Cat woke hours later. He was back in the guest-lodge, and someone had laid his weapons out beside him. Mara asked if he was ready to continue on, and he said he was. He didn't ask about the children; he didn't need to.
He'd known they wouldn't recover completely. At least, he would have known if he'd had time to think about it. The children had been connected, their thoughts spilling into each other while energy poured through them and into a ghost. They'd parted ways, gone back to their families, called their parents by name, but... Some remnant of the connection remained. Cat could feel it, a pull at the edge of his thoughts. In devouring the ghost, he'd taken the link with the children into himself. It might fade with time and distance, but then again it might not.
Even if his connection to them dissolved, those children would always have a bond with each other. Cat didn't know if it would be a strength or weakness for them. He suspected it might be both; he suspected that it would be shaped by how they dealt with it, and with each other.
He couldn't stay to find out. The children would likely be better off with him far away. There was still a war-beast loose near the town of Brightness, in the hills a few miles off; there was still a job to do.
But someday, perhaps in a year or two, he would have to come and check on them.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Lure of the Ghost House V
"Well, well," said the ghost. "Have you come seeking apprenticeship? Or are you looking for the children?"
In life the man had been tall and lean, with shoulder-length black hair and a neatly-trimmed black beard. The pallor of his skin might have been remembered, or it might have been an acknowledgement of his spectral state. He wore the grey robes of a Verath, which was a bad sign; and he seemed to know who he was and what he was about, which was worse. A ghost that was muddled and confused might be set on its way, dispersed into the tides and flows of the world-blood, but one like this... This is bad, Cat thought.
He rose to his feet, frowning. He didn't see any way to delay this, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Still, if there was any way to take the ghost off-guard... "What is it you have to teach?" he asked. Then, deliberately idle, he added: "...and what are you doing with those children?"
The ghost drew himself up as if affronted; then his shoulders lowered. "If you seek a teacher," he said, "you should show more respect."
Cat waited.
"Very well," the dead Verath said at last. "Serve me, and I will teach you the arts of death. They call to you, don't they? The training you have, passing the elements through your body, it isn't enough, is it? You know there is more you could learn."
Cat nodded. He knew. "And the children?" he asked.
The ghost shrugged. "The villagers took my children. Now I have taken theirs. And when I have used them to restore my living body, I will teach you the things it took me decades to learn."
Cat shifted the navic to his back, and let it hang there. Even sheathed, the blade was part of him; it hung comfortably across his back with nothing to support it. He took a step forward, moved as if to kneel...
...And came up with the indoor saber in his hand, slashing.
Two strides away, the ghost fell back, cut in half by the blow. Still connected to the children, it restored itself with stunning speed, and Cat's follow-through rebounded from an unseen shield. It gestured, murmuring, and Cat felt darkness gather around him.
It was a Death Art, one that drained his strength and dropped him to one knee. He extended his arm by an act of will, then drew it back and to the side, fingers clenched for gripping. In physical combat, the motion would have voided an enemy's attack, drawing it off into empty space. Against a Verath's Art, it pulled the draining numbness into darkness and silence and cold. The effect collapsed as he devoured it.
The master of the house stood staring, his ghostly face slack with shock. Cat lunged up and forward, and for a moment he stood locked with the ghost. In life, it would have been no contest; but the ghost still drew energy through the circle of the children, and with the house insisting on its presence all around them, the spirit was as solid to the touch as flesh would have been. For a moment, they stood locked, strength against strength; then Cat shifted his weight, and felt the opening as the ghost failed to follow. He twisted, sending the ghost past, avoiding its force and more, drawing it into the void he had created...
It screamed as it fell into the darkness and cold, as Cat devoured it. A shockwave of ice rolled out across the aged wooden floor, momentarily dispelling the house's memory of itself and revealing weathered wood layered over with dirt and ash.
Cat staggered and fell to his knees. His head was throbbing, and his blood alternated hot and cold. He knew what "children" the master of the house had lost; he knew that they had been horrible, rotted things, murderous and deranged and uncontrollable, animated by the darkest of Arts. Small wonder the peasants had killed them; they'd had no choice. It was that or wait to be killed.
For a moment his heart stopped; then, entirely on its own, it started beating again.
He knew how the peasants had trapped and destroyed the master's monstrous children, two centuries earlier; he knew how the master had created them; he knew how the master had died, poisoned by his servants; he knew how the master had watched, screaming in bodiless rage, as the peasants had burned his body and scattered the ashes. He remembered fifty years of studying the Art alive, and two more centuries of study as a ghost. He wanted to pound his head against the wooden floor until the memories went away.
Mara smashed through the non-existent front door, which reformed itself (now open again) behind her.
Cat raised his head, and forced his body to be still. "Basement," he said. He could feel Delissa approaching, and feel the house recoiling from the energies that cycled through her and filled the air around her. She must have come in the back. "There's a circle in the basement." He could still feel it. He could remember the connections that had been forced between the children. "Don't break it. Tell them to do it."
Then the wooden floor was rushing towards the side of his face. He didn't have the strength to stop it.
In life the man had been tall and lean, with shoulder-length black hair and a neatly-trimmed black beard. The pallor of his skin might have been remembered, or it might have been an acknowledgement of his spectral state. He wore the grey robes of a Verath, which was a bad sign; and he seemed to know who he was and what he was about, which was worse. A ghost that was muddled and confused might be set on its way, dispersed into the tides and flows of the world-blood, but one like this... This is bad, Cat thought.
