It Came Through the Door

The following is based on a telling in the Province...

     December 30, 2014.  Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada.

     I've known for quite some time now, but I could not prove it.  I felt alone in this, for everyone I've told, none believed or would listen to me.  Perhaps I was going insane, or I was conjuring delusions.  But every time I saw it, something deep within me -- some primordial feeling left within my DNA -- sensed something was off.  I paced my apartment, knowing its arrival was inevitable, and felt like a lab rat trapped in a glass cage, ready for what came next.  My heart pounded within my chest, made more oppressive with every step I took.  Despite the warmth of the room, my hands felt as ice; I wrung them to get the blood flowing, which didn't seem to help.  Damn, the December freeze!  Winter never felt so lonely as it did at that moment.

     I heard a click at the door..  My heart skipped and a lump formed in my throat.  The thought of seeing it again...  Fear gathered at the back of my neck and weighed down my chest in anticipation.  It was here!

     The slide of the key hitting home raised my awareness, my surroundings coming ever so closer.  All at once, I didn't have room to pace, the couch and seats crowded me and the coffee table was a huge road block.  I tried to back out of the living room, but the dining room table rose up to meet the walls on either side.  Everything in my apartment was put into place to deter my every movement.  And, I quickly realized, they were put there by it.  The thing arranged everything in just the right position, so when the infernal time came, there was nothing I could do.

     The key turned and the knob with it.  My mind scrambled, absorbing every object inside the room.  The chairs of the dining room seemed miles away.  I could use one of the lamps sitting on the end tables, but they held such a venerable age, it seemed not worth the effort.  The shoes beside the threshold of the door lain soft and comfortable on the carpet, probably not enough to do damage.  So much stuff surrounded me, yet not a thing I could use to defend myself.

     The click of the latch snapped so loud in my ears, I took a step back, yet I stood in place, not moving at all.  The sensation felt surreal, like I was there, yet looked at myself from somewhere near the kitchen, peeking around the corner, frightened at... what might come.  My shoulders detached from my body and the rest of my conscience followed, stepping back and watching the moment the door opened... at the moment of my death.

     And then... there it was!  Standing with its purse strapped over its shoulder like a rotting head dangling from a rope.  Bits of snow melted on its shoulders and wool cap.  It stomped its booted feet like a bull getting ready for the matador.  It yanked the cap off its head and hung it on a coat hook.  Its deathly pale face held a toothy smile with bright white teeth -- fangs? --  and a crimson nose.  It looked at me with pale blue eyes and reached toward me, holding a brown cylinder capped with a black disk, wicked steam rising from the top; perhaps its hellish death device.

     "Hi, hon," it said.  "I brought you some coffee."

     It was a ruse, I knew, and the thing had plans for me more horrifying than I could imagine.  It took a step toward me and shoved the hot, brown cylinder in my direction.  I had no choice but to handle the igneous death device, forged in the fires of hell.

     "It's deathly cold outside," it said, flashing those sharpened fangs again.  It began speaking in its natural foreign tongues -- about what, I had not idea -- but most likely about its accustomed daily activities and such.

     I set the damnable cylinder down on the table and took a step back.  The thing shed its peculiarly dried overcoat, like a serpent shedding its skin, and hung it on the hooks.  It turned around to face me, pale blue eyes had gone huge and black, and said, "You will no longer call me Satan."

     At that moment, fear gripped me in its iron vice.  Nothing I could do, I knew, would save my life.  I was doomed from the minute it came through the door.

     It stepped toward me, but I freed myself of the fear and threw the brown death cylinder at it.  I found a painted rock on the mantel and struck its head several times, but the thing's terrible roar only made it stronger.  I found an electrical cord and managed to get it around the thing's neck.  It coughed, and I knew I somehow blocked its ability to spew its venomous breath.  I pulled and tightened my grip, but its struggle was greater than mine.  It would not die.

     How stupid could I have been?  Of course!  I realized the beast could only be slain by disrupting the chakra energies it used for its cruel and evil purposes.  I rushed to the kitchen, gripped the handle of a butcher knife, and hurried back to finish it.  By that time, the thing had the cord from around its neck, but I saw it was weak.  I overcame it and immediately plunged the knife into its groin, starting at the Root.  Six more times, working my way up, I plunged the knife into it until I reached its head.  The thing finally stopped moving.  The demon was dead.

Life on Mars

The following is based on a report posted in the Inquistr...

     3 billion years ago.  The Last Great Solar War, Mars.
     Aksyrob leveled his blaster rifle at the Draco warrior.  he knew, or at least his government and military leader had told everyone, the reptilians had started this war for the domination and procurement of resources.  The entirety of Mars held their ground, battling against the Draco invasion, which had spread throughout the galaxy.  Of course, the humans of Mars were not without help.  The Grays brought in their allies from the Sirius, Rigel, and Aldebaran systems.  However, the Draco countered with their own, bigger allies in the insectoid Mantis and other for a galactic domination.  No one in the galaxy was safe, unless the forces of evil were brought down with a mighty blow.
     Before the reptilian could take a shot, Akysrob let loose a volley of concentrated plasma toward the warrior, blasting through the Draco's ceramic armor, which carved out a cavity deep in its chest.  The warrior collapsed in a heap, unmoving.
"We've got them holed-up in the building across the street," Aksyrob heard his commander via the comms-unit in his helmet.  Her voice quivered with anger.  Aksyrob thought she could be fierce at times, and this was one of those times.  "Ydissac, take a squad to the back entrance," she directed.  The commander gave her directions from sights unseen, at least from a point unknown to Aksyrob.  It was probably better that way.  "Aksyrob, take your troops through the front doors, while I coordinate the side doors."
     All squad leaders acknowledged their positions and confirmed their orders.  Aksyrob checked on his squad.  Semaj was a big man, wide and broad, who could hardly fit into his combat gear.  His muscles seemed to want to escape such confinement.  Delfsnurg was the wiry type, both in physique and intelligence; the demolition/engineer of the team, his body was great for getting into tight spaces.  Revor was packed with an attitude only fit for a woman who thought of herself as one of the guys, and would never let anyone see her feminine side.  And, finally, there was Aksyrob's best friend, Tolemac.  They were recruited at the same time, graduating boot camp and serving in Caledonia for two years before the Draco Invasion.  When the shit hit the fan, the two of them vowed to be inseparable, no matter the assignment given by the military leaders.  The four of them made a formidable team, largely because of their tendency to make irrational decisions, always heading into danger without considering the consequences and usually come out the better for it.  Because they were always rushing in head first, they were known as the Rush Ins.
     Aksyrob relayed orders to his squad and, together, they quickly moved toward the front of the building.

Elsewhere in the solar system, the Draco-Mantis Throng maneuvered a dwarf planet with their greatest weapon, the Tiamat Device.  Tiamat, meaning "chaotic bearer of words" in the reptilian language, had the capability to move planets the size of Mars with an incredible amount of energy harnessed by the sun.  the dwarf planet in this war was directed at Mars.  The Draco believed if the Martians did not relinquish its resources, no one will have it.
     The dwarf planet was due to strike Mars within 24 hours of Tiamat's launch, but a military operation devised by the Human-Gray Confederation had been launched to divert the planet out of the system and out of harm's way.  Unfortunately, things went FUBAR, and the operatives of the mission managed only to divert the dwarf planet just enough to miss Mars. Minutes later, it hit the third, recently cooled planet of the system, which will eventually be called Earth.  The catastrophe was such that, hundreds of thousands of years later, a moon would develop and orbit the earth.  the destruction of that world sent asteroid-sized rocks in the direction of Mars, pelting the advanced civilization with its carnal devastation.  One particular chunk of earth would open a crack across Mars' landscape and cause the luscious, fertile planet to lose its atmosphere.

Minutes before the catastrophe, Aksyrob and his squad entered the building through the front doors.  Immediately, the Rush Ins were bombarded by Draco plasma blasts.  Lucky for the squad, there was enough cover to hide behind.  Although they traded blaster fire, not one of them knew what came from space, crashing into their planet... ending their existence forever.

Old Stinker

The following is based on reports covered in the DailyMail.com, with names changed to protect the innocent...

