known as “Pinetop” since the 1940s, it was this record that stamped him with his lifelong nickname.

He replaced Otis Spann in Muddy Water’s band, a role that he maintained for twelve years. He joined other members of the Water’s band, striking out on their own as The Legendary Blues Band. This group toured and recorded from the late 1970s through the early 1990s releasing two records that received several Grammy nominations.

In 1988, he released his first solo effort, “After Hours,” on Blind Pig Records. He released the first of 15 solo records over 15 years. “Born in the Delta,” a multimedia-enhanced CD release, and “Legends,” with Hubert Sumlin. Both recordings received Grammy nominations in 1997 and 2000. He received a Grammy nomination for “Ladies Man” on MC Records and the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.

He received the Blues Music Award for best piano every year (1993-2004) when he voluntarily retired from nomination. The award was thereafter renamed the “Pinetop” Perkins Piano Player of the Year award.

In 2008, “Pinetop and Friends” was released featuring such legendary artists as Eric Clapton, B.B. King, and Jimmie Vaughn. He released “Joined at the Hip,” a collaborative project with Willie “Big Eyes” Smith, which received a Grammy for Best Traditional Blues CD.

He was still playing regularly at the age of 97 and was often seen jamming in clubs around his home in Austin. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

2 notes · View notes

50s-music-tournament · 7 months ago

Text

Week 1

Blue Moon, The Marcells - I Only Have Eyes For You, The Flamingos

We Wanna Boogie, Sonny Burgess - Heartbreak Hotel, Elvis Presley

Tutti Frutti, Little Richard - Santa Baby, Eartha Kitt

Beyond the Sea, Bobby Darin - Rockin Robin, Bobby Day

El Paso, Marty Robbins - Be Bop a Lula, Gene Vincent

Get a Job, The Silhouettes - Shout, The Isley Brothers

Tequila, The Champs - Who Do You Love, Bo Diddley

Unforgettable, Nat King Cole - Secret Love, Doris Day

La Bamba, Ritchie Valens - 16 Tons, Tennessee Ernie Ford

Week 2

The Masochism Tango, Tom Lehrer - Kansas City, Wilbert Harrison

Silhouettes, The Rays - Carolina Moon, Connie Francis

Hound Dog, Big Mama Thornton - Jim Dandy, LaVern Baker

Here in My Heart, Al Martino - I Put A Spell On You, Screamin' Jay Hawkins

Whole Lotta Shaking Going On, Big Maybelle - A Teenager In Love, Dion & The Belmonts

Fever, Little Willie John - Old Cape Cod, Patti Page

Summertime Blues, Eddie Cochran - Lovers Question, Clyde McPhatter

Summertime, Ella Fitzgerald/ Louis Armstrong - Dont You Just Know it, Huey Piano Smith & His Clowns

Lonely Teardrops, Jackie Wilson - Wonderful! Wonderful!, Johnny Mathis

Week 3

Earth Angel, The Penguins - Rumble, Link Wray

Blueberry Hill, Fats Domino - Why Do Fools Fall In Love, Frankie Lymon

Put Your Head on My Shoulder, Paul Anka - Stagger Lee, Lloyd Price

Cold, Cold Heart, Hank Williams - I Hear You Knocking, Smiley Lewis

Sh'Boom, The Chords - Rebel Rouser, Duane Eddie

Brown Eyed Handsome, Man Chuck Berry - Speedo, The Cadillacs

In the Still Of The Night, The Five Satins - Freight Train, Elizabeth Cotten

Mama He Treats Your Daughter Mean Ruth Brown - Everyday Buddy Hollly & The Crickets

Come & Go With Me, The Del Vikings - Love Potion No. 9, The Clovers

Week 4

My Baby Just Cares For Me, Nina Simone - (We're Gonna) Rock Around the Clock, Bill Haley & His Comets

That's Amore, Dean Martin - Betty Lou Got A New Pair Of Shoes, Bobby Freeman

I Walk The Line, Johnny Cash - Work With Me Annie, Hank Ballard & The Midnighters

Cry Me A River, Julie London - Come On-a My House, Rosemary Clooney

Be Anything (but Be Mine), Peggy Lee - Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, The Platters

The Book of Love, The Monotones - Mr. Sandman, The Chordettes

Pink Shoelaces, Dodie Stevens - Let's Have A Party, Wanda Jackson

Ain't Got No Home, Clarence "Frogman" Henry - Fly Me To The Moon, Kaye Ballard

Day-O (The Banana Boat Song), Harry Belafonte - Blue Suede Shoes, Carl Perkins

#50s music turney

4 notes · View notes

1264doghouse · 10 months ago

Text

Muddy Waters Blues Band in 1971 at the Jazz Workshop in Boston. Willie “Big Eyes” Smith, Muddy, Paul Oscher & Pee Wee Madison. Photo by Bob Margolin.