He rose to his feet, frowning. He didn't see any way to delay this, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Still, if there was any way to take the ghost off-guard... "What is it you have to teach?" he asked. Then, deliberately idle, he added: "...and what are you doing with those children?"
The ghost drew himself up as if affronted; then his shoulders lowered. "If you seek a teacher," he said, "you should show more respect."
Cat waited.
"Very well," the dead Verath said at last. "Serve me, and I will teach you the arts of death. They call to you, don't they? The training you have, passing the elements through your body, it isn't enough, is it? You know there is more you could learn."
Cat nodded. He knew. "And the children?" he asked.
The ghost shrugged. "The villagers took my children. Now I have taken theirs. And when I have used them to restore my living body, I will teach you the things it took me decades to learn."
Cat shifted the navic to his back, and let it hang there. Even sheathed, the blade was part of him; it hung comfortably across his back with nothing to support it. He took a step forward, moved as if to kneel...
...And came up with the indoor saber in his hand, slashing.
Two strides away, the ghost fell back, cut in half by the blow. Still connected to the children, it restored itself with stunning speed, and Cat's follow-through rebounded from an unseen shield. It gestured, murmuring, and Cat felt darkness gather around him.
It was a Death Art, one that drained his strength and dropped him to one knee. He extended his arm by an act of will, then drew it back and to the side, fingers clenched for gripping. In physical combat, the motion would have voided an enemy's attack, drawing it off into empty space. Against a Verath's Art, it pulled the draining numbness into darkness and silence and cold. The effect collapsed as he devoured it.
The master of the house stood staring, his ghostly face slack with shock. Cat lunged up and forward, and for a moment he stood locked with the ghost. In life, it would have been no contest; but the ghost still drew energy through the circle of the children, and with the house insisting on its presence all around them, the spirit was as solid to the touch as flesh would have been. For a moment, they stood locked, strength against strength; then Cat shifted his weight, and felt the opening as the ghost failed to follow. He twisted, sending the ghost past, avoiding its force and more, drawing it into the void he had created...
It screamed as it fell into the darkness and cold, as Cat devoured it. A shockwave of ice rolled out across the aged wooden floor, momentarily dispelling the house's memory of itself and revealing weathered wood layered over with dirt and ash.
Cat staggered and fell to his knees. His head was throbbing, and his blood alternated hot and cold. He knew what "children" the master of the house had lost; he knew that they had been horrible, rotted things, murderous and deranged and uncontrollable, animated by the darkest of Arts. Small wonder the peasants had killed them; they'd had no choice. It was that or wait to be killed.
For a moment his heart stopped; then, entirely on its own, it started beating again.
He knew how the peasants had trapped and destroyed the master's monstrous children, two centuries earlier; he knew how the master had created them; he knew how the master had died, poisoned by his servants; he knew how the master had watched, screaming in bodiless rage, as the peasants had burned his body and scattered the ashes. He remembered fifty years of studying the Art alive, and two more centuries of study as a ghost. He wanted to pound his head against the wooden floor until the memories went away.
Mara smashed through the non-existent front door, which reformed itself (now open again) behind her.
Cat raised his head, and forced his body to be still. "Basement," he said. He could feel Delissa approaching, and feel the house recoiling from the energies that cycled through her and filled the air around her. She must have come in the back. "There's a circle in the basement." He could still feel it. He could remember the connections that had been forced between the children. "Don't break it. Tell them to do it."
Then the wooden floor was rushing towards the side of his face. He didn't have the strength to stop it.
Halloween Music: The Bloody Remains
No particular theme, here. This is just a collection of a few more favorites than didn't quite fit into any of the earlier collections.
We'll start with some Shivaree:
We'll start with some Shivaree:
Lure of the Ghost House IV
The house enfolded him, becoming more solid and real with every step he took towards it. The ruins were easily forgotten; Cat walked a clean cobblestone path through a well-maintained garden surrounded by low stone walls. He circled the stone fountain, now intact and flowing with clear water, and continued on. Three shallow steps led up to the doors, which stood open to the night. This was not a place of fear and tragedy, but someone's beloved home.
He stopped in front of the steps, and tightened his hands on the haft of his navic. It was a curious weapon; not quite a sword, but not quite a polearm, either. The blade was fit for a saber, but the handle was as long as the blade, and wrapped after the fashion of a sword. The house wanted him to be comfortable, to admire its cleanliness and splendor, but Cat remained indifferent. The blade in his hand was a potent reminder of why he was here.
He reached out, forcing himself to focus on the physical substance of the house, even as its ghost became more real to him. The stone steps were still cracked, the doorway still blackened by smoke and fire, though they insisted to him that they were whole and intact. He could feel something else, almost lost in the intersection of the vin-cha beneath the house, almost hidden by the house itself: someone had created a tracery that flowed through the whole structure.
Small wonder the house remembered the shape it once had. Small wonder it had awakened, and was trying to convince him that it still was what it once had been. Insanity was not unique to living men and women; the spirits could be just as mad, in their ways.
He realized then that he'd been wrong. He'd expected a single problem, that whoever had taken the children was also causing the change in the house. Standing at the doorway, he knew that the house was manifesting on its own. In the process, it was concealing whatever intelligence remained inside... but likely also interfering with whatever that one was trying to do.
Where are the children? he asked it, pushing the thought outward.
The house ignored him. It didn't care about the children. It cared about itself, and perhaps about the people who had once lived there... but as the women had said, the people from the village never came here. It wouldn't know them.