     May 15, 2016.  Kingston-Upon-Hull, England.
     Chris Wiggins waited at the back of the cathedral-like room, hearing the townsfolk telling their stories to any who'd listen.  The din of voices amazed him.  How could such stories rile all these people at once?  He thought it ridiculous, but the Council held the town hall meeting, nonetheless.
     The gavel sounded louder than the din of the room, which caught everyone's attention.  They all settled down as the lead Councillor began.
     'The town hall meeting is being held on the heels of sightings around the countryside of...' he stopped himself, not being able to bring himself to say what everyone was thinking.
     'It's Old Stinker, I tells ya,' said Brandon Starkweather, a local farmer and father of four.  'He's back and, if not stopped, could eat up all our livestock.'
     The legend of Old Stinker, which almost everyone in Yorkshire believed to be true, is about a great hairy beast with red eyes, who was so called because of his bad breath.  He would dig up corpses from graveyards, which took the form of werewolves, and because of this, townsfolk believed he and his minions are supernatural beings.
     As Wiggins stood at the back of the room, he shook his head at the mention of Old Stinker.  Rumors flew quickly in Yorkshire, and even more so in Hull.
     One woman stood, half crazed, and said, 'It was stood upright one moment.  The next it was down on all fours running like a dog.  I was terrified.  It vaulted 30 ft. over to the other side and vanished up the embankment,' referring to the man-made channel called the Barmston Drain, 'and over a wall into some allotments.'
     One man stood, his wife holding a nursing baby, and told his story.  'We saw something tall and hairy next to the channel.  It was eating a large dog, like a German shepherd.  Before we could take a picture, it jumped over an 8-foot high fence with the animal still in its jaws.'
     The room erupted, everyone trying to tell their story all at once.  Wiggins felt he needed to squelch this ruckus immediately, otherwise this unruly mob was liable to hurt someone.  But, before he could say anything, the lead Councillor pounded his gavel, settling everyone.
     One woman remained standing, seemingly very timid.  'I was walking with my dearest Oswald along the path through the Wolds, when I spotted something that looked half-dog, half-human.'  As she described it, she became a little more animated.  'Poor Oswald, no matter how much I tugged on his leash, he refused to take another step in that direction.  We had to turn back.'
     Wiggins felt this was his chance to speak up and gave a loud cough.  Everyone turned to see him raise his hand.
     'Pardon, Councillor,' he said respectfully.
     The lead Councillor recognized Wiggins as the Local Labour Councillor.  'Councillor Wiggins, you have the floor.'
     'Thank you, Councillor.'  Wiggins made his way up to the front of the town hall and addressed the citizens.  'To alleviate everyone's concern, I am will to offer my services in an effort to document all sightings by the public and report back to the Hull Council.  I will keep a running record in my journal of every incident in the region.'
     The lead Councillor thought it was a grand idea, but felt the task was too big for just one man.  He asked for volunteers to help Wiggins in tracking down the creature and organize a hunt on the next full moon, but only armed with cameras and nothing more.  Wiggins accumulated several volunteers, and he suddenly realized it would be difficult indeed to hide his identity... as Old Stinker.

The Lodge

The following is based on a report posted at Jacksonville.com, with names changed to protect the innocent...

     May 11, 2016.  Jacksonville, Florida.
     Victor Holland walked into the stuffy board room to face the four-member committee at Duval County's School Board.  Last year, he had gotten reprimanded for an alleged "improper" communication in the workplace.  The last he checked, America was still a free country and speech was still a right.  He had demanded to know who had filed complaints against him, but Maxine Dotson -- executive director of the district's Office of Equity and Inclusion/Professional Standards -- told the Board her office had withheld those names citing "safety concerns."  Did they really think he was a threat to them?  There was no way he would have done anything to harm anyone.  Why would he?  At least, that's what he would tell the Board when it came time to "officially" defend himself.
     The committee sat behind a large, mahogany table, complete with small microphones raised in front of each member.  Proceedings like these were usually recorded for the district's archives.  Holland immediately recognized Royce Wyatt and Elton Perry, two of his Lodge buddies.  The Lodge held secret meetings once or twice a month, mostly for carousing and debauchery, and Holland really needed help from the Lodge.  He called up Wyatt and Perry to help, and since they both held positions on the Board, they were only too happy to help.  Membership sure did have its privileges.  And besides, the Lodge still needed the school for its purpose.
     As Holland sat in front of the huge table, a small microphone reaching up to catch his voice, he acknowledged the Board as a whole.  He was fully aware of Wyatt and Perry, but made no indication toward them to keep their secrecy intact.
     "Mr. Holland," started Wyatt, "are you aware of the allegations against you?"
     "I am," said Holland.
     With Wyatt leading the proceeding, it promised to be brief.  Holland thought well of Wyatt and hoped he'd convince the others to reverse his discipline.  So much had counted on the loyalty to the Lodge and its plan for the school, their positions were a vital factor.
     "Is it true," asked Wyatt, "that you made a comment about going home and cleaning your gun?"
     "I did," said Holland, "but it's not like I was threatening anyone.  I was talking to a co-worker about a weekend shooting trip in Tallahassee and said I had to go home to clean my weapon.  Someone must have overheard the last part of that and assumed I was threatening the district."
     "And, Mr. Holland," continued Wyatt, "is it true you used inappropriate language in the workplace, including talks about demons, ghosts, and other religious-related things?"
     Holland thought a moment on how to phrase his answer.  He didn't want to screw up this opportunity to retain his position in the district.  The Lodge needed him as a key component to their plans, and Wyatt and Perry would be there to complete those plans.
     "Are you a God-fearing man, Mr. Wyatt?" asked Holland.  Without waiting for an answer, he continued.  "There are many people employed by the Duval County School Board, many people with many religious beliefs.  I happened to find a co-worker with which we share religious beliefs, and we believe that is is not just people we are fighting, but demons who are unseen forces that can manipulate people.  ISIS is rising up with their religious fanaticism, and are probably being manipulated by such demons.  We, as a God-fearing people, should rise up to meet them with force."
     A slight smirk came to Perry's lips as he observed the mockery of this hearing.  The Lodge would have been proud of the acting chops of its players.  Soon, the district would succumb to the Lodge's bidding.
     Seemingly impressed with Holland's reply, Wyatt concluded the meeting.  "I think we have everything we need.  We'll contact you when we've reached a decision."
     Holland stood, his confidence elevated with the knowledge that soon, their plans would come to fruition.  He turned toward the door, his back to the committee, and before he reached for the door handle, his eyes flashed a fiery crimson that died out as fast as it appeared.  For the benefit of the Lodge, he thought, and the rise of the Ancient One.

St. Comgalls Primary School

The following is based on a report covered in Belfast Live...

     October 2013, West Belfast, Ireland.
     Walking in the pitch black hallway was rather difficult, but he trained his video camera -- complete with the greenish glow of night vision -- in front of him.  He led a team of two others, who followed him closely.  Nothing showed on his display, but he stopped, nonetheless.
     "Did you hear that?" he asked his mates.
     They did not.  He instructed them to listen more closely.
     As they each strained to hear in the quiet hallway, faint footfalls tip-toed toward them.  Again, the leader peered at the display pointed down the corridor, but not a living being showed through the lens.  Together, they were amazed, excited, and a little freaked out.
     "Should we do an EVP session?" asked one of the members.
     They agreed and set up in the hallway.  The leader turned on his recorder while a member held the camera for him.
     The session began.
     While he asked his questions, all was quiet.  Every once in a while, the soft sound of the blowers forcing air through the school's vents startled the team.  They laughed, giggling away their subtle fears.
     The team leader played back the audio, cycling through each question without a result.  When the question, "What would you like us to do?" streamed through the small speaker, an unexpected answer came through.  "Get out."
     That was enough for the Paranormal Searchers and Investigators Ireland team to pack their things and go.
     Their first visit to St. Comgalls Primary School in 2013 went off without a hitch.  They had gotten permission from the Falls Community Council to investigate the building, which had opened in 1932, but closed in 1988.  It now stands in ruins and the PSII host paranormal public events to raise money for Lissan House in Cookstown, a charity trust.

To Honor One's Ancestor

The following is based on a report as told on Motherboard...

     April 21, 2016.  Dakar, Senegal.
     The Tamaya 1 left Dakar's crowded port behind.  The large, 64-meter oil tanker slowly cruised the channels until it got well away from shore.  The Tamaya 1's Nigerian captain set a course for Panama, and once the oil tanker was five miles from shore, he set the auto-cruise to nineteen knots and joined his crew in the galley for some breakfast.
     Some of the passengers had joined them, as well, but the others were either asleep or probably roaming the authorized parts of the ship.  It was customary for tankers and freight vessels to take on passengers for some extra income, and the Tamaya 1 was no different.
     The captain looked around at the diversity of his passengers.  The usual were represented -- Portuguese, Spanish, Moroccans, and plenty of Nigerians -- but one family struck him as odd.  A Japanese family of four sat at a table by themselves.  Along with their food, they shared whispers among themselves.  Atop their table sat familial trinkets, religious items, and four incense sticks with smoke snaking up from them and to the ceiling.
     The captain noticed some of his crew members were annoyed by the smell of the sticks, but before they did anything rash, the captain walked over to the family and politely asked them to put out the incense.  However, none of them spoke French, Wolof, or English.  He asked the room if anyone spoke Japanese, but no one volunteered.  Vexed, he did his best, to the amusement of his crew, to mime his request.  A few moments later, the Japanese father realized what the captain wanted and complied, putting out the incense sticks and storing them away.
     Shortly, thereafter, the Asian family gathered their things and exited the galley.
     Except for some minor maintenance problems and the occasional sea sickness, the rest of the day was uneventful.  The captain's first mate took the night shift and he relaxed until he fell asleep in his cabin.