40 notes · View notes

clubmusicweb · 2 months ago

Text

El 16 de septiembre de 2011 muere a los 75 años el bluesman Willie “Big Eyes” Smith

El 16 de septiembre de 2011 muere a los 75 años el bluesman Willie “Big Eyes” Smith, en Chicago (Estados Unidos), a causa de un derrame cerebral. Tenía 75 años. Nacido en Helena, Arkansas, se trasladó a Chicago con 17 años. Aunque comenzó como intérprete de armónica, la gran demanda de bateristas le llevó a especializarse en la batería. En 1955 tocó la armónica en la versión que Bo Diddley grabó…

View On WordPress

0 notes

dxsturbia · 8 months ago

Text

And my momma was a savage

nigga I got this shit from Willa

#love notes to imaginary friends #Beyoncé #will smith #Spotify

0 notes

jedivoodoochile · 1 year ago

Text

MUDDY WATERS (aka McKinley Morganfield) with one of his earliest records, in the 1940s, in Chicago.

His sound was exciting. In the decades to come he took his solo country blues and gospel bottleneck guitar style and plugged it in, making some of the most vital, elemental and influential music of all time.

His earliest sessions were with Alan Lomax. He went on to move to Chicago and record with Chess & Aristocrat Records teaming up with Willie Dixon, Little Walter, Jimmy Rogers, Willie Big Eyes Smith and many others to forge the prototype of great Chicago Blues.

WORLD'S #1 SOURCE of new Nationals and more: www.catfishkeith.com/national-guitars/

Photo thanks to Ramon del Solo. Thanks to Jim Clay too.

#muddy waters

1 note · View note

yessadirichards · 1 year ago

Text

Indiana JonIndiana Jones: Six things to knowes: Six things to know

CANNES

Indiana Jones turned archeology into a swashbuckling adventure of snake pits and lost treasures.

As 80-year-old Harrison Ford dons the beat-up fedora and ever-trusty whip for a fifth and final outing in "Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny", premiering at the Cannes Film Festival on Thursday, here are six facts about one of the world's best-loved movie heroes:

Born in Hawaii

Fittingly for the globetrotting Indy, whose escapades have taken him from the Himalayas to Shanghai nightclubs, the project was born in Hawaii. It was there, lounging on a Maui beach in 1977, that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg mulled ideas to follow their respective hits, "Star Wars" and "Jaws".

The beach brainstorms would make movie history.

Produced by Lucas and directed by Spielberg, 1981's "Raiders of the Lost Ark" was a triumph at the box office and scooped four Oscars.

Two sequels -- "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" (1984) and "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" (1989) -- built a legend that has inspired theme parks, video games and mountains of merchandise.

A fourth outing nearly two decades later, "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" brought the combined box office takings to nearly $2 billion.

Dog's name

The inspiration behind the character came from both real and imaginary sources.

There was the archeologist Hiram Bingham who discovered Machu Picchu, Tintin creator Herge, and Clint Eastwood's Westerns.

As for the name, Lucas first chose Indiana Smith -- changed to "Jones" by Spielberg -- taking the first part from his Alaskan Malamute pet dog, already the inspiration for Chewbacca in "Star Wars".

Bond without the gadgets

Although Spielberg dreamed of directing a James Bond film, Lucas insisted part of Indy's appeal was that this hero would be a "Bond without the gadgets".

There would be no explosive watches or Aston Martins with ejectable seats -- Indy would triumph with ropes, knives and ingenuity.

He bore all the hallmarks of a classic Lucas-Spielberg character: a geeky hero with a comical, ironic side, whose affairs with women were more complicated than any Bond-style conquests.

Spielberg's comeback

While the Indiana Jones project was brewing, Spielberg was on the back foot after his film, "1941", flopped.

He was also gaining a reputation as a big-spending director who ran overtime and could be tyrannical on set, even leaving two days early from the filming of "Jaws", fearing his team would try to drown him, such was his unpopularity.

Lucas's project marked a career turning point for Spielberg -- proving he could work fast, on time, in budget, and with big success.

Ford not first choice

Spielberg wanted Ford, but Lucas was reluctant to re-use his lead actor from "Star Wars", from which he wanted a break.