Still, someone had created a tracery, a rarified and invisible structure that ran through the house itself, tracing the shapes of the walls and floors, doors and ceilings. When the house was whole, it would have allowed anyone with the right sort of talent to extend themselves throughout the house, just as Cat extended his own energies through the navic. Now, though, with the spirit of the house awake and active...
Cat stepped through the door. For a moment, all he could see was the house as it once had been. Little things shifted, furniture changing places, pictures replacing each other on the walls, but the house remained itself. It took an effort to extend his senses back to the merely physical, to feel the rubble and ash and detritus, the ruined walls and the shattered windows.
Kneeling, he placed a hand against the floor and attempted to extend himself along the paths of the tracery. The house pushed back, trying to hold him out, and he decided not to force it. Hush, he whispered. You're beautiful. I only wish to see through you.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then agreement. His awareness flowed through the house, from the long, low attic -- destroyed now, but remembered strongly enough that it might still have supported his weight -- to the rough stone of the basement, carved from the stone of the hilltop. The other mind was there, of course, cold and dead and angry, gathering power through the young, bright lives arrayed around it.
It twisted away, but the children remained in their circle: still linked to each other, and to the dead thing that had gathered them from the village. Cat could feel the focus of the circle moving, rising, approaching.
He looked up, and found himself facing a ghost.
He stopped in front of the steps, and tightened his hands on the haft of his navic. It was a curious weapon; not quite a sword, but not quite a polearm, either. The blade was fit for a saber, but the handle was as long as the blade, and wrapped after the fashion of a sword. The house wanted him to be comfortable, to admire its cleanliness and splendor, but Cat remained indifferent. The blade in his hand was a potent reminder of why he was here.
He reached out, forcing himself to focus on the physical substance of the house, even as its ghost became more real to him. The stone steps were still cracked, the doorway still blackened by smoke and fire, though they insisted to him that they were whole and intact. He could feel something else, almost lost in the intersection of the vin-cha beneath the house, almost hidden by the house itself: someone had created a tracery that flowed through the whole structure.
Small wonder the house remembered the shape it once had. Small wonder it had awakened, and was trying to convince him that it still was what it once had been. Insanity was not unique to living men and women; the spirits could be just as mad, in their ways.
He realized then that he'd been wrong. He'd expected a single problem, that whoever had taken the children was also causing the change in the house. Standing at the doorway, he knew that the house was manifesting on its own. In the process, it was concealing whatever intelligence remained inside... but likely also interfering with whatever that one was trying to do.
Where are the children? he asked it, pushing the thought outward.
The house ignored him. It didn't care about the children. It cared about itself, and perhaps about the people who had once lived there... but as the women had said, the people from the village never came here. It wouldn't know them.
Still, someone had created a tracery, a rarified and invisible structure that ran through the house itself, tracing the shapes of the walls and floors, doors and ceilings. When the house was whole, it would have allowed anyone with the right sort of talent to extend themselves throughout the house, just as Cat extended his own energies through the navic. Now, though, with the spirit of the house awake and active...
Cat stepped through the door. For a moment, all he could see was the house as it once had been. Little things shifted, furniture changing places, pictures replacing each other on the walls, but the house remained itself. It took an effort to extend his senses back to the merely physical, to feel the rubble and ash and detritus, the ruined walls and the shattered windows.
Kneeling, he placed a hand against the floor and attempted to extend himself along the paths of the tracery. The house pushed back, trying to hold him out, and he decided not to force it. Hush, he whispered. You're beautiful. I only wish to see through you.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then agreement. His awareness flowed through the house, from the long, low attic -- destroyed now, but remembered strongly enough that it might still have supported his weight -- to the rough stone of the basement, carved from the stone of the hilltop. The other mind was there, of course, cold and dead and angry, gathering power through the young, bright lives arrayed around it.
It twisted away, but the children remained in their circle: still linked to each other, and to the dead thing that had gathered them from the village. Cat could feel the focus of the circle moving, rising, approaching.
He looked up, and found himself facing a ghost.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Lure of the Ghost House III
The house sat regally atop its hill, its walls full and clean, the glass in its windows whole. The roof was done in regular rows of slate tile, like the finer houses in the village below, and the fountain bubbled with water. Cat stopped at the gate, his feet still on the overgrown cobbles outside; inside, the path was clean and straight, the grass neatly trimmed. "Do you feel that?" he asked.
Beside him, Delissa said: "It was ruined, overgrown..." Then she straightened.
Mara was already nodding. "I see it, but... there's no substance. When I feel it, I feel the ruins." She stopped, staring. "I've never seen the ghost of a house before."
"There's someone inside, remembering it into this shape." Cat didn't want to be saying this, but he didn't have time to be indirect. There were children inside, and the townspeople were scared; that said enough for their relationship to the ruined house, and whatever might be here. "If the children aren't dead, then he's using them."
"For what?" asked Delissa. She had raised her spear; now she lowered it slightly, hesitating.
Cat shook his head. "I have no idea." Here, where two veins of the world's invisible life-blood crossed, there was plenty of energy: enough to restore the house in truth, not just in appearance.
"It's a circle," said Mara. "He didn't take all the children, only the ones with enough talent to contribute. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's using them to raise more power."
Cat nodded as that piece fell into place. "Let me go in," he said Mara. "Let me try to talk to him."
Delissa said, "You can't talk to..." Then she fell silent.
Mara turned a curious look his way. "You think you can?"