The captain awoke to the rocking of the ship.  Rough seas were enough to shake the Tamaya 1, and by the feel of it, the first mate had engaged the stabilizers.  However, the rocking was unusually rough, so he checked the weather reports.  Before they pulled out of port, the forecaster reported clear seas for three days.  And, even now, the report said clear skies and smooth seas.  His curiosity got the better of him.
     The captain signaled his first mate, who was on the bridge.  By his first mate's description, he had gotten the impression something was wrong, so he got dressed and hurried to the bridge.
     When the captain arrived, he saw the chaos ensuing outside.  They were in the middle of a storm that was not supposed to be there.  He checked their heading; right on course, and the reports said clear weather.  What he saw outside, and felt under his feet, was to the contrary.  He tested the radio, but no signal came through.  His confusion led to high anxiety.
     As he rechecked the Tamaya 1's instruments, he felt someone patting his shoulder.  His first mate got his attention and pointed out in front of them, out at the storm.  The dark, grayish chaos surrounding them had a slight greenish glow coming from within.  As they watched, the glow grew brighter, bathing everyone inside in emerald.  And, as fast as the light came, it had gone, along with the storm.
     The sun's brightness shone through the clear panes of the bridge.  Outside, everything was calm.  The huge waves that had pummeled the sides of the Tamaya 1 had disappeared leaving a mirror-like visage as far as the eye could see.  Not even a wisp of cloud floated in the sky.
     The captain, followed by his first mate, hurriedly walked out onto the metal deck into a wall of humidity that made him sweat almost instantly.  He knew if they were in the middle of a hurricane, he would see cloud formations at the horizon, but he saw none.  The air smelled of forest flowers and decaying vegetation, which was impossible being out on the ocean.  The salt air should have invaded their senses, but did not.  He rushed back into the bridge; the compass spun wildly and the electronics did not respond.  Nothing seemed to work, not even the radio.  He pulled out his cell phone, but he knew he was too far from any cell tower.  He checked it anyway, but got no signal.
     He realized they were in the doldrums, where the ocean was unusually calm, light unpredictable winds popped up, and sudden storms appeared.  Normally, with an oil tanker like the Tamaya 1, the captain would simply steer the ship out of the area to their destination.  However, nothing on the ship worked, and the engine was quiet... everything was quiet.
     Confusion spread throughout the Tamaya 1, and the captain gave orders to his crew to make sure everyone was comfortable and assured they would safe and okay.
     As his crew went about their orders, the captain went to his cabin to retrieve his satellite phone.  He had to get word to someone that they needed help.  Out in the doldrums without an engine could have been dangerous.  There was no telling how long help would arrive, or how long it would take to fix the engine, or if the engine could even be fixed.  Not to mention food.  If the Tamaya 1 was a sailing vessel complete with sails, he could hope for winds to move them.  But the oil tanker was a 64-meter, oil heavy vessel dead in the water.  Unless they could fix the engines, they wouldn't be moving anyplace.  The best he could hope for was another storm to move them out into one of the shipping lanes.
     He tried his phone, flipping on the switch and clicking the transmit button.  The read-out on the display gave him an error message:  NO SIGNAL RECEIVED.  TRY AGAIN LATER.  That's impossible, he thought.  There were satellites everywhere in orbit around earth.  He should have been able to pick up a signal from at least one of them and transmit a call to his employer, or one of the major ports.
     He tried the phone again and felt the unit warm in his hand.  And then it got too hot to handle.  The captain dropped it to his cot, and it quickly burst into flames.  the small fire spread, consuming his sheets, pillows, and mattress.  And before he knew it, the blaze spread throughout his cabin.
     He found his fire extinguisher, but realized the air in the room was also being consumed.  He would lose consciousness if he didn't act quickly.  He dropped the extinguisher and reached for the door.  He had to get out of there.  The door opened wide and the captain stepped out of the room, the fire clearly getting out of control.
     Eying the extinguisher at arm's reach, he grabbed it, pulled the pin, and squeezed the trigger.  A white cloud of potassium bicarbonate sprayed out, but the fire seemed to resist it.  Remember your training, he thought.  He pointed the nozzle at the base of the fire and quickly got it under control.  By this time, some of his crew appeared at his door asking if he was alright.  They were curious as to what had happened, and he started to explain, but his first mate came shouting down the passageway about something happening up top.  Everyone followed him to the deck.
     When the captain of the Tamaya 1 emerged onto the deck, he witnessed an incredible sight.  The Japanese family gathered around someone whom they appeared to recognize.  They spoke in excited tones and even hugged him.  The incredible thing about him was his visage.  He gleamed of gold and white, and had a brightness radiating from his back, which the captain swore could have been wings.
     As the family enjoyed the company of the familiar stranger, other apparitions appeared out of thin air near the other passengers and crew members.  Every one on board the Tamaya 1 were delightfully surprised and genuinely happy to see them.
     The captain didn't understand what was happening.  He didn't believe what he saw, nor believed what these spirits could have been.  His agnosticism was strong and his skepticism sound.  These begins could not have been what they appeared.  Angels just did not exist... until one appeared in front of him.
     He recognized the apparition immediately as his father.  The shine of gold and white was overwhelming.  The captain's heart skipped a beat at seeing him and he reached out to embrace the vision.  His father let him in, told his son that there was a much better life than this one, and everyone here was accepted to this new life.
     The captain gave in to his dear father, whom he had missed oh so much, and was ready to go with him.

One week later, the Tamaya 1, a 64-meter oil tanker, washed up on the shores of Robertsport, Liberia... with no one on board.

Typhoons in the North Sea

The following is based on a report in the Yorkshire Post...

     May 2, 2016.  Yorkshire, England.
     Captain Donald Wallace, code-named Harpoon, checked his instruments again.  This was the third time he checked in as many minutes, and for the third time, they were all green-lit.  In the past, his RAF Eurofighter Typhoon jet had given him trouble, so speeding across England airspace made him slightly nervous, this go around.
     "Pike One and Pike Two," Harpoon heard in his helmet's audio set as Base Control checked in with moment-by-moment reports, "we have you on radar entering Doncaster.  The Air France airliner is still experiencing communications failure, and a bogey in its proximity.  Haste is prudent."
     "Copy, Base," said Harpoon.  To his partner, he said, "Let's take them to Mach 2, Spear.  See if we can't over take them."
     "Roger that, Harpoon," said Spear, who was flying in her own Typhoon.
     Passing over Doncaster and great swathes of Yorkshire, the pilots increased their aircraft's to twice the speed of sound, creating a wake of dark condensation behind them.
     "These people aren't going to like the wake-up call," commented Spear.
     "Stay on target," said Harpoon.
     Most of the citizens in the area had settled in for the night, and some were probably watching Out Source before heading to bed, while Harpoon and Spear took their Typhoons to Mach 2.  The sound at this altitude was deafening, and it would have sounded like a massive ground explosion.
     "Pike Squadron," said Base Control, "you're coming up on your target area.  The Air France airliner should still be over the North Sea and the bogey is still in proximity."
     "Roger that," responded Harpoon.  He spotted the aircraft's running wing light blinking the usual red and white to his left.  "Spotted the Air France airliner at my eleven, and... uh..."  Harpoon hesitated.  He saw the bogey on radar, but he couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him.  "Spear, do you see that?"
     "I see it, Harpoon, and it's incredible."
     "Pike One," interrupted Base Control, "do you care to share with the rest of the class?"
     "It's, uh," he started, and tried hard to figure it out.  "It's like nothing I've ever seen."
     The object tailing the airliner looked like it was built from a child's Lego set.  The edges' sharp corners defied aerodynamics.  No engine, nor tailpipe fire, nor exhaust showed any kind of propulsion.  Lights blinked to indicate the object was indeed there, but the surface was painted in a "non-color", was the best Harpoon had described it in his report.
     "It's definitely not one of ours," Spear said.
     "Permission to engage, Base Control," said Harpoon.
     "Permission granted."
     Harpoon aimed his jet's nose at the object and armed the Python 4 (an advanced short range air to air missile) in the weapons carriage.
     "Python armed," confirmed Spear.
     "Let's light it up."
     Pike Squadron let loose one each of the missiles, which would strike their target in less than three seconds.  Harpoon checked his read out, the missiles as orange blips heading toward the red indicator (the bogey).  One second before the hit, the red blip disappeared from his scope.
     "What happened?" he asked.
     "I don't know," said a surprised Spear.  "It's gone."
     "Detonate the ordinance well away from the civvies."
     "Pike Squadron," came the voice of Base Control.  "Bogey spotted at your five, altitude seven hundred, moving in quickly."
     "Roger, Base," responded Harpoon.
     As Base Control indicated, the object was directly behind and below them.  Harpoon maneuvered his Typhoon one hundred, eighty degrees, and pitched his nose downward.
     "I've got him on radar," said Spear.
     "Missiles armed and locked," said Harpoon.  "Fire at will."
     Two more Pythons left their nests with afterburners ablaze straight for the object.  Less than three seconds felt like three minutes to Harpoon.  He checked his display, the orange blips getting closer to the red one.  As he watched, both rockets hit their target.
     "Direct hit," he said.
     "We got the son of a bitch," said Spear.
     "Target is no longer on radar," confirmed Base Control.  "Bring it home, Pike Squadron."
     As the Eurofighter Typhoons sped across Northern England airspace, the unidentified flying object watched from above, hidden by the night clouds.