Nick Nolte, Jeff Bridges and Bill Murray were considered before the spotlight settled on Tom Selleck, but the mustachioed charmer had already signed up for TV detective show "Magnum, PI".

Later, thousands of actresses tried out for the role of Willie in the second film, including Sharon Stone, but it finally went to Kate Capshaw.

Capshaw did not go on to a glittering Hollywood career, but she did become Mrs Spielberg in 1991.

Eye of the cobra

Indy's extreme fear of snakes, or ophidiophobia, has been a frequent plot point.

For the classic scene in which Indy falls into a pit full of the slithering reptiles, Spielberg did not hold back on the props: 6,500 live cobras, plus a few bits of watering hoses.

#yessadirichards

0 notes

twins2994 · 1 year ago

Text

Outman’s Grand Slam Helps Dodgers Take Series

Twins 3 Dodgers 7 W-Graterol (2-1) L-DeLeon (0-1)

The Minnesota Twins picked up their first win at Dodger Stadium since 2005 last night as Bailey Ober shut down the Dodgers lineup. The rubber game ensued today in Los Angeles. Mookie Betts got the scoring started today as he led-off the third with a triple to right. Freddie Freeman hit a sacrifice fly to left and the Dodgers drew first blood. The Twins answered in the fourth as Byron Buxton knocked a Dylan Covey fastball out to left for a solo homer to even the game at one all. The Dodgers got that run back in the bottom of the fourth when James Outman led-off with a single and stole second base. Mookie Betts delivered a two-out single to center and the Dodgers regained a one-run lead. The Twins inched closer in the sixth as Joey Gallo smashed a Dylan Covey fastball out to right-center. The solo homer tied the game at two and the Twins got back to work in the seventh. Willi Castro started the rally with a lead-off infield single. Christian Vazquez singled to right and Caleb Ferguson made a bad pick-off throw to third base. This scored Castro and the Twins took a 3-2 lead. The Dodgers came back with a big inning in the bottom of the seventh. Will Smith started it with a two-out single to left and Max Muncy lined a base hit to riht. Jason Heyward drew a walk to load up the bases. Miguel Vargas walked in a run and James Outman plastered an Emilio Pagan fastball out to center for a grand slam. The Dodgers took a 7-3 lead in a blink of an eye. Brusdar Graterol got four big outs and Evan Phillips put up a zero in the ninth as the Doders took the series from the Twins today.

-Final Thoughts- Sonny Gray had another start end early because of a high pitch count. He lasted four innings and gave up two runs on five hits with three walks and three strikeouts. Jovani Moran had a scoreless fifth and Jose DeLeon was cruising until he gave up a pair of two-out singles in the seventh. Emilio Pagan gave up three runs and recorded just one out. Cole Sands had a 1-2-3 eighth. Alex Kirilloff led the way with two hits on the day. It was a tough day for the Twins as Nick Gordon went down with a fracture in his shin. He will be placed on the injured list. Jorge Polanco has been dealing with a hamstring injury and left the game early because of it. Joey Gallo fouled a ball off his foot and was sore aftter. The Twins will stick around the Los Angeles area and play the Angels after an off day on Thursday. Joe Ryan will make the start on Friday night

-Chris Kreibich-

0 notes

sydorax-squid · 2 years ago

Text

The White And Blue House

Gregory looked out the little window at the top of his door, watching the neighbors across the street. His daughter sat on the couch adjacent, thoroughly engrossed in a book.

“That black guy is back.” Gregory announced, his powerful voice cutting through the quiet pattering of the rain outside. The sky was grey and dreary but still the sun’s illumination cut through, brightening any houses that dared to open their blinds.

“Mmm.” Mindy grunted, her disinterest palpable.

“He’s walking up to the house now,” Gregory reported, watching, narrating the stranger’s actions. The short, stocky fellow of African descent meandered slowly, almost as if struggling to walk in a straight line towards the little house. He wore a big black hoody, dark jeans and black boots. Combined with his black car with tinted windows, the man was very dark indeed. Quite the contrast to the bright white house with sky-blue trim and soft grey-shingled roof. The normally bright and colorful flower garden that encompassed the walls of the house, at least in the front, was dead and barren at this frigid time of year, though that didn’t detract anything from the overall pleasantness the building exuded.

“There’s something in the door,” Gregory observed as the man got closer to the structure. “Between the glass door and the wood one.” He squinted. “Looks like a bag.”

“Mm.”

Gregory watched suspiciously as the black man stepped onto the cheerful white porch with a decorative blue carpet finish. He opened the glass door and retrieved the black bag. Gregory couldn’t help but note how everything was dark with this guy. His clothes, his car, even his expression was dark and foul.