Cat shrugged. "If we all go charging in there, he'll turn their energies against us... or he'll kill them. If I walk in alone... he might at least be curious."
Mara nodded. "What about us?"
Cat considered. "He's invested a lot of himself in this house. If I don't come out, take it apart. Scatter it, destroy it. Or attack, and try your hand at destroying him -- whoever and whatever he is." And however that might go.
Mara nodded again, more slowly this time. "Do it."
Expressionless, Cat stepped through the gate.
Beside him, Delissa said: "It was ruined, overgrown..." Then she straightened.
Mara was already nodding. "I see it, but... there's no substance. When I feel it, I feel the ruins." She stopped, staring. "I've never seen the ghost of a house before."
"There's someone inside, remembering it into this shape." Cat didn't want to be saying this, but he didn't have time to be indirect. There were children inside, and the townspeople were scared; that said enough for their relationship to the ruined house, and whatever might be here. "If the children aren't dead, then he's using them."
"For what?" asked Delissa. She had raised her spear; now she lowered it slightly, hesitating.
Cat shook his head. "I have no idea." Here, where two veins of the world's invisible life-blood crossed, there was plenty of energy: enough to restore the house in truth, not just in appearance.
"It's a circle," said Mara. "He didn't take all the children, only the ones with enough talent to contribute. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's using them to raise more power."
Cat nodded as that piece fell into place. "Let me go in," he said Mara. "Let me try to talk to him."
Delissa said, "You can't talk to..." Then she fell silent.
Mara turned a curious look his way. "You think you can?"
Cat shrugged. "If we all go charging in there, he'll turn their energies against us... or he'll kill them. If I walk in alone... he might at least be curious."
Mara nodded. "What about us?"
Cat considered. "He's invested a lot of himself in this house. If I don't come out, take it apart. Scatter it, destroy it. Or attack, and try your hand at destroying him -- whoever and whatever he is." And however that might go.
Mara nodded again, more slowly this time. "Do it."
Expressionless, Cat stepped through the gate.
Lure of the Ghost House II
Cat woke to the sound of angry voices. There were people outside the guest-lodge, too many people for this time of night. On the far side of the lodge, he felt Mara sit up; he felt the stirring of Gai-Cha around her, and felt the pistol in her hand. He stood, shedding his blanket, and his navic came into his hand. He followed the commander to the door.
Mara was not tall; she was shorter than Delissa, and stockier, with sandy blonde hair cut close to her skull, pale and freckled skin, and sharp blue eyes. She was also a good five years older than the other two, just past her thirtieth year. She pushed the door open and stepped out beside Delissa. "What is this?" she asked, her voice hovering in the toneless region between inquiry and threat.
The crowd fell silent. It was a crowd, and not quite a mob; only a handful of them were armed, and they seemed more upset than violent.
A woman stepped forward: older, heavyset, with her back held straight and her gaze clear. "My Sinna is missing," she said. "So are other children, boys and girls both. You have to get them back."
Mara frowned, but lowered her pistol. "What happened?"
Cat knew the answer almost before she finished the question; it came to him in a flickering spark of intuition. He knew, but he couldn't explain.
"The house has taken them. Old Yeric saw him come down, saw him gather our children and take them up the hill." She looked past Mara, and Cat found himself suddenly the focus of attention: the woman's, and everyone else in the crowd's. "That's why we never go up there. You did, and you woke him up."
Mara turned, and Cat bowed his head. It's possible, he thought. It's more than possible.
"I... see," said Mara. She turned back to the crowd. "We'll bring them back if we can." She turned back to Cat and Delissa. "Gather your things, and then show me where you went."
Cat nodded and stepped back through the door. He meant to gather the rest of his weapons, but Mara caught his arm as soon as the door swung closed behind them. "What did you do?" she demanded.
He paused, because words had never come easily to him. "There's a ruin on top of the hill. I went and looked at it. I didn't do anything, but..." ...just my being there... "...that might have been enough."
"Obviously it was," snapped Delissa. "Come on. Let's go fix your mistake."
Mara was not tall; she was shorter than Delissa, and stockier, with sandy blonde hair cut close to her skull, pale and freckled skin, and sharp blue eyes. She was also a good five years older than the other two, just past her thirtieth year. She pushed the door open and stepped out beside Delissa. "What is this?" she asked, her voice hovering in the toneless region between inquiry and threat.
The crowd fell silent. It was a crowd, and not quite a mob; only a handful of them were armed, and they seemed more upset than violent.
A woman stepped forward: older, heavyset, with her back held straight and her gaze clear. "My Sinna is missing," she said. "So are other children, boys and girls both. You have to get them back."
Mara frowned, but lowered her pistol. "What happened?"
Cat knew the answer almost before she finished the question; it came to him in a flickering spark of intuition. He knew, but he couldn't explain.
"The house has taken them. Old Yeric saw him come down, saw him gather our children and take them up the hill." She looked past Mara, and Cat found himself suddenly the focus of attention: the woman's, and everyone else in the crowd's. "That's why we never go up there. You did, and you woke him up."
Mara turned, and Cat bowed his head. It's possible, he thought. It's more than possible.
"I... see," said Mara. She turned back to the crowd. "We'll bring them back if we can." She turned back to Cat and Delissa. "Gather your things, and then show me where you went."
Cat nodded and stepped back through the door. He meant to gather the rest of his weapons, but Mara caught his arm as soon as the door swung closed behind them. "What did you do?" she demanded.
