#Deceased Estate Furniture

[english-history-trip]

Portrait of an unidentified young woman by Wenceslaus Hollar, 1645

The reason why we should remember Cattelena, who lived in Almondsbury near Bristol, is that she is one of the few African women to have left a record in the rural Britain of the seventeenth century. All we have is the inventory of her goods at her death in 1625: a cow worth £3, a bed, a quilt, a candlestick, four pots, dishes and spoons, ‘all her wearing apparel’, a coffer and two little boxes. It amounted to £6, 9 shillings and sixpence. She was not wealthy, but she was supporting herself, with the aid of her cow and her labour. She was single, like one in five of the women of seventeenth-century England, and she appointed another woman as her executor. Her name – only a first name was given - suggests she had arrived in Bristol via Spain. That’s all we know, but it’s enough to change our picture of the English countryside.

Almondsbury is a small village close to Bristol. At the time Cattelena lived there at least another 16 Africans lived in Bristol. Just like Phylis Setterford, the way we know about Cattelena is because of the inventory of her possessions after her death. She is described as ‘Cattelena, a negra deceased of Almonsbury in the county of Gloucester, single woman & in the diocese of Bristol’. Her inventory includes cooking utensils, clothes, bedding, tablecloth, and a candlestick. However, Cattelena’s most prized possession was a cow. One cow would keep her in milk and butter, as well as provide an income through the sale of dairy products in the local area. Cattelena would have been able to graze her cow on common village land. This would provide her the opportunity of independence and self-sufficiency. Dairying was women’s work. With around 80% of people living in the countryside, it could be a serious income generator. On a farm you would have one dairymaid to six cows. Anything greater would require more servants, and a herd typically had no more than twelve cows. The best hours for milking were between 5-6am and 6-7pm. From Whitsun (May) to Michaelmas (end of September), a cow could produce a gallon of milk a day, which could be used to make a range of ‘white meats’ – meaning cheese and butter. Catellena’s cow was worth £3 10 shillings, £460.32 in today’s money. In 1625, the year Cattelena died, this would have also bought you 10 stones of wool, a quarter of wheat, and was the equivalent of 70 days of skilled labour. In Tudor times, cows were given names. Some reflected their function, as well as the owner's sense of humour. Eleanor Cumpayne of Halesowen, Worcestershire, inherited a cow named Fillpayle from her father George in 1559. Was this name an order shouted at the cow or a compliment for how productive she was? Other cow names recorded include Gentle, Brown Snout, Lovely, Motherlike, Winsome, and Welcome Home. There is no record of Cattelena’s cow having been given a name, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t, as this wasn’t a typical thing to record in an inventory. There is no furniture in Cattelena’s inventory. This could suggest that she rented a room in someone else’s home. This could be the home of a widow named Helen Ford, who was named as administrator to Cattelena’s estate. Cattelena was unmarried but this was not unusual, with around 30% of the English adult female population single. However, it was rare for single women to live in their own home and only about 5% of single women below the age of 45 were head of their own households. Naming Helen Ford as her administrator suggests she was not living with relatives. The total of Catellena’s possessions was valued at £6 9s 6d (£851.59). The existence of Cattelena’s inventory shows us that Black Tudor women could own property themselves and live independent lives. It is significant that as a woman she owned anything at all, it indicates her relative independence. Not only was she not enslaved, but thanks to her cow she seems to have been able to support herself and was free from service or any family obligation. Imagining Cattelena, a dark skinned, independent woman, going about her day-to-day business, preparing her meals, cleaning her bedding, milking her cow, in her rural village makes us imagine English life of the past in a completely new way. She was independent, but she lived an ordinary life, much like most other Tudors.

[poisoncoveredkisses]

Heaven Knows I’m miserable now🍂

Jeremy Frazier x Fem!reader

( Reader has mother and step- dad who they hate…also a dog because why not. Reader is female , grunge and your usual angst filled teenage girl.

.˚⊹🎃🍂🌗₊˚𖦹⋆ .˚⊹🎃🍂🌗₊˚𖦹⋆ .˚⊹🎃🍂🌗₊˚𖦹

The car ride into Winter River was long..boring and almost painful ; the dark green ford mustang carrying the family and the bags sped up eventually, ending the silence and the ride. Y/N L/N stepped out of the vehicle first, sliding her headphones off her head and onto her neck in the process . She stretched out , yawned and grabbed a bag, eyes stuck on the building ahead ; the murder house . The house her Step father had bought since it was “so cheap “ and that “the thing that the happened there can be forgotten about with new memories “ . She rolled her eyes , remembering how happy her mother had been when they bought the house .

“and where are you off to so soon? “ Alan, the overly positive idiot who had moved into Y/n’s life and forced her to move away from her…somewhat enjoyable life before , stepped out , a smile tainting his features and causing most of his face to wrinkle on the process. He moved away from the car before Y/n could even speak, opening the front door before turning , “look at that..! All the vintage furniture still intact..!” He almost gasps out , oh so positive about a literal murder house.

Y/N , now somewhat annoyed by her step father’s interest in whatever she was about to do…even though he’d ignored her for the two hour long car ride quickly ran past . Bags in her hands as she darts into the house, up the stairs and into the only room that seemed fully lived in ; Jeremy’s Frazier’s still intact , still lived in…room.