The man opened the bag and looked inside. Even from that distance, Gregory could see the man’s face brighten maliciously, gleefully as he inspected the bag’s contents.

“He’s going back to his car now. What the hell is going on?” Gregory wondered aloud, tilting his head slightly as he continued to spy on their neighbors.

“Willy says those guys are just house-sitting until the real owners get here,” Mindy reminded her father, glancing up from her book. “He talked to them, remember?”

“Willy Smith can barely tell his ass from a hole in the ground,” Gregory commented with a snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was high when he talked to them.”

“Willy doesn’t do drugs, Dad,” Mindy said, tilting her head with disapproval, laying the open book down on her lap. “He’s got problems with his brain.”

“He’s damn weird, is what he is,” Gregory retorted, continuing to watch the neighbor. Mindy rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

Moments after their conversation ended, another car pulled up in front of the pretty white and blue house. It was also black with tinted windows and it stopped dead in the middle of the street.

“That looks like a Mazarati,” Gregory observed. “Expensive. Looks new, too.”

“Mr Kennedy has some real nice cars,” Mindy muttered, trying hard to ignore her dad’s nosy peeping. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s just sitting there!” Gregory proclaimed, pointing absently through the door. “Right in the middle of the street. What an ass.”

The black man jumped out of his car and quickly into this new vehicle, bringing the bag with him. But the car didn’t move. It stayed, lingering in the center of the admittedly empty street. It was Sunday during church hours; most folks weren’t home or out on the roads. Still, Gregory couldn't help but fume at the audacity of the obscured driver and his shady passenger.

“What the hell are they doing?” he muttered to himself, watching, watching, watching.

A few minutes passed and the shiny Mazarati finally moved, pulling into the driveway of the house. The old Jefferson’s place sat on a steep hill; the driveway went down that hill and around the back to a partially below-ground garage, very fancy for the neighborhood. The expensive car slowly pulled in and crept down that hill, as if the car itself was nervous about the sharp decline. The car and passengers disappeared behind the hill and the house without so much as a whisper.

“They’re definitely doing somethin’,” Gregory proclaimed. “Probably got a meth lab back there.”

“Meth is extremely toxic,” Mindy said. “They wouldn’t do it in a nice neighborhood like ours.” She glanced up at him, her piercing green eyes boring holes into his skull. “Too many nosy neighbors.”

Gregory huffed and turned away, his interest flattened by lack of action across the street.

A few hours later that same day, the nice Italian family that lived directly across the street from Gregory’s house returned home from church. They lived next to the old Jefferson’s place; the Bellagambas were situated snuggly between a corner house with a nasty older woman and the recent center of suspicious activity.

Seeing that they were home and that Mr Bellagamba was outside, fiddling with something in his truck, Gregory decided it would be… prudent to discuss the goings-on in the neighborhood.

He walked cross the street, holding his hood up on his coat against the persistent but thin rainfall.

“Barry!” Gregory called out cheerfully, his voice booming. “How’s it goin’, Brother?”

“Hey!” Barry Bellagamba greeted back, his warm and friendly demeanor totally unaffected by the cold and depressing weather. “How’s it hanging, dude?”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Gregory replied, reaching his friend. “Work’s still murder but otherwise, everything is fine. You?”

“Same old, same old,” Barry said, nodding. “What’s up? You look a little tense.”

“It’s just those guys,” Gregory said with a gesture at the white and blue house. “They’re really suspicious.”

“I’ll say,” Barry scoffed, hands on hips. “They’re awake and moving around at three in the morning. Always coming and going.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

“That guy, the black guy,” Barry said. “He sits in his car for hours, talking to his pals and smoking weed.” He shook his head irritably. “Sarah can’t even go out on the deck most of the time; the smell and the smoke, it’s hard on her lungs. And Timmy’s wondering why there’s always a skunk around. Sarah won’t let me tell him what he’s smelling. Says he’s too young.”

“Nothing wrong with knowing,” Gregory said with a shrug. “Just be sure he knows he can’t have any yet. Make it like booze, y’know? ‘You can have it when you’re older’, right?”

“I guess.” Barry said with a shrug. “Sarah’s sorta weird about drugs.”

“Can’t blame her,” Gregory said. “Not with… y’know.”

“Yeah,” Barry said, nodding, a flash of shame and regret flickered along his face like the shadow of a candle flame. “That’s what’s got me really nervous.”

“You think?” Gregory inquired, surmising his friend’s worries.

