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.
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, May 23, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, May 13, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
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."
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."
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, May 2, 2016
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.
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.
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