Seven hours later, as Captain "Harpoon" Wallace rested back at the base, the BBC issued a report of the event, stating that "it was caused by a wayward Air France airliner over Yorkshire that had experienced a radio communicator problem."

The Werewolf of Bedburg

The following is based on a telling in the Herald Scotland...

     Late 1500's, Bedburg, Germany.
     The chase was on.  Soldiers of the garrison were tasked with the capture of Ubel Griswold, and the hunting dogs had acquired his scent.  The surrounding forest could have been refuge to any and all criminals, but once the dogs had the scent, no one was safe.  Even in the cover of darkness, the torches providing very little light for the soldiers, the dogs led them in the right direction.
     One of the soldiers pointed at something in the shadows.  Finally, they had him.  As the dogs pulled at their leashes, the soldiers spotted... something.  A wolf in the shadows, which the dogs had perceived as Griswold, removed a girdle and tossed it aside.  The soldiers were dumbfounded and did not believe what they saw.  As the wolf changed to a man, the dogs brought him down and the soldiers apprehended him.
     Ubel Griswold had been a wealthy farmer raising two children by himself.  His wife had died a few years before and he had to maintain the farm and his business, while he took care of his children.  Months after his wife's death, Griswold met Katharina Trump, and they quickly became lovers.  She sometimes helped with the children, but did not go to the house upon Griswold's request.  Over time, Katharina gave birth to his child.  When Griswold was captured by the soldiers of Bedburg, his only thought was of Katharina.
     On pain of torture, Griswold confessed to killing, but he also confessed to so much more.  He killed animals, men, women, children, fetuses in the womb, and anything living.  He was responsible for the death of many people in the region, and he did it with the help of the girdle, which granted him the power to shape-shift to a wolf so that he could roam the countryside unhindered.
     As the authorities pulled his fingernails out one by one, Griswold confessed to killing his own son.  With his powerful wolf jaws, he cracked open his son's skull and ate his brain.  With some delight, mixed with anguish from the pain at his fingertips, in his eyes, Griswold told his torturers how sweet the boy's grey matter tasted on his tongue.
     The murderer confessed that he mated with a succubus sent by the Devil from Hell.  This demon bore him a child, which he copulated with because he longer had a wife.  He confessed to killing his wife, as well.  He gleefully reminisced of the sensuality of his daughter.  And Griswold also told the authorities the succubus was alive and well.  He told them where she lived.
     Afraid for the their lives and the lives of the people of Bedburg, the authorities collected Katharina Trump and her child.  They captured the succubus and the demon-child, and only then did they knew the town was safe, once again.  In the town square, they strangled both mother and child for all to see.  Once the bodies laid still, they burned them so that the demons could no longer infect the citizens of Bedburg.
     That night, the soldiers strapped Griswold to a cart wheel, splayed out and vulnerable, and built a forge fire.  With hot pincers, they began flaying his skin, starting with the upper arms and pulling down to the fingers, shedding his skin like a discarded glove.  Griswold's muscles were exposed, and the authorities told the citizens that there was no longer anything to be afraid of for he was wolf no more.  They flayed him until he had no skin left, his face and head left a macabre, bloody mess.  With iron clubs, the soldiers pummeled Griswold until they broke almost every bone in his body.  Even beaten and broken, he whispered to the closest soldier that he would come back to finish them all.
     One of the soldiers had enough of the authorities' request and drew his sword.  Before Griswold could say anything else, the soldier beheaded the murderer.  Others splashed his body with pig's fat and set it ablaze until the flames died out in the middle of the night, ashes the only thing left... of the werewolf of Bedburg.

Johan's Ark

The following is based on an account as told in Breaking Israel News...

     1992, Noord-Holland, Netherlands.
     The newscaster told of the bus-sized asteroid hitting the glaciers of the Arctic.  The impact had such force, according to the anchor, that it affected 90% of the arctic circle.  Scientists, using the latest satellite imagery, concluded 40% of the ice was vaporized on impact.  However, most of the ice had melted, which caused ocean levels to rise dramatically.  Worldwide flooding was devastating coastal cities, leaving millions dead.
     Noord-Holland was not an exception and the newscaster proffered everyone take shelter in the mountains.  The images of the television featured the island of Manhattan's tall skyscrapers half hidden by the Atlantic Ocean, the streets and monuments under 90 feet of water.  Satellite images showed most of the eastern seaboard of the United States underwater.  Great Britain and most of Ireland were reduced to a chain of islands.  The Mediterranean, Black, Caspian, and Red Seas had merged to create a new, huge ocean.  And the waters were at the threshold of Noord-Holland.  It didn't take long for the flood waters to engulf and devastate the region.
     Johan Huibers woke with a start, sweat had soaked his pillow and blankets, which left his hair a drenched mess.
     "Are you okay?" Johan's wife asked sleepily.
     He slowed his breathing and got out of bed.
     "Just a bad dream," he answered.  "Go back asleep."
     He put on his slippers and headed downstairs to the kitchen.  The rooms he walked had been underwater in his dream.  He had lost everything and the sense of loss, although just a dream, stuck with him, even after that night.  He poured himself a glass of ice water and sat at the table.  It felt so real, he thought.
     A few days later, Johan sat with his children.  He enjoyed reading to them, and it appeared they enjoyed it, as well.  At least, he hoped they did.  As he read from "Bible Stories in Illustration", Johan came to the story of Noah and the Great Flood.  The pictures showed Noah and his family beside planks of gopher wood, a frame of a ship in mid-construction; the completion of the ark; the animals ascending the ramp into the ship; and the Ark riding the waves in a major storm.
     I need to build the ark, Johan thought.
     For the next thirteen years, Johan worked as hard as he could, accumulating wealth for his ark project.  Finally, he had the means and the time to build his own ark, which would cost $4 million to complete.  As a contractor, he made certain the dimensions were the same as described in the Bible, except slightly smaller.  Standing at about five stories high, Johan's Ark measured at 95 feet wide, 410 feet long, and 75 feet high.  Although Noah utilized gopher wood, Johan constructed his ship with American cedar and pine.  Like Noah's, his ark had no motor, propeller, nor sails, and sat on an enormous, steel barge.
     Johan planned on tug-boating his Ark to Brazil in time for the Summer Olympics.

For Love of Child

The following is based on an investigation report covered by the Inquistr...

     August 1995.  Kyshtym, Chelyabinsk, Russia.
     Tamara Vasileivna Prosvirina shambled over to her beloved son.  He'd lain six feet below her feet, his headstone inscribed with his name, birthday, and death day (April 1951).  She had missed him dearly, ever since the United Nations recruited him for their war in Korea.  They took him away from her.  Even after her husband passed away, after her other children moved on to have families of their own, her dead son she had missed the most.
     "Oh," she cried out, "how I've missed you."
     I've missed you, too, Mama, she heard.
     "What?"  Tamara looked around to see who had spoken, but she was alone in the cemetery.  She came at least twice a week to visit and talk to her son.  When she was younger, she'd walk to the cemetery every other day, and back in those days, people would come to visit their dead loved ones.  But since she'd grown old, her body wouldn't cooperate.  She made less frequent trips, and others did not come to the cemetery anymore.  The cemetery was empty.
     I'm back now, she heard the voice again.  But you won't recognize me.
     "Who are you?" Tamara searched, but saw no one.  "Where are you?"
     Mama, the voice said, I am here.
     Tamara took a few feeble steps toward where she thought the voice had come.  A few moments and she spotted something small moving near a grave marker.  A naked hew born child looked up at the elderly woman when she approached.
     Mama, she heard the voice, it is good to see you again.
     "Oh, baby," Tamara cried, and picked the child up off the ground.  "You came back to me."
     I have, but, the voice said, you cannot tell anyone that you have found me, or who I really am.
     "Of course, I won't."
     Tamara carried the child back to her empty home and cared for him as if he was her own son.  "I will call you Alyoshenka," she told him, "to hide your true self."
     Several days later, news spread around the small village about the child, and the villagers were curious as to how such a venerable woman could acquire a child, let alone take care of it.  "The old lives alone," they said.  "She could hardly take care of herself."  Rumors spread quickly that Tamara was mentally ill and the child was just a figment of the old woman's imagination.  She needed medical attention, the whispers told.
     Concern for Tamara spread even to the authorities, and in May of 1996, they discovered the old woman feeding the mummified corpse of a new born child.  They declared her mentally ill and transported her to the nearest psychiatric institution.  All the while, Tamara cried out, "Stop, please.  I have to take care of him.  You don't understand.  He's my son!"
     While Tamara sat in her confined room at the institution, Vladimir Nurditov, one of Tamara's neighbors, pried open a window to the old woman's empty house.  While she was away, probably for a very long time, Vladimir knew she wouldn't be needing what was in the house.
     He climbed into the dark house, looking around for any valuables, but only found cheap baubles as decorations and nothing of real value.  He had heard in the news, copper had a high street value and criminals were drawn to the precious metal, robbing any place it would be stored.  Perhaps the electrical cabling would fetch a lot of money, he thought.  To get to it, he thought, I would need my tools.
     Before he left Tamara's house, he passed by her bedroom and spotted something dried and brown in a tangle of blankets.  Curiosity had gotten the best of him and stepped toward the wadding.  Lying in a carefully wrapped blanket was the mummified child he had heard about.  However, the child had strange features not like any child he had ever seen.  The eyes, he thought.  There is something about the eyes that does not seem correct.
     As he moved the blanket to look at the rest of the body, red and blue lights flashed through the windows.  The police were outside, probably finishing their investigation.  He had to get out.
     Vladimir took the mummy tucked in the blanket and snuck out the back before the police found him.
     Back home, Vladimir set the child on his sofa and looked out the window for police activity.  They walked around the old woman's house, flashlights blazing the yard in a sweeping motion, looking for what, only God knew.
     A knock came at the front door.  With a start, he closed the drapes, and quick-stepped toward the rap.  He opened the door to the investigating officer, who bullied into the house in search of "stolen" electrical cable.  The authorities discovered the child in Vladimir's possession, arrested him, and confiscated the child.
     Some time later, local medical examiners inspected the mummified child and determined that it was neither human nor animal, and concluded it was an unknown life form.
     Three years later, Tamara's illness had gotten worse.  Worry and despair weighed heavily on her, but an opportunity arose and she found an escape from the institution.  Finally, she was free to find her child and take care of him.  That's all she had ever wanted:  her son.  She ran as fast as her withered body could take her and tried to flag down a vehicle.  But she wandered too far out onto the busy highway and met her demise underneath the tires of an 18-wheeler.