“Yup,” Barry replied, popping the end of the word. “I know the type, their habits. He fits the bill.”

“Shit.” Gregory rolled his head with dread. “This same shit happened to my brother, down in Florida. Bunch o’ Haitians moved into his neighborhood, brought their drugs and their shit. Ruined the whole damn place.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Barry said, trying to steer Gregory away from his long-taught hatred. “But they’re definitely up to something. I already told Sarah to stay away from them. It’s not safe, y’know? Especially if they're using. They get real desperate, kinda insane. I don’t want her or Timmy anywhere near them.”

“Yeah, I’ll be telling Mindy the same,” Gregory nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “She doesn’t seem to care. Says Willy told her that they’re just house-sitting.”

“Pft!” Barry scoffed. “Yeah, sure, ‘house-sitting’. I dunno what they’re doing, but it ain’t just house-sitting.”

“How many have you seen?” Gregory asked, his mind having finally caught Barry’s use of the plural pronoun.

“Two distinctly,” Barry said. “I see the black guy all the time. Smell him, too. But there’s another guy, a tall, middle-aged white guy. He’s balding, with that hair… hair ring? Y’know, that thing where they hang onto the hair right here?” Barry pointed at his head, tilting it down to expose the top, circling his cranium from ear to ear around the back. He straightened. “That shit.”

“So a black guy and a white guy?” Gregory asked, grinning. “Sounds like the start to a joke.”

“Yeah, a bad one,” Barry snickered.

“You think we should call the cops on them or something?” Gregory asked.

“Mmmm, I dunno. Not yet,” Barry said. “Maybe if they get worse.”

Gregory nodded.

The two men talked a while longer, just chatting about things, life, work, their families. Eventually, though, Sarah Bellagamba poked her head out of the front door to call Barry inside. She waved pleasantly at Gregory, invited him in for lunch. Gregory shrugged and agreed, following Barry inside. They exchanged a knowing glance to each other, silently agreeing to discuss the neighbors no further.

A few days passed without much happening across the street. Gregory kept his eyes on the suspicious characters, noting that the white man drove a black car, but not the Mazarati. The white man drove a simple van, unremarkable and utilitarian.

So who drove the shiny, sporty car?

“You be sure to stay away from them, okay?” Gregory told Mindy firmly. His 23-year-old daughter looked up at him dismissively, her eyes full of irritation and mild loathing, as if she didn’t approve of her father’s incessant desire to pry into other’s lives.

“Don’t be racist,” she admonished.

“I’m not being racist,” Gregory argued, walking past her in the kitchen. He retrieved a glass and ran it under the tap. “I was talking to Barry the other day he thinks they’re druggies, too.”

Mindy sighed. She couldn’t ignore Barry’s expertise in this matter. It was one thing for her father to be judgmental and suspicious, but it was another entirely coming from Barry.

“So what did he say?” She asked him, her voice sounding heavy and bored.

“He says the black guy hangs out in his car for hours on end, smoking dope and talking to his nig-” He halted at her angered glare. She didn’t like that word, nor how flagrantly he tended to use it. “His trashy friends.” he amended venomously, irritated that she insist he change his ways for her comfort. It was the perfect word to describe them, after all. Not all of them, naturally, just the worst ones. Like the ones at the Warehouse he worked in, like the one that was invading their neighborhood.

“And?” Mindy asked. “It’s legal to smoke that crap now. That’s not really a problem, outside of the smell. But cigarettes are just as bad. Worse, even.”

“That’s not the point,” Gregory argued, sipping his water as Mindy stirred the contents of the bubbling pot. “There’s something weird about them. Something… wrong.”

“I dunno, Dad,” she said, sighing, the conversation both bored and exacerbated her already lousy mood. “And I really don’t care. Just leave them alone. If something bad happens, then we’ll call the cops, okay? It’s just not important right now.”

“Not important?” Gregory said, his temper flaring audibly. “Mindy, this is serious! They could be criminals! There’s kids in this neighborhood, for God’s sake!”

“Not nearly enough kids to turn a profit,” she retaliated logically. “And even so, every other person on our street watches their windows. Why do we need to be worrying about it? I’ve got plenty of other things to think about, okay?”

Gregory took a deep breath.

“Just promise me you’ll stay away from them,” he said finally, his voice tense and heavy with repressed emotion. Mindy turned and looked him in his green eyes, her own emerald orbs full of uncertainty and exhaustion.

“Okay, Dad, I won’t go anywhere near them,” she assured him. “Not like I ever go out anyway.” she muttered under her breath. Gregory sighed with relief.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, what’s for dinner?”