He paused, because words had never come easily to him. "There's a ruin on top of the hill. I went and looked at it. I didn't do anything, but..." ...just my being there... "...that might have been enough."
"Obviously it was," snapped Delissa. "Come on. Let's go fix your mistake."
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Lure of the Ghost House I
Cat stood on remains of a cobbled path, now thoroughly overgrown and half-swallowed by encroaching grasses, and looked past a broken stone fountain to the charred remains of a wooden house. It had been a nice place, once, with stone walls and wooden beams; he could still see fragments of glass in the corner of one window. The hill where it was located offered a nice view of the town below, and more: it was a minor power center, a place where two vin-cha crossed. The energy here was cool and soothing.
"Cat? What are you doing up here?" Delissa stood behind him, regarding him with dark brown eyes beneath a bristle of short-cut black hair. Her skin was dark as the bark of the trees, but softer, and rich with creamy undertones. She'd left her spear back at the guest-lodge, but still wore the battle saber on her left hip.
Cat shrugged. He was only a little taller than Delissa, and his hair and eyes were almost as dark as hers, but his skin was a sun-darkened olive. He'd left none of his weapons behind, and stood with his navic resting on one shoulder; a short indoor saber and a matching knife were tucked into the sash at his waist. "Looking around," he said. "It seems like a nice place."
"This?" asked Delissa, looking past him at the ruins.
Cat just waited, looking at her.
"It's creepy." After a moment, she added: "It suits you."
Cat tilted his head. He found the place quiet and soothing, but then Delissa had always been more social than he; she was competitive, and sometimes abrasive, but she still wanted people around her.
"They'll be serving the dusk-meal soon," she said after a moment. "If you want something to eat, you should come now."
Cat nodded, and followed her back down the hillside to the town.
"Cat? What are you doing up here?" Delissa stood behind him, regarding him with dark brown eyes beneath a bristle of short-cut black hair. Her skin was dark as the bark of the trees, but softer, and rich with creamy undertones. She'd left her spear back at the guest-lodge, but still wore the battle saber on her left hip.
Cat shrugged. He was only a little taller than Delissa, and his hair and eyes were almost as dark as hers, but his skin was a sun-darkened olive. He'd left none of his weapons behind, and stood with his navic resting on one shoulder; a short indoor saber and a matching knife were tucked into the sash at his waist. "Looking around," he said. "It seems like a nice place."
"This?" asked Delissa, looking past him at the ruins.
Cat just waited, looking at her.
"It's creepy." After a moment, she added: "It suits you."
Cat tilted his head. He found the place quiet and soothing, but then Delissa had always been more social than he; she was competitive, and sometimes abrasive, but she still wanted people around her.
"They'll be serving the dusk-meal soon," she said after a moment. "If you want something to eat, you should come now."
Cat nodded, and followed her back down the hillside to the town.
Halloween Music: Ghosts & Memories
I've never been entirely clear on the distinction between ghosts and memories, and some of my favorite ghostly songs play on that distinction. We'll get to those in a minute, though. First, well...
Monday, October 28, 2013
Muppet Pumpkin-Carving
This brightened my afternoon, so I'm passing it along:
(Tip o' the hat to Matt Mikalatos, for posting it.)
(Tip o' the hat to Matt Mikalatos, for posting it.)
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Again? Yes, again...
It grew stronger in the night.
It attacked the children first.
Do you dare face the horror of...
THE FEVER
You're a parent. Did you think you had a choice?
Friday, October 25, 2013
Creepy, Creepy Dream
Had a dream last night (or this morning, more properly) in which a group of kids went exploring through a door (which had appeared in a hillside where they liked to play) to a house on the other side. The door closed, and at least some of them were trapped on the wrong side. Probably kids from both worlds, because a long section of the dream involved a kid trapped in a ghostly existence on one side trying to convince the mother of a missing girl (trapped on the other side) that her daughter wasn't dead. The kids could apparently all see each other, though - why? Maybe because they met at the doorway? Maybe because they'd all gone through it at least once?
There was also a lot of waiting to see if the door would open again, and - when it did - trying to see if they could get through quickly enough to get everyone back to the correct world (where people could see them) before the door closed again. They couldn't just camp out in front of the door, because even though they were invisible they still needed to eat, and do all the little things that people have to do.
There was also, semi-randomly, an avalanche; but if I were telling this as a horror story I think I'd just leave that part out.
There was also a lot of waiting to see if the door would open again, and - when it did - trying to see if they could get through quickly enough to get everyone back to the correct world (where people could see them) before the door closed again. They couldn't just camp out in front of the door, because even though they were invisible they still needed to eat, and do all the little things that people have to do.
There was also, semi-randomly, an avalanche; but if I were telling this as a horror story I think I'd just leave that part out.
Halloween Music: Children's Songs Are Scary, Too
Children's songs, starting with Call Me Alice singing "Fly":
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Halloween Short Video: Jack
Also, because I absolutely adore this one, a horror story in 60 seconds from Daywalt Fear Factory:
Horror is all about anticipation, and anticipation is all about buildup, so managing to be even passably scary in under a minute is something of a feat.
Horror is all about anticipation, and anticipation is all about buildup, so managing to be even passably scary in under a minute is something of a feat.
Halloween Music: Dark Wings
This one's going to have a slightly different flavor from what I've posted so far, but we'll start with some more VNV Nation:
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Halloween Short; Scary Mask
Seriously, go watch this thing. It won't take much of your time. It does exactly - exactly - what it sets out to do.