The GNR Line

The following is based on an account as told in the Mirror...

1917-2016, Derry/Donegal border, Northern Ireland.
     Francis Ledwige sat on the wooden bench in the palatial estate of Lord Dunsany.  If there was any place in the world, this was where he would live until the end of his days.  The Government House sat not far from a wooded area where fox hunts had been conducted not one hundred years ago.  He so loved the area, he had to write a poem about it in his journal.
     With the war well under way, the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand had set the world on fire.  But here in the quiet of Northern Ireland, he could contemplate the joys of life.  Well, almost quiet, he thought, as the whistle of a military locomotive sounded in the distance, probably on the nearby GNR railway delivering supplies, or what have you.  He quite couldn't get away from the war.
     'Are you ready, Francis?' a voice spoke from behind.
     Francis turned to face his good friend and current resident of the Government House, Lord Dunsany.  Like Francis, he was dressed in his regal military garb for they were both officers of the British Royal Army.
     'I...' Francis hesitated.  'I suppose so,' he sighed.
     'You know they need the help,' Dunsany said.  'The Central Powers are gaining ground and they need every able body they can spare."
     With a heavy heart, Francis left the beautiful estate behind to lead others into battle.
     Shortly after their deployment, Francis Ledwige was killed by a land mine while fighting in Belgium in 1917.  He was 29-years-old.

Three years later, after the Great War, an American serviceman walked the GNR line from Donegal to Derry.  The U.S. military base was just a few miles back and he couldn't live any longer without his beloved.  He didn't care if he was AWOL.  Let the MPs come, he thought, I've gotta see her.  The hike following the rails to her would take him about half a day, but he had trudged through worse in central Europe.
     Once he had gotten to his cherished, the soldier found she did not wait for him and had moved on.  Finding her with another man had set him on a downward spiral, not knowing if he should win her back, or move on with his own life as she did hers.  Or were there other options?
     He heard the whistle of the distant locomotive and knew the train would soon be passing.  At that point in his life, the GNR line was his saving grace.  He had nothing else to live for, not even his country.
     As the train drew closer, the American soldier laid down across the tracks, using one of the rails as a pillow, and waited for the inevitable.  Not his darling -- former darling -- not the Army, nor America would ever see him again.

Almost one hundred years later, 34-year-old mother of two, Gerri Moran, hiked along the disused railway line.  Her kids walked out in front, laughing and enjoying the spring weather.  As they walked, Gerri took out her cell phone.
     'Look back here, guys,' she got the attention of her kids.  She snapped a picture of them, but only her son, Finn, turned to face her with a big smile.
     'Mom,' Finn said, embarrassed at his mother's affection.
     'I knew it,' Gerri's daughter said, 'I knew she was going to take our picture.'
     'Oh, you're no fun', said Gerri.
     The rest of the day passed wonderfully.
     When Gerri and her family arrived home that evening, she scrolled through her pictures and stopped at the picture of Finn and her daughter's backside in the woods along the old GNR railway line.  In it, standing in the background near a tree, was an eerie ghost of a soldier.

The Presidential Election

Some thoughts...

     The Presidential election is done via popular vote, where the population votes and usually, the Electoral College votes accordingly.  For example, in the 2008 elections, the majority of the U.S. population voted for Obama over McCain, and the College voted for the population accordingly, which gave Obama the Presidential seat.  Of course, sometimes, the Electoral College votes for a candidate who didn't win the popular vote, like in the 2000 Presidential election between George W. Bush and Al Gore -- Gore won over Bush by .5%.  Obviously, all the voting is done in secret, so no actually knows who voted for which candidate.  However, is the popular vote being manipulated behind-the-scenes in order to steer the College in the wrong direction?  Are our votes -- done in secrecy so no one actually knows how people voted -- being controlled or influenced by the Power Elite to exploit the Electoral College into voting for who THEY want in power?

The Light Show

The following is based on post in the Inquistr...

     April 12, 2016, Las Vegas, Nevada.

     As Steven Barone kept vigilant watch on the area, quiet calmness filled him and the cool air around him.  Night had set a long time ago and he used his night vision camera, but nothing out of the ordinary had shown itself.  An hour passed and Barone wanted to call it quits for the night.  He reached over to turn the camera off, but before his finger reached the button, he saw something.  He didn't know what it was, a light of sorts -- could have been a plane, but he hoped it was what he had thought.

     In the night sky, the bright light was followed by another, and then another, and then another, until it seemed like the inky sky was filled with them.  The dazzling lights danced around each other in slow, geometric patterns and put on a spectacular show.  Barone was in awe.  Finally, he had gotten his wish.  He checked his camera to make sure it was filming the light show.  It was.

     "This is incredible," he said aloud to no one.  "It's like they aren't 100% machine."  As he watched, the lights slowly blinked out one by one, but they appeared again over the foothills of Red Canyon, an hour away from the infamous Area 51.  He watched as they appeared earlier in the sky, one by one.  They almost seem to be capable of thought, he assessed, and seem to communicate with each other through light.  "Those are light ships," he said aloud.

     Over the years, Area 51 had been linked to convincing UFO sightings, and Barone's video is no different.

The Tulpamancer

The following is based on an account as was told in Fusion...

     April 2014, Maryland.

     Sam sat quietly, meditating on the day's activities.  Sometimes, as a computer programmer, the job was tedious and she needed an outlet.  Meditating was one of those activities that allowed her to relax and shed those worries away.  Often times, meditating brought on ideas that would help with programming.  However, this time, while meditating, Sam decided to try an experiment.

     In her mind, she thought, "Hey, K.T.  My name is Sam."  She waited for a response.  Nothing happened.  She continued, "I'm going to be your host.  It's very nice to meet you."

     "Hey," Sam heard in her thoughts.  "How's it going?"

     "It's great, now," said Sam.

     "Cool."

     Sam couldn't believe it worked, but it did.  She really didn't know what was going to happen.  When she heard about tulpas some time ago, she didn't think they were real.  She once read, creating a tulpa was a Buddhist tradition in sheer spiritualism or mental discipline, which could create a magical, conjured mind apparition.  According to a Wikipedia entry, Tibet explorer Alexandra David-Néel said "tulpas are 'magic formations generated by a powerful concentration of thought.' It is a materialized thought that has taken physical form and is usually regarded as synonymous to a thoughtform."

     She was so happy that K.T. was now in her life.

     "I'm glad I'm here, too," said K.T.  "So, uh, how much control do I have?"

     "Yeah, I guess we should set some ground rules."

     "How about this?  How about we share as equals?" K.T. suggested.  "That way we can each take turns."

     "I love it."  Sam was beside herself.  She felt she was going to be happy for the rest of her life.

Two years later, while running a website known as Tulpa.io to teach others about tulpamancy, Sam's life has changed for the better.

The Hopeful Cleric

The following is based on a post covered by the Mirror...