Mindy sat on the couch by the big bay windows. It was another dark and dreary March day. Perfect for reading. She snuggled up under a blanket, put on some music, and began to read from her newest book. It wasn’t long, however, before the sound of rain began to drown out the music. She looked outside. It was pelting down rain and sleet, huge globs of slushy ice slammed against the windows, the brick walls, the roof, pounding and cascading in a cacophony of ceaseless drumming. The world had suddenly turned significantly more grey and frightening and Mindy found her eyes drawn out the window and across the street to the little white house with blue trim. She saw the black man’s car outside, which wasn’t unusual. However, all his windows were down and the sleet and rain was coming in at a sharp angle now, most certainly flooding his car with dampness and future rot.

Without thinking much about it, Mindy put the bookmark back between the crisp pages, slipped on some shoes and a light hoodie and went outside. The sleet and rain pounded against her little body, slapping and stinging without remorse. She pulled the hood down low over her head as she sprinted across the street to the white and blue house.

She glanced in at the open windows, confirming that there was indeed a thickening layer of moisture on the inner furnishing of the remarkably clean car. She hopped over the curb and quickly sprinted up the sidewalk to the safety of the front porch, her clothes now damp and icy.

Mindy pressed the doorbell but heard no sound from within. She tried again. Still no sound. Forgetting her father’s warning, the young woman opened the glass door and reached in to knock on the polished wooden door. Her knuckles made a firm contact; a musical note echoed in the empty house. But with the second knock, the door gave way beneath her hand, creaking silently on greased hinges inward.

“Huh.” she mused. She chalked it up to whoever was inside having a bad day. She often forgot things when she was having a rough day. She pushed the door open further and peered inside. The house, which was once richly furnished with years and years of possessions and memories, lay vacant, the former occupants having been moved into a care facility closer to their adult children. Mrs Jefferson had been loosing her mind, last Mindy recalled, and Mr Jefferson’s skin was disintegrating, or so she had been told. They were an ancient couple, one of the first in the neighborhood. Nonagenarians, the both of them. It had been a sad day when they saw the For Sale sign in their yard.

Mindy mustered up the courage to call into the eerily empty house.

“Hello?” she said, her voice echoing off the bare walls. The outlines of where there had hung treasured photographs remained on the wallpaper, the color inside the various rectangles a more vibrant version of the exterior.

“Hello?” she called again. “You left your windows down! It’s raining really hard out here!”

Something drew Mindy into the building, be it the unsettling quiet or perhaps the warm nostalgia of long-gone memories, she didn’t know. She remembered once, when she was very little, coming into the Jefferson’s place to say Merry Christmas. The place was so warm and inviting, dark but that only made the colorful lights more intense. She stepped in further, remembering the big table just there, next to the door, and all the little tiny people that decorated the incredibly detailed hill that sat atop the table. The people were all looking up at the top of the hill where a mighty Christmas tree stood, tall and proud, tiny lights strung on it’s branches, miniature tinsel lined the boughs and an exceptionally ornate star was perched at the top. Mindy was so small back then, she couldn't even see the rest of the painstaking detail Mr Jefferson had put into the scene; the stalls where vendors sold popcorn and candles and tasty treats to anyone with a nickel or a penny to spare, the big crowd of people on the other side of the hill that sat, staring up into the sky and talking, laughing with mirth.

Mindy turned her head. There, against that wall, Mrs Jefferson had a loveseat with a gaudy flower print and too many pillows. Just adjacent, in the corner by an arch that led to the kitchen, which led to the dining room and then back out into the living room in a big circle, that was where Mr Jefferson had sat in a cozy brown recliner, rocking back and forth, smiling as Mindy had stared around in wonder at all his miniatures. A train, she recalled, there was a train that ran all through the house, first around the living room, to the kitchen, the dining room, then back further to the bathroom and bedrooms, then it came back out again. It made all the right sounds of a train, it even let out little puffs of steam. She remembered the smell, a sort of… electrical burning scent of the antique toy trains.

She smiled. She still had the beginner train and tracks Mr Jefferson had given her. She set it up every year at Christmas.

“Hello?” She called again, remembering what she was doing here in the first place. “Hey, you're windows are down! It’s raining, your windows—”

She stopped, hearing a strange sound. It was a grumbling noise, like an upset stomach, only much louder. Mindy froze. Suddenly the house didn’t seem so warm and cozy anymore, she suddenly realized how empty and silent it had been.

The noise again. The gurgling, churning sound made her feel queazy. She poked her own stomach, wondering, hoping it was responsible. But no, the sound echoed again, and her brain told her it was coming from the hallway.

