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.