     April 12, 2016, Mamburung, Borneo.
     Pardan Raihan stood outside of her house watching the spectacle.  Sometimes, they came in droves, or sometimes they would trickle in a little at a time like the stream just outside of the village.  Today, there were only a handful of outsiders -- one a reporter -- to visit her son, Hirsute Muhammad.
     "You look so beautiful," said a woman from a small village nearby.  "May I have your blessing?"
     "Peace be unto you," said Hirsute, reaching out a hairy hand to touch the woman's forehead.  "Go with blessings."
     Almost daily, it would be like this; people would come and ask for blessings from her son.  Oh, how the people would adore her Hirsute.
     Hirsute was only 13 years old, but the people thought him blessed by God because of his rare genetic condition known as Hypertrichosis, or werewolf syndrome.  Pardan's son was covered head to toe in thick, dark hair.  For years, she had taken him to specialists, but the surgery was a far greater financial decision than she could ever afford.  She would comfort him by telling him, "[You are] a gift from God and we believe [your] appearance is the will of Allah."  Hirsute's confidence instilled his faith in God.
     Despite his appearance, Hirsute felt blessed and wished to someday serve as a mosque cleric in thanks.
     "I am blessed by God," he told the visiting reporter, "and this makes me happy.  I am his favorite child and want to serve him my whole life.  I don't want any medical treatment because I'm happy this way."

To Cleanse the Undesirables

The following is based on a post written in the Church Militant...

     England, 1920.
     Marie Stopes sat in her backyard in the shade of a yew tree contemplating her book, "Married Love."  When she conceived it, the idea was to use it to reduce the number of "undesirables" in society.  Of course, she wrote the book under the guise of preventing a rapid population growth using the precious meager resources the world had to offer.  Unfortunately, the book had not been well received by the ruling class of England, especially the leaders of the Church of England.  The general public had consumed the book rapidly, and it was in its fifth printing, but she felt if she was going to make an impact, she needed to impress society's leaders.  She was at her whits end.
     'Marie,' she heard.
     Marie looked around for the voice who interrupted her contemplation, but couldn't find the source.
     'Marie,' repeated the voice.
     'Who is it?' she asked, startled.  'Who's there?'
     'Tell the bishops,' the voice said without any introduction, 'they are to change their teaching on birth control.'
     'I have been trying, but to no avail.'
     'Go to the bishops and tell them you are my prophet, and they will listen.'
     'Prophet?' she asked.  Who could it be telling me this? she thought.  'Dashiell, is that you?  Come out, this instant,' she insisted.
     'Tell them,' the voice continued, 'you will speak on my behave and that they must change their teaching on birth control.  Use your writings and they will comply.'
     She waited for more, but the voice grew quiet.  Was that God? she questioned herself.  Was God telling me that he was supporting me in my quest o cleanse society of those we do not want?  It must be!
     Marie dashed into the house, heart pounding in her chest, and found her secretary.  'Margaret,' she said, 'you must take dictation for me.'
     Her secretary quickly retrieved a pad of paper and a pen, and sat waiting.
     'My Lord,' started Marie, 'I speak to you in the name of God.  You are his priests.  I am his prophet.'
     Marie's secretary was taken aback, but continued writing every word Marie spoke.  As the summer drew on, Marie finished another book she called 'A New Gospel to All Peoples: A Revelation of God Uniting Physiology and the Religions of Man.'  When she was finished, her secretary made copies and delivered each to the leaders of the Church of England.
     In her work, she claimed, 'God spoke to me today.'  And He also told her that sexual union was not for procreation but for pleasure, and that couples should utilize their best sense of mind to practice birth control.
     Marie Stopes believed, until her dying day, she had spoken to God.  But was it really God?
     Today, Marie Stopes International performs 3.1 million abortions worldwide every year.

Warning: Military Installation

The following is based on an account written in the Huffington Post...

     July 2015, Highway 375, Nevada.
     Jeremiah Hasvold drove his vehicle along the highway, some small hills, but mostly desert shrubs and miles of dirt, glided passed on either side.  He son was in the front passenger seat capturing their Los Vegas trip on his Nikon.
     "We're going to see Area 51 on our Los Vegas road trip," Hasvold's son, Evan, said.  "This is fun, Dad."
     "Yeah, it's great out here."
     Hasvold decided to take is son on a "Man's Tour" to Sin City before going to high school.  He thought he would show Evan what the world was like before deciding what he wanted to do in life.  Maybe, during this trip, his son would figure it out.  Of course, Hasvold would support his son in anything he chose.
     On the way to Los Vegas, one of the places he wanted to show Evan was a placed he had never really visited, bu the would have take a detour to experience it.  As he drove, the asphalt highway led to a dirt depression.  Dried dust and dirt formed a cloud behind them.
     "This is the Extraterrestrial Highway," said Hasvold.  "They call it that because of all the rumors of alien spacecraft being tested at Area 51."  He kept driving the road until they reached the Black Box, or at least what was left of it.
     "Where's the black box?" asked Evan.
     "They took it down when all the tourists harassed the postmen.  But people come here all the time, especially at night, to see the UFOs fly by."
     Hasvold pulled up into the parking area and saw another car with a family of tourists.  They spoke little English and indicated they wanted to travel further up the road.
     "I think he wants us to follow him," said Hasvold.
     "Do you think that's a good idea?"
     "We're here for an adventure, right?"
     "Yeah, let's go."
     Hasvold indicated to the foreigner that he would follow them.  The tourists all got into their car and pulled the vehicle out in front.
     "This is crazy," Hasvold said.  As he drove, a plume of dust and dirt obscuring the car in front of them, they started to pass signs that said, "WARNING!  US AIR FORCE INSTALLATION."  A military style truck was parked up on a hill seemingly watching them.  Hasvold stopped the car, but the tourists kept going.
     "I don't think they could read the signs."
     Hasvold's son kept documenting the incident.
     As the tourists continued down the road, it only took a few seconds for the truck to jump into action.  Two guards stepped out, one holding a camera, the other holding an assault rifle.  The tourists got out of their car with their hands up.  Their voices carried, but Hasvold had a hard time understanding what was going on.  One of the guards said something, and the driver of the vehicle walked toward them backwards, hands still raised.
     "We need to go," Hasvold told his son.
     They both got back into the car and Hasvold drove them back onto the asphalt highway... leaving the tourists to their demise.

Nana Ghost

The following is based on a post in the Mirror...

     April 3, 2016.
     Caroline Walker played with her grandson in her 20-year-old home in Bradford, West Yorkshire.  The living room decor was like stepping through an antique store.  Knickknacks, figurines, portraits, and even the furniture came from an era where the world fluctuated between Great Wars.  Caroline's family had inherited everything from her mother-in-law, who had passed away in 2008.  She loved the house and everything within, especially her grandson.
     'Jotham, come here,' Caroline said, pulling out her old cell phone, which was kind of an antique onto its own.  Immediately, her grandson made faces.  He loved the camera, or at least making funny faces usually while the flash blinked brightly.
     'Grandma,' said Jotham, thoroughly confused, 'your flash doesn't work.'
     'My cell is old, kind of like your Grandma, sweetie,' said Caroline.  'It doesn't have a flash.'
     She continued to click away, the cell phone made antique camera noises, which gave her a sense of using a real camera.  Jotham continued to make silly faces while Caroline hoped to capture one of his best looks.  What Caroline actually captured would give her pause.
    It wasn't until a few weeks late, as she scrolled through each shot of Jotham, the next sillier than the previous, Caroline had stopped at one of the images, and became frightened.  Behind Jotham stood a woman dressed in a nightie, her face obscured.  No one had been in the room with then, so this woman should not have been in the photograph.  And if that hadn't been strange enough, the furniture and everything could be seen through her... she was transparent.
     Later, Caroline showed her friends, but they laughed in disbelief.  As she explained what was happening at the time, they slowly came to believe her and were shocked.
     Afterward, she tried taking more pictures of the room to capture more spirits, but without success.  Caroline came to the conclusion that it could have been her deceased mother-in-law because of all her furniture in the house.
     'I always try to see the logical side of things,' Caroline once said, 'but this picture I cannot explain.'

Alien Big Cat

The following is based on an account told to the Telegraph...

     March 23, 2016.
     The road along Croome Court was dark, yet elegantly kept.  Even at 1 am, the Ingrams could tell the grounds keepers of the National Trust estate were meticulous in their duties.  The branches of the bushes, their leaves growing at the start of spring, were trimmed, and the flowers bloomed with their many colors and shapes.  Even at night, the cool, spring air was quite enjoyable, and the scenery was a welcome change to the winter months.
     Robert Ingram drove the small car while Mick Jagger belted out 'Satisfaction' on the radio.  Nicola, his wife, sitting to his left in the passenger seat, let out a soft yawn.
     'Tired?' asked Robert.
     'A bit,' she said.
     'Yeah, me too.  We're almost home.'
     The bright lamps of the vehicle carved out a path along the dark road, foliage slipping by on either side created a forest-like tunnel until they emerged to a section of the road that wound through open fields.  The full moon lit the landscape in a beautifully dull gray-white scene you only see in the movies.
     Robert slowed the vehicle.
     'Why are you slowing down?'
     Robert pointed in front of them to a dark, large object in the road just out of the range of the headlamps as he slowed to a stop.  The thing was darker than its surroundings and appeared as a black mass in the road.
     'What is that?' asked Nicola.
     'I don't know.  Looks like a cat, doesn't it.'
     'It's too big to be a cat.'
     'You know,' said Robert, 'I've heard rumors of a black panther having escaped from the zoo.  Could this be it?'
     Nicola started to answer, but froze as the huge, dark object walked in their direction.  Its big muscles underneath black fur flexed with each step, its eyes glowed in the reflection of the headlights.  The thing was enormous, bigger than a fox or a dog, and could have easily been as tall as the car window.  Nicola deduced its weight at around 9 stone.
     As the creature crept closer, the Ingrams could see facial details:  protruding, pointed fangs, and frightening, sharp cheekbones unlike any cat they had ever seen.
     'Oh, my God,' whispered Robert.
     'Is that...' Nicola hesitated to say what was on both of their minds, 'a werewolf?'
     The creature stopped a few meters away from the car and crouched low to the road.
     Convinced the werewolf would pounce on their car, Robert threw it in reverse, stomped the gas peddle, and drove in reverse as far as he could drive.  He abruptly stopped and fumbled with his pocket.
     'What are you doing?' asked his distressed wife.  'Let's get out of here.'
     'I need to take a picture.  No one is going to believe this.'
     Robert hurriedly produced a cell phone from his pocket and accessed the camera feature.  He took a picture, but was too scared and too far from the creature to get a clear photograph.  Bringing up his cell phone again, he discovered the werewolf thing had disappeared.