Despite every single cell in her body pushing, yearning, screaming for her to turn away and run, Mindy didn’t. She didn’t run. She found herself wondering why she wasn’t running, why she was slowly moving toward the sound. She wasn’t a very adventurous woman, not hardly.

She took a step.

She took another step.

The gurgling grew louder as she stepped closer.

Another step… another step… another step…

Mindy turned the corner to the hallway. She could swear she smelled something… something foul. But it wasn’t offensively foul, like rotting meat or human waste. It was… an organic smell, natural, but not horrid. Not yet.

Step, step, stepping further in, Mindy listened as the sound changed, grew, new layers were added to what she could hear. The gurgling churning sound was now accompanied by a squelching, a wet slapping, and slurping. She felt her heart racing, her body trembled as she got closer to the source. It was the last bedroom, across from the bathroom. She’d never been in this part of the house. It gave her the feeling of walking around unfamiliar woods at night with no moon. Even her photosensitive eyes couldn’t see in such darkness. This was the sensation that crawled up her back as she watched her hand reach out to turn the knob.

Why am I doing this? she thought, pulling the door open. I should've listened to Dad.

She stared into the dark room. The single window had been covered in thick black cloth stapled to the window frame and there were no light sources to speak of. Her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dark and she began to see that the room was nearly empty, save a filthy mattress in one corner and a couple of buckets. One bucket, she saw, had what looked like dog food inside, filled halfway with pieces scattered around the base of the container. Another bucket had what she believed to be dirty water, based on the particles floating in it. And the third, largest bucket… the contents were unknown and she preferred to keep it that way.

Her eyes shifted to what was making all the noise.

It looked to be a man, though she hesitated to use that word. He was laying on the floor, his legs spread out behind him, moving occasionally like a baby’s might; random and aimlessly. He was very busy, it seemed, shoving things into his mouth, slurping and crunching and gurgling with pleasure. His whole face was covered in a dark liquid, his hands and chest were similarly decorated. He was leaning on his elbows, propping up his uppermost portion, though he consistently leaned back down to viciously bite, rip, and tear at what he was eating.

The man was stark naked, filthy, and rather gaunt, with messy, matted hair and a very thin physique. It was hard to see in this level of light, but Mindy strained to figure out what exactly he was eating.

The gentle clinking of a chain caught her attention. Mindy turned and saw the black man was beside her, scowling. He held a very thick chain in one hand, the links clinking musically like a deadly wind chime.

“Move,” was all he said. Mindy did just that, stepping back, pushing the door open further as she did. The black man hefted the chain in his hand and the creature on the floor looked up, his big luminous amber orbs glowed with terror. He let out a little shriek as the black man hit him with the chain, the contact making a sickening thud noise. The beastly creature jumped to his feet and scurried back on all fours, cowering on the dirty mattress as the black man pursued. Mindy felt her heart sink at the beastly, frightened cries the creature emitted as he covered his large head with his thin arms, yelping in pain at each blow landed.

The beating felt like it went on forever and Mindy just stood there, as if in a dream. She listened as the creature whimpered and sobbed as the black man stopped whipping, turning instead to admonishing the creature’s actions in a language Mindy had never heard before. The creature stayed on the mattress, cowering, his boney back now covered in dark mottling bruises and open wounds.

The black man turned, glancing at the remarkably still present and aware Mindy. He draped the chain around his neck and went over to the dark mass on the floor. He grunted irritably, bending down and picking up a chunk of it. He dragged the thing out into the hallway, much to the dismay of the creature, whose glowing amber eyes peered out at them from the crook of his elbow.

It was here that Mindy realized that the thing the creature had been so delightfully eating was in fact, the white man her father had described. The creature had done quite the number on him, she couldn’t be sure the carcass being dragged away was even human at all, just a bloody mass of broken bones and mangled meat.

“Fucking neighborhood,” the black man muttered, dragging the body into the kitchen. “Fucking Mark. Goddammit.”

He muttered angrily as he retrieved a roll of garbage bags. Mindy watched, her heart hollow and her soul miles from this grizzly scene as the black man proceeded to put the remains of his presumed business partner into the garbage bags.

“Watch the fucker, it’ll be easy,” he grumbled, shoving chunks of what was once human into the bags. “He eats dog food. Don’t worry, he’s not dangerous. Just be sure to keep him in his place.”