Go watch Scary Mask.
I always wanted to throw a party like that.
Go watch Scary Mask.
I always wanted to throw a party like that.
Zombie Short Films
This is just a little collection of zombie films - short ones, that you can watch in a couple of minutes.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
A Vitally Important Existential Question
Why is the rum always gone???
Oh, right. Because I have children... and a budget. Got it.
Oh, right. Because I have children... and a budget. Got it.
Halloween Music: Nemesis
Starting with Shriekback, of course:
(If you were a devotee of The Church in Dallas, then you probably already know that you can do the Macarena to this song.)
(If you were a devotee of The Church in Dallas, then you probably already know that you can do the Macarena to this song.)
Friday, October 18, 2013
Music: Club Villain
Back at work, but still not completely back together. This is all I've got. (Lyrics may not be entirely work-safe; headphones recommended on the first go.)
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Sick
The whole family is sick. Secondborn has been dealing with croup. Firstborn got something that's either a huge reaction to a spider bite, or else a staph infection (my money's on staph infection); he received a massive dose of antibiotics by way of two huge needles, and is now recovering. Beautiful Wife and I have both been nursing persistent headaches, and yesterday my guts decided that they weren't happy either.
So, this morning you only get one piece of music, and it's... topical.
So, this morning you only get one piece of music, and it's... topical.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Halloween Music: Sinister Men
Let's start with something that should be familiar... Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "Red Right Hand":
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Notes from the Mad Science Lab: No More Zombies
Have a seat, everyone. Are you all comfortable? Good. Then I'll begin.
I know what you've been doing. Honestly, you should all know by now that I monitor every inch of this installation, from the vehicle bays to the cryptozoo. I keep particularly close track of what happens in the labs. So I know about your drunken night out in the canteen. I know, down to the milliliter, exactly how much alcohol each of you drank. I can replay your entire conversation, complete with gestures, exactly as captured by no less than a dozen microphones and six different camera angles.
So I am very well aware that when you stumbled out of the canteen and back to the labs, you had been discussing a prank. It's nearly Halloween, after all, and you work in a laboratory. Once you realized that you could create some artificial zombies and scare the hell out of the minions -- and possibly myself -- I'm sure the temptation was irresistible. Unfortunately, all three of you got completely carried away.
I'm not entirely disappointed by this. I hired you for your initiative, after all, as well as your intelligence. And, really, if you didn't sometimes take things a little too far, and run the risk of ending civilization as we know it, what sort of researchers would you be? No, you are my assistants, and you should feel free to pursue your own projects when you are not otherwise occupied. That said...
Sam, in deciding to use a self-reproducing nanostructure to reanimate your corpse, you failed to consider what sort of failsafes might be necessary. Your infection has now claimed fully half of our minions, who are now shambling around outside the cryptozoo in the hope of infecting everything inside. This is why you should never attempt science while you are drunk.
Cassius, your decision to use "just a little" necroactive radiation to give your zombie an "aura of menace" has resulted in a creation that kills people by its mere presence. Anyone who comes within about ten feet of the thing... dies. Only about half of them reanimate, but Sam's shamblers have already infected several of the stray corpses that your radiation zombies have left behind. This has accounted for another quarter of our minions.
Bart... You, at least, cobbled together a wholly artificial creature that lacks any capability for infecting others. However, you appear to have given it a particularly active brain, and for the last fourteen hours it has been kidnapping minions, killing them, and constructing more creatures like itself - presumably to give it some company. So far there are only three of them, but their intelligence makes them vastly more dangerous than the zombies your peers created.
As a result of your combined efforts, there are now exactly three... two minions who remain alive. This is your mess, gentlemen. I expect you to clean it up. You will, of course, have access to anything in the armory... provided you can get to it. The minions and I will monitor your progress from my office. Please note that I will have the defense system up, including the turrets, so driving your zombies to my office door is a viable strategic option... provided that the hallway is completely clean by the time I emerge. Approaching the door yourselves, under any circumstances, is an extremely bad idea.
Is all that clear? Very good. Go to it, gentlemen.
I know what you've been doing. Honestly, you should all know by now that I monitor every inch of this installation, from the vehicle bays to the cryptozoo. I keep particularly close track of what happens in the labs. So I know about your drunken night out in the canteen. I know, down to the milliliter, exactly how much alcohol each of you drank. I can replay your entire conversation, complete with gestures, exactly as captured by no less than a dozen microphones and six different camera angles.
So I am very well aware that when you stumbled out of the canteen and back to the labs, you had been discussing a prank. It's nearly Halloween, after all, and you work in a laboratory. Once you realized that you could create some artificial zombies and scare the hell out of the minions -- and possibly myself -- I'm sure the temptation was irresistible. Unfortunately, all three of you got completely carried away.
I'm not entirely disappointed by this. I hired you for your initiative, after all, as well as your intelligence. And, really, if you didn't sometimes take things a little too far, and run the risk of ending civilization as we know it, what sort of researchers would you be? No, you are my assistants, and you should feel free to pursue your own projects when you are not otherwise occupied. That said...
Sam, in deciding to use a self-reproducing nanostructure to reanimate your corpse, you failed to consider what sort of failsafes might be necessary. Your infection has now claimed fully half of our minions, who are now shambling around outside the cryptozoo in the hope of infecting everything inside. This is why you should never attempt science while you are drunk.