Cabling Time

Some thoughts...

Everything that has ever happened and everything that will ever happen is happening right now. Think of time as running parallel to each other like a bunch of wires within a cable line. The energy, or time, runs through the cable at the same time, but each wire holds different eras of time. Our time wire, or timeline, runs through the center of the cable with each other wire radiating out from us. The top half of the cable (universe) holds our future, while the bottom half holds the past. Of course, this can be reversed depending on your perception. One line on the bottom next to ours holds, for instance, the past 10 years, while the one next to that holds the next 10 years, which would be 11-20 years ago. The next one holds the next 10 years in the past, which would be 21-30 years ago, etc. The same goes for the top half, except it holds every ten years in the future. Could it be possible to jump these timelines by manipulating the flowing energy and giving us the capability to time hop different eras?

Space Travel at the Speed of Thought.

Some thoughts...

Imagine a technology that allows one to mentally connect with a device and travel through great distances with a single thought. Once could give simple commands by thinking about where one wants to go. The travel-time is instantaneous, so no real time has been used. For instance, one could be in San Francisco, thinking about being in New York City, and be there in an instant; hardly a second between travel time. This technology can be used to travel even further. If one had a telescope and aimed it at the moon, one could use the device to travel to the moon in less than a second. Taking it even further, with a high-powered telescope like Hubble or Kepler, one could use the device to travel to far off planets, with the proper precautions, of course. Better yet, what if one had a vehicle with a navigation system and a 3D map of the universe with an installed thought device? What if this technology actually exists? Maybe we don't have this technology, but what if extraterrestrials from far off planets do have this type of technology?

Vampire Killer

The following is based on an entry in the New York Post...

     April 18, 1998.  Donna, Texas.
     "Come on," said Andy Chapa, "I've got something to show you."
     Pablo Vasquez and the others followed his cousin onto a Donna, Texas property to a wooden shed.  Inside, the clutter created a small alley to the back where Andy lit a few candles.  The light revealed a carved pentagram in the floorboards and, immediately, everyone fell silent.
     "What?" asked Andy.  "Come on, it'll be fun."
     Pablo's cousin reached atop a shelf and retrieved a wide, thin box.  He opened it, took out a board printed with letters and numbers, a "Yes" and "No" on the corners, and placed it in the middle of the pentagram.  He placed the planchette on the board and sat next to it.
     "I don't know about this," said Pablo.  "I don't feel right."
     "There's nothing to worry about," said Andy.  He motioned for them to sit along side the board.  "I've done this before."
     The others sat around the ouija board within reaching distance.  Being teenagers, they had no idea what doors they would open that night.
     Once everyone was in place, one finger on the plastic planchette, Andy asked the first question, "If you are here, what is your name?"
     Nothing happened.
     "This shit doesn't work," Pablo said.  He started to lift his finger away, but Andy was insistent.
     "Wait, wait, we all have to put our fingers on it.  Just wait, it'll work."
     Pablo set his finger back on the planchette and Andy asked again.  This time, it moved ever so slightly, at first, but then moved easily to the first letter... S.
     Pablo felt uneasy and a heavy weight had moved onto his chest.  He felt like he wanted to vomit, but kept his composure as the plastic planchette moved to the next letter... A.
     The guys around him started to giggle with anticipation, but Pablo heard them as if they were far away.  The giggles became distorted and long, as if he watched them on a VCR, but the tracking was off.
     The planchette landed on T.
     The distorted giggling became deep, whispering voices Pablo couldn't quite understand, but was able to pick out words here and there... CUT, and BLOOD.
     The planchette landed on the letter A, again.
     The quiet whispers had gotten louder telling Pablo to drink blood.  Nothing in this world will ever satisfy him like drinking the blood of an innocent victim.  Pablo was promised immortality and power.  He was shown a future of women, luxury, power, and the success of his family.  All he had to do was drink blood.
     The planchette finally landed on the letter N... and Pablo stood up, found a nearby metal pipe, and bashed in the skull of Andy's friend, David Cardenas.  The 12-year-old boy laid unconscious on the floor while the others stood back and watched.  Pablo found a box cutter knife and sliced through David's throat, the blood gushing like water from a broken dam.
     "Drink!  Drink now!" he heard.
     Pablo knelt at David's body and drank in the "power" that was promised him.

At the age of 20, in February 1999, Pablo Vasquez was sentenced to 35 years in prison on death row, but was executed on April 6, 2016 before finishing his sentence.

Hinterkaifeck

The following is based on a number of sources...

     March 31, 1922.
     Maria Baumgartner stepped out of the silvery vehicle onto the Gruber Farm.  The rain-soaked ground gave way beneath her feet leaving clumps of mud stuck to the side of her boots.  As the northern winds died down, the sun hid behind the evening clouds, which did nothing to warm to the cold air.  A chill ran down Maria's spine as she adjusted her coat.
     "Here you go, ma'am," said the driver, handing her bags to her.
     Maria smiled at him before he left, but the hurried driver did not stay for pleasantries and eased the car off the property, leaving her alone in the cold.
     At 44, single and childless, the only real job left for Maria was housekeeping.  So, she answered an ad in the newspaper, which sought a new maid to perform "motherly" duties.  The ad led her to this farmstead, which was roughly forty miles outside of Munich, Germany.
     As she took in her new surroundings, no one came out to greet her.
     She walked up to the main house with her bags and stopped at the front door, the mud seemed to engulf the entirety of the property right up to the front door.  The dwelling wasn't palatial like other plantation houses she'd worked, but it was still quite sizable.  Although, it could use a fresh coat of paint, she criticized.
     Maria knocked on the front door and waited a few moments before a woman in her thirties opened the door.  Introducing herself as Viktoria, she welcomed Maria inside.  A little girl, who very much resembled Viktoria, stood behind the woman clutching at the adult's dress.
     "And who might you be?" asked Maria.
     The little girl scooted further behind Viktoria using the dress to hide completely.
     "Cazilia," Viktoria chided.  "Come out."
     Cazilia poked her head out from behind the dress with a smile.
     "Cazilia," Maria remarked, "what a beautiful name.  And how old are you?"
     "Seven," Cazilia said shyly, holding seven fingers out to reassure herself of the right number.
     "Seven?" asked Maria.  "Such a big girl for just seven years."
     "Viktoria!" came a gruff shout from somewhere in the house.
     "Coming, Papa," Viktoria meekly answered.  To Maria, she said, "Please, come with me."
     Maria followed Viktoria, little Cazilia following her mother closely, through the house to a large dining room.  The table had been set for dinner and the family had finished with their meal a moment ago.
     "Father," Viktoria addressed the only man at the table.  "This is Maria Baumgartner, the new maid."
     Maria bowed her head toward the grizzled man.  "My apologies, Herr Gruber, for interrupting dinner."
     "Not to worry.  You come just in time to clean up."
     He stood, walked over to one of three archways to the room, and whispered, "Viktoria," gesturing his daughter to follow him.  She complied and they both moved deeper into the dark house, leaving Maria with Little Cazilia, a little boy of the age of two, and an elderly woman, who was sitting silently at the table.
     Maria heard a giggle from Cazilia, who stood near the two-year-old child.  The boy was sitting on the floor playing with a few wooden blocks and mumbling to himself in a language only toddlers could understand.  Cazilia giggled again, and then kicked the boy in the chest sending him to the floor and hitting his head on the wooden floor.
     "Cazilia, no!" scolded Maria.
     The little boy let out a piercing scream before Maria could scoop him up into her arms.  Trying to comfort him, Maria said to Cazilia, "You shouldn't do that, he is but a very small boy."
     Cazilia ran over to one of the archways and, before running off into the darkness of the house, she said in a playful manner, "Josef is going to die.  You are going to die."  And, with a another giggle, she was gone.
     Maria tried her best to calm little Josef, rocking back and forth, bouncing and patting him on the back.  Finally, he settled and she set him back on his blanket on the floor in the corner of the room.
     During this, the other adult in the room sat silently at the dining room table.  She stared at the half-eaten food on her plate, hands tucked underneath a wool blanket.  Maria imagined those hands gnarled and wrinkled, the skin probably paper thin with dark blue veins showing through.  The woman's gray hair was up in a haphazard bun, tufts sprang out here and there.  She wore no make up, but Maria thought it would make no difference on such a wrinkled face.
     "Oh, such wonderful thoughts," thought Maria, "and that on your first day."
     She started cleaning up the dishes and glasses on the table, making a few trips to the kitchen.
     When she got to the elderly woman's plates, a cold, wrinkled and gnarled hand grabbed her's.  The old woman looked Maria directly in the eye, a cold, hard stare by those icy blue eyes.
     "Leave now, while you still can," she warned with a gravelly, drowning voice, the phlegm seemed lodged in her throat.  "Go!"
      Maria, startled, tried to pull away, but the venerable woman's hand seemed as strong as a vice.
     "I.... I can't.  I need the money."
     "His money is no good.  Go, now."
     Maria took back her hand and rubbed it.  "I can't..."
     "Fool."  The old woman slid her hand back underneath the wool blanket and continued to stare down at the table.