Mindy stared, morbidly curious. She saw a few organs she recognized, but it looked as though the creature had eaten most of the valuables to be found in a human body. The black man continued to complain to himself as Mindy continued to stand idly, holding the door open with her presence. She heard a noise at her side and saw the man-beast on the ground, crouched like a lemur, staring up at her inquisitively. She stared back at him, too shocked to feel anything even close to fear. The creature was angular, with a strong jaw, lipless mouth, hooked nose and deep-set eyes. He had european features, oddly enough.

The creature blinked at her. He leaned forward, moving like an ape might, resting his weight on his knuckles. Mindy looked down at his blood-covered hands. He had very large hands. And very large feet. Perhaps it was because the rest of him was so skinny, or perhaps he really did have big hands, feet, and cranium? He moved towards her, slowly, carefully, a look of frightened timidity in his inhuman eyes. She watched him back, feeling nothing at all, except a mild curiosity tingling at the back of her eyes.

The creature hopped over the threshold, landing silently, gracefully at Mindy’s feet. He looked up at her, his head tilted to one side like a dog hearing his favorite words. Now in more light, Mindy could see how very strange a beast this man was. Everything about his body was just a little off. It wasn’t a concrete thing, something she could easily identify and explain, it was just… off. Perhaps it was the way his bones seemed to lay just below the skin, or maybe it was the way she could see every muscle and tendon flexing, operating when he moved. Or could it be his coloring? He was both deathly pale and yet very colorful, the thin blue streaks spiderwebbing all over his delicate body gave him a very intricate and interesting pattern. She could swear she saw his heart and lungs operating through his skin.

“HEY!” The black man yelled, startled. The creature turned suddenly, moving with inhuman speed and agility at the offending voice. The black man never stood a chance as the beast traversed the distance in seconds— no, less than one second. He pounced on the black man, sunk his teeth into the man’s neck and with a grunt, ripped the man’s throat open. The beast stuck his fingers into the open blood-gushing wound and with a horrifying, sickening sound, ripped the black man’s neck completely asunder, nearly severing the spinal cord in the act.

The black man was dead instantly. The beast howled excitedly, pounding his large fists against the fresh corpse, pummeling it into a mound of grotesque indulgence, the sight of which finally brought Mindy back to her senses.

Without a sound or a second thought, the young woman shot out of the house, careening like a bolt of lightning toward her home. The sleeting rain was harder now, pounding down against her back with vengeful wrath, as if to punish her for her folly.

She burst into the sturdy brick building with a flurry of movement, whirling around on her heel to slam the heavy wooden door shut behind her, locking it breathlessly. She immediately went to the back door and locked it, too.

“Dad!” she practically shrieked, her head whipping from side to side. “Dad?!” she shouted again. It was five o’clock, he ought to be home by now. Where the hell was he?

She ran into his bedroom, the bathroom, the basement, even the attic, her feet pounding so loud it threatened to drown out the sound of the accursed rain.

“Dad!” she wailed, finding him nowhere.

Her heart stopped.

The garage.

Overcome with fear and grief, Mindy launched down the attic steps, grabbing one of her dad’s old baseball bats from where it hung decoratively on the living room wall. She ran to the back door, fumbled frantically, her heart pump, pump, pumping so fast it threatened to explode. She yanked the door open and flew out the portal, back into the angry rain.

“Dad!” she wailed again, running the short distance to the garage. She slipped on the pavement, landing hard on her arms, the bat clattering noisily against the concrete. She gasped; it felt as though she had popped her shoulder from it’s socket. She grit her teeth, found her footing, and switched the bat to the other hand.

Mindy threw open the garage door.

“Dad?”

She stood just inside the doorway, the wind whipping around behind her, threatening to knock her over. She could feel her heart thumping, her lungs burning from the unfamiliar activity, her shoulder aching intolerably from the fall.

“Dad?”

His car was there, in the garage. The old beaten up pickup truck he was always tinkering with. But no Gregory. Hesitantly, Mindy walked forward, a trickling water trail followed behind her. She held her breath before turning to look behind the truck. Still no father, still no trace.   She clutched the bat tightly as she bent her knees, lowering herself down to peer under the vehicle. She let out a sharp exhale. Still no Gregory. Lastly, she peeked into the truck’s bed. Nothing at all.

Mindy’s heart slowed a bit as she thought about it. Where could her dad be?

The Bellagambas! Mindy whirled around, fully intent on sprinting back across the street to her neighbors, wanting to warn them, to warn her dad.

She froze. There was a person in the doorway. It was a man in silhouette, the dim light of the remaining day illuminated nothing but his eyes. A pair of glowing amber eyes.

END.

#horror #short story

0 notes