Cassius, your decision to use "just a little" necroactive radiation to give your zombie an "aura of menace" has resulted in a creation that kills people by its mere presence. Anyone who comes within about ten feet of the thing... dies. Only about half of them reanimate, but Sam's shamblers have already infected several of the stray corpses that your radiation zombies have left behind. This has accounted for another quarter of our minions.
Bart... You, at least, cobbled together a wholly artificial creature that lacks any capability for infecting others. However, you appear to have given it a particularly active brain, and for the last fourteen hours it has been kidnapping minions, killing them, and constructing more creatures like itself - presumably to give it some company. So far there are only three of them, but their intelligence makes them vastly more dangerous than the zombies your peers created.
As a result of your combined efforts, there are now exactly three... two minions who remain alive. This is your mess, gentlemen. I expect you to clean it up. You will, of course, have access to anything in the armory... provided you can get to it. The minions and I will monitor your progress from my office. Please note that I will have the defense system up, including the turrets, so driving your zombies to my office door is a viable strategic option... provided that the hallway is completely clean by the time I emerge. Approaching the door yourselves, under any circumstances, is an extremely bad idea.
Is all that clear? Very good. Go to it, gentlemen.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
Alas, Poor Derek
When I was in fifth grade I had a friend named Derek. Big kid, though not especially athletic, outgoing in a way that I sometimes found a little too loud, but overall he wasn't an especially bad guy.
I still don't know where the snake came from. I'm not entirely sure what the snake was. At the time, we thought it was a boa constrictor. It was definitely albino, with white scales and pink eyes, and it didn't have any fangs; it was about the length of Derek's arm. We found it under a bush after school one day, and after the usual enlightened discussion of the various possibilities ("Keep it!" "Kill it!" "Let it go!" "Put it Becca's room and wait for the screams!") Derek decided to take it home. I went with him, because I had a slight crush on his older sister Becca, and if he left it in her room I was going to charge in and save her.
By the time we got there, Derek had decided to keep it as a pet. He took it down to the basement and put it in an old, empty fish tank, and we found some dirt and rocks and sticks to kind of fill in the landscape.
He kept that snake in the basement for something like three months. At first he was feeding it bugs; later it was mice and rats. He got real possessive about it, too. He didn't like for other people to know about it, even me. I think I saw it twice in that whole time. It was bigger each time, but I didn't think anything about that. He was feeding it, after all. I asked him about it a week or so into summer vacation, and I must have caught him at just the right moment, because he admitted that it had gotten too big for the fish tank and he had let it out.
I thought that meant he had taken it outside and let it go, but... no.
It was maybe a week after that when Becca vanished. I missed the worst of it -- I think my parents kept me away -- but it must have been horrible. And then, a few days later, she just... turned back up. They found her sitting in her room, like nothing was wrong. She wouldn't tell them what had happened; she didn't say much at all. The confident, assertive Becca I remembered was still gone; this Becca was quiet, unintrusive, and placid. I didn't like her at all; she was too agreeable.
I snuck down to the basement sometime after that -- days, weeks, I don't remember. The fish tank was empty, of course, and there wasn't any sign of the snake. I still thought Derek had turned it loose outside. Who knows? Maybe he did.
But right around the beginning of sixth grade, Becca vanished again -- and this time, her mother vanished with her. Derek's dad just about lost his mind, or maybe he did lose his mind. Derek came to stay with us for a few days, and when I finally walked him back home he refused to let me come inside. It was just him and his dad, then, and four months later it wasn't even that: Derek never came back to school after Christmas break. By the time anybody thought to check on him, there was just an empty house. None of the adults talked about it much; everyone seemed to think that Derek and his dad had just moved away.
CJ, though, swore up and down that he'd seen Derek's mom come walking back up to the door. He said it was just after dark, and she was bare-assed naked. CJ was a terrible liar, though, so who knows? But if it was true, well, that was the last time anybody saw Derek or his family.
I still don't know where the snake came from. I'm not entirely sure what the snake was. At the time, we thought it was a boa constrictor. It was definitely albino, with white scales and pink eyes, and it didn't have any fangs; it was about the length of Derek's arm. We found it under a bush after school one day, and after the usual enlightened discussion of the various possibilities ("Keep it!" "Kill it!" "Let it go!" "Put it Becca's room and wait for the screams!") Derek decided to take it home. I went with him, because I had a slight crush on his older sister Becca, and if he left it in her room I was going to charge in and save her.
By the time we got there, Derek had decided to keep it as a pet. He took it down to the basement and put it in an old, empty fish tank, and we found some dirt and rocks and sticks to kind of fill in the landscape.
He kept that snake in the basement for something like three months. At first he was feeding it bugs; later it was mice and rats. He got real possessive about it, too. He didn't like for other people to know about it, even me. I think I saw it twice in that whole time. It was bigger each time, but I didn't think anything about that. He was feeding it, after all. I asked him about it a week or so into summer vacation, and I must have caught him at just the right moment, because he admitted that it had gotten too big for the fish tank and he had let it out.
I thought that meant he had taken it outside and let it go, but... no.
It was maybe a week after that when Becca vanished. I missed the worst of it -- I think my parents kept me away -- but it must have been horrible. And then, a few days later, she just... turned back up. They found her sitting in her room, like nothing was wrong. She wouldn't tell them what had happened; she didn't say much at all. The confident, assertive Becca I remembered was still gone; this Becca was quiet, unintrusive, and placid. I didn't like her at all; she was too agreeable.