Later that night, Maria had a lengthy conversation with Viktoria, especially about the incident with Cazilia and Josef.  Viktoria told the new maid not to worry about it, and that Cazilia was a jealous little girl.  The middle-aged mother also told Maria about the happenings around the farm.  The footprints, which led from the edge of the forest to the farm, but there were none leading back to the forest.  Sometimes, they would hear footsteps in the attic, but Papa would wave it away and reassured them that the house was settling.  A few months ago, Papa found an unfamiliar newspaper on the land, and he didn't know how it got there, or who had left it.  Not to mention the house keys, which went missing a few days ago.  Now, they leave the house unlocked with hopes Papa would get new locks soon.
     A few months ago, their other maid had left because she thought the house and barn were haunted.  Hence, the newspaper ad.  So, since Maria would be staying with the Grubers, Viktoria acquainted the new maid with everyone.  Maria had already met little Cazilia and two-year-old Josef.  Papa's name was Andreas Gruber.  Whatever he wanted or ordered, it must be done without question.  He was the sole supporter and must not be disrespected.  Mama's name was Cazilia, Viktoria's daughter's namesake.  Most of the time, Mama was quiet and did not move much.  Maria was tasked with helping Mama around the house.
     Viktoria showed Maria to her bedchamber, a small room that barely fit a cot and a dresser.
     Exhausted, Maria settled in for the night.

Maria woke with a start.  It was very dark and she wondered on the time.  Lighting the small oil lamp on the nightstand, she felt the sensation of being lost.  It always happened when staying in different places, but she thought she would be used to it already.  She also couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
     As she got her bearings, she heard the sound of metal on wood, like something heavy being dragged across the floor.  She wondered what it could have been and started for her door, but the door slowly swung open to reveal the seven-year-old Cazilia with disheveled hair and a dirty nightgown.
     "Cazilia," said Maria, "what are you doing out of bed?"
     Cazilia didn't say anything.  She dragged a mattock behind her, the heavy pick-ax grinding on the wooden floor.  Without effort, the little girl stepped into the room with the farming tool.
     As she got closer to the light, Maria realized the dirt on her nightgown mingled with blood, which also dotted and matted the little girl's mussed hair.
     With a horrifying scream, Cazilia swung the mattock at Maria's head, embedding the heavy metal point into the new maid's cranium.

Four days later, on April 4, neighbors went to the Gruber Farm because none of them had heard from the family.  When they looked around, they discovered the family murdered.  Investigators observed Andreas Gruber, Viktoria and old Cazilia in the barn, probably lured out one by one before meeting their demise.  Young Josef was dead in his cot in his mother's bedroom.  And Maria, with a hole in her head, laid on the floor in her bedchamber.
     No murder weapon or culprit was found, but autopsies established a mattock had, indeed, been the murder weapon.
     The little girl Cazilia, lying in the straw next to the bodies of her grandparents and mother, probably died of starvation.  The investigators found in her hands tufts of her own torn out hair.

Cross Reflection

The following is based on a note found at the bottom of a 1858 Baptismal book...

     March 1861.
     Mrs. T. Richard Kinder awoke with a start.  Another one of her nightmares came upon her.  It was the same one she's had for the past week or so.  Over and over again, it happened, but now she was losing sleep.  She looked at the small clock on the bureau, which read midnight.
     She got out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, and looked out the second-story window.  The Church of Transfiguration was just east of their apartment, which was in the slums of Five Points; Baxter Street, Manhattan, to be precise.  She had a clear view of the church and the moonless, starry sky.
     As she gazed upon the dark city and thinking about why she had been inundated with such horrible dreams, she noticed a cross-like object moving across the sky.  It was bright as if aflame and moved swiftly.
     Was this a sign from God?  Perhaps this was the night the bad dreams would seize.  "Oh, please, God," she prayed.

At the same time Mrs. Kinder saw the fiery object streak across the sky above the church, six blocks away on Canal Street, a huge fire consumed a warehouse, a book bindary, and a laboratory, effectively leveling the entire block.

Blocking Out the Stars

The following is based on a report submitted to MUFON...

     November 4, 2013, 2:15 am.
     He stood outside his home in Cumming, Georgia listening to his friend on the other end of the line.  It was after two in the morning and his friend had terrible woman troubles, but that's what being a good friend was all about, he guessed.  He listened with care, his cell phone pressed to his ear, and tried to give as much comfort as he could.
     For a November, the temperature wasn't too bad, so when his friend called, he decided to take the conversation outside afraid he might wake his family.  The stars shone bright against the backdrop of darkness called space.  He decided he should go outside on nights like this more often.
     Listening to his friend rambling and on the verge of a breakdown, he noticed something odd about the sky to the north.  "That's weird," he thought, not saying it aloud.  A section of the sky was much darker than the rest of the sky.  And then he realized why it was darker; something huge was blocking out the stars.
     This thing, what it was, crept at a sluggish pace toward his neighborhood.  It had a black-matte sheen to it, but no reflective surfaces as it appeared to absorb the light.  As it got near, he began to make out a rectangular shape with blue-white lights that ran along the underside, but was definitely darker than the night sky.
     As the thing passed by east of his home, he dropped his phone and froze.  If whatever-it-was noticed him standing there, God only knew what would happen to him.  It gradually passed by, hovering just fifteen feet above the trees, but the trees did not move or sway.  The black rectangular object moved silently, heading south.  As slow as it flew, he felt he could follow it, but he did not.
     "My God," he thought, "that thing's as big as a building."  He estimated it was as big as a three-story office building.  "How can something so heavy looking stay in the air like that?  Especially with no wings."
     After the object flew from view, he picked up his cell phone and listened to his friend crying.
     "Dude," he interrupted his friend, "you are never going to believe what just happened."
     The next few weeks, he endured ridicule from his friends and family, so he dropped it, but never forgot it.
     Finally, he felt someone would believe him and reported the incident on March 15, 2016 to the Mutual UFO Network.

Gems in the Sky

The following is based on a report submitted to MUFON...

November 7, 2015, 6:30 pm.
     He stepped out onto his West Carrollton, Ohio property to feel the cool air on his face, cigarette in one hand and the lighter in his other.  The sun was low in the western sky, the first stars peeking through the dark veil in the east.
     Wright Patterson Air Force Base was fifteen minutes away, and he loved watching the aircraft fly overhead.  Being a retiree of the Air Force, with over thirty years experience as an aircraft mechanic, he had intimate knowledge and familiarity with USAF aircraft.  The smell of oil and grease, the feel of the tools in his hands, and the piercing sounds of the craft as they lifted off.  Boy, he missed it.
     He lit the cigarette, took a long, deep drag, and blew out the smoke.  The puff of gray smoke drifted away on a scant breeze, headed slightly north of the setting sun.  And through the smoke, he noticed something peculiar in the sky above the tree line.
     Coming in from the northwest, they traveled a straight and level path.  Traveling in formation like a couple of F-16's, two gem-shaped craft flew in formation, straight and level toward the southeast.
     "That's not one of ours," he thought.  Despite his military background and his aircraft experience, he had no idea what these flying objects were.  "You've gotta be shittin' me."
     He quickly pulled out his cell phone and accessed the video app.  He felt he needed proof of whatever it was he was witnessing.  Fumbling with the zoom, he tried desperately to maintain focus, but with his glasses in the house, he had trouble reading the different video controls.
     As he trained the camera on the gem-shaped objects, they flew right over his home.  He had absolutely no idea how these twin objects had been designed or their manner of operation.  Their unusual spinning in unison was nothing he had ever experience, or had known of any conventional aircraft to behave in the sky.
     Once the spinning objects passed over his house toward the southwest, the first disappeared.
     "Holy shit," he thought.
     The second one traveled a bit further, nearing the tree line, before it, too, disappeared.
     The next day, he reported the incident and sent his video to the Mutual UFO Network.