I snuck down to the basement sometime after that -- days, weeks, I don't remember. The fish tank was empty, of course, and there wasn't any sign of the snake. I still thought Derek had turned it loose outside. Who knows? Maybe he did.
But right around the beginning of sixth grade, Becca vanished again -- and this time, her mother vanished with her. Derek's dad just about lost his mind, or maybe he did lose his mind. Derek came to stay with us for a few days, and when I finally walked him back home he refused to let me come inside. It was just him and his dad, then, and four months later it wasn't even that: Derek never came back to school after Christmas break. By the time anybody thought to check on him, there was just an empty house. None of the adults talked about it much; everyone seemed to think that Derek and his dad had just moved away.
CJ, though, swore up and down that he'd seen Derek's mom come walking back up to the door. He said it was just after dark, and she was bare-assed naked. CJ was a terrible liar, though, so who knows? But if it was true, well, that was the last time anybody saw Derek or his family.
Halloween Music: Zombie Love
It's true that I don't generally think of zombies as, well, having a lot of romantic potential.
I... may have been wrong about that.
I... may have been wrong about that.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Flu Shots
We got flu shots for the whole family back on Tuesday. Getting a flu shot inevitably makes me spend the next two or three days feeling as if I've actually gotten the flu - though, admittedly, a very mild and temporary case. I'm not entirely sure how that's possible, since the stuff in the shot is supposed to be denatured, but it happens just about every single time. I suppose it could be psychosomatic, but I don't think so: this year in particular, I keep forgetting that I just got a flu shot, and then wondering why I feel so yucky. Alternatively, I suppose I could just happen to come down with something right after I get a flu shot, but again: it happens essentially every time, and that seems to be stretching the fabric of probability more than a little bit.
This year, we also learned that if you're a three-year-old boy, having a needle stuck in your arm isn't a big deal at all. By contrast, not being allowed to play with the trucks in Daddy's office until after you get your shot? That's cause for a full-scale emotional meltdown. Seriously, we got done with Secondborn's shot, he checked his arm to make sure they'd put the band-aid on, and then he turned to me and asked, "Twucks now, Daddy?"
This year, we also learned that if you're a three-year-old boy, having a needle stuck in your arm isn't a big deal at all. By contrast, not being allowed to play with the trucks in Daddy's office until after you get your shot? That's cause for a full-scale emotional meltdown. Seriously, we got done with Secondborn's shot, he checked his arm to make sure they'd put the band-aid on, and then he turned to me and asked, "Twucks now, Daddy?"
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Halloween Music: Die Apokalyptischen Reiter
Because German metal bands make everything better...
I'm still waiting for a German metal band to cover "Killing Me Softly", though.
I'm still waiting for a German metal band to cover "Killing Me Softly", though.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Halloween Music: Brain-Eating Edition
This may or may not be related to the current state of my own brain... (I'm going to try to have content again soon; right now I'm still recuperating.)
"You'd be doing him a favor if you brought him to me. He ain't using his brain, he's just watching T.V."
Update: In the comments, Rhoadan suggests this video instead. It's definitely worth a look.
"You'd be doing him a favor if you brought him to me. He ain't using his brain, he's just watching T.V."
Update: In the comments, Rhoadan suggests this video instead. It's definitely worth a look.
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum
This one's from back in... what? 1981? Or thereabouts? The weird juxtaposition of NSA revelations and politicians expressing disappointment that we don't get to attack Syria brought it to mind again.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Today, you become Darth Toddler. Let the Republic tremble...
This is why elementary lightsaber safety is so important, especially if you have children in the house.
Real Work Conversations: The Addams Family
Yesterday my boss and I were looking at event center ticketing setups, and found ourselves examining the State Theatre. This naturally led to some discussion of their upcoming events, including this one...
This, naturally, led to the following conversation:
This, naturally, led to the following conversation:
Me: "I would totally go see that."
Boss: "No kidding."
Me: "Of course, that's partly because any time I see a reasonably-well-done presentation of the Addams family, I find myself thinking, 'I'm home!'"
Boss: "..."
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Vampire Coffee Shop
Did a search for "vampire coffee" this morning. (Don't ask.) This was the first thing that came up.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Ghoultown: Drink With The Living Dead
On the way to school this morning...
So, yes. It's October. I'll be doing other things as well, but the music posts will have a distinctly Halloween-ish theme. Join us below the cut for our first sample: Ghoultown, with Drink With The Living Dead... if you dare!
Firstborn: (observing a nearby house) "Great. Cobwebs again."
Me: "Well, it's October now. We're creeping up on Halloween. In fact, your daddy is going to put scary music on his blog this morning."
Firstborn: "So even if people aren't having Halloween, they'll still be like, 'Dun dun dun-dun BRAIIIINS!'"
Me: "Yes. Just like that."
So, yes. It's October. I'll be doing other things as well, but the music posts will have a distinctly Halloween-ish theme. Join us below the cut for our first sample: Ghoultown, with Drink With The Living Dead... if you dare!
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Doctor Who Meets Metal
So, while I was looking at variations on the Imperial March, I found this:
The scary part is, actually works pretty well.
That's all I've got for today. I've submitted a short story for the Nightbreed anthology - finishing it turned into a crazy ordeal of exhaustion and illness, but it's done and it's off. So, um, yay me!
The scary part is, actually works pretty well.
That's all I've got for today. I've submitted a short story for the Nightbreed anthology - finishing it turned into a crazy ordeal of exhaustion and illness, but it's done and it's off. So, um, yay me!
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