The bags quickly get thrown onto the floor and the bed now dipped in by the girl, she sighs out before leaning back . Her eyes trained ahead onto the ceiling before tears blur her vision , ruining what should have been a moment of peace . Her hands find themselves into her hair , messily running through it before a heavy bang from the corner of the room shoots her back up. Her head snaps in the direction, pushing off the bed before she moves to check it out. Her eyes scanning the various grunge band posters, vinyls , the record player , the wardrobe which now appeared open…it was locked shut last time the family had visited their new home. She shrugs , maybe the house estate agent had opened it?.. whatever had happened , she didn’t care. She didn’t care about any of it..the murder house..the new guy who’d turned her and her moms life inside out and then left and then massively right into what seemed like a chaotic mess of a situation. She sighs out, bending down to pick up a book that had fallen ; the handbook for the recently deceased . She looks around before opening a window , her eyes catching sight of something..no no someone moving in the treehouse . She blinks before the figure disappears, maybe she was just tired or maybe her eyesight was playing up , she had just spent 2 hours in a moving car staring down at her phone and only occasionally staring out of the window before the next song played into her headphones . She shrugs before scanning the book, turning it over to read the back and then the front . Her fingers dancing along it before they hesitate to open it, she scoffs out ; finally making the decision to open it before the door slams open.

Her eyes snap up, book hidden behind her back as her eyes focus on…nothing? The door bounces back , slamming shut again before slamming open, hitting the wall and causing a couple of posters to fly off the wall. Leaving Y/N stood there , posters a mess around her ; some hanging off the wall, some still stuck , some sideways now and some just flying through the air of the cold, almost quiet room. The book slipping from her fingers , slamming onto the floor before almost flying from its position and into the closet . Y/N moves to follow it, only for the closet to slam in her face and lock. She scoffs out, her first slamming onto the wood before the bedroom door slams shut again, she groans out .

“I hate this house..!!” She screams out , causing the nearest adult ; Alan to run upstairs , his hand pushes the door open before he scans the now neat and untouched room, he smiles over at Y/N , his hand dropping the bernese mountain dog puppy in the process . He stands there, almost expecting his step daughter to speak before he nods at her , looking around the room

“so are you keeping the room..the same?” he hums out , his eyes scanning everything almost judgementally , the way his lip quivers up into its usual concrete , unbreakable , overly happy and warm smile .

“mhm.” Y/N rolls her eyes , moving to scan the room ; confused due to the fact everything had returned to normal in only a matter of seconds .

Buddy, the 3 month old puppy eagerly running around the room in the process of y/n trying to rethink everything and also try seem like she was putting effort into her step fathers boring little conversation.

“really..? you don’t..want a change of anything..? you know this is where..the uh-“

“i know.”

“but..i mean..its a teenage boys room and he was..you know.. he did horrible and-“

“i know, i like the room.”

“but it’s so dark and..i mean look..! look at the posters, the…the books..this isn’t you-“

“no, it is me. You wouldn’t know because the moment you met me, you immediately talked about moving and changing .” Y/N snaps her head back over to the man, watching his little positive performance crumble in a matter of seconds due to her words.

Alan scoffs , “fine but..we’re getting rid of the clothes in the closet . He could have killed those innocent parents of his and then…then changed.” He tries to smile, only to realise the teenage girl stood before him didn’t actually care..nor was she actually listening since her eyes had darted over to the puppy now sniffing aggressively over at the closet.

“uh huh…” She sighs out , her hands moving to open the closet causing the puppy to bark and snarl , his ears pricking , tale shooting up like some sort of tv aerial , fur standing up, stance almost wide and heavy on the wood like a stone statue . His eyes wide and trained to the pile of clothes .

Y/N moves to push Buddy out of the way, weirded out by her dog’s new behaviour towards the closet that was locked only ten minutes ago. She scoffs out , looking back at her step father , “well aren’t you going to take the clothes then.? since you mentioned it..might aswell go do it now..!” She sarcastically hums out , moving to grab a trash bag, opening it before handing it to the now dumbfounded Alan. Pushing back him, grabbing her phone and putting her headphones on in the process . Clicking the play button for her playlist , sighing out once she slides down the banister and jumps down a couple of the steps. Letting the Smiths fill her ears , she scans around ; hoping to catch a glimpse of her mom. She stops , half way to the kirchen and only a step past the living room door , turning back to the man sat in the chair watching the tv . She fully turns , staring at him…almost confused by the fact the old tv still worked : it wasn’t plugged in and..also by the stranger now sat so snuggling in the old chair . She blinks for a moment, the tv still playing but the man gone. She shrugs , turning and moving into the back yard , sighing before pushing the back door open. Her eyes falling onto the sea of light orange , dark orange , green and red leaves from the nearby trees . She moves , pushing her phone into the pocket of her dark blue jean flares , carefully smoothing out her oversized white wool jumper . She sighs before moving to climb the tree house , hands gripping the wood as she pulls her self up , eyes stuck ahead before she catches sight of a figure moving .The figure pacing , repeating things to..himself..?

“got to get them out.” He repeats , over and over . Stopping once Y/N reaches the last wooden block, pulling herself up before she stares wildly up at the teenage boy , his face hard and almost wide as he looks around . He chuckles before his hand moves , “sorry..pretty girl..” He smirks before pushing her down, causing Y/N to lose her grip , stumbling back before her hand slips from the wood, pulling one of the blocks with her as she falls. Her body falling limp onto the ground , her eyes momentarily fluttering between staying wide and closing , her hand moving upto to her hair ; checking for the now painful sensation hitting all around her head .

(I apologise for any spelling mistakes, please please leave your opinion on this cause i crave validation the same way a starved dog craves food )

[my-deer-history]

The Will of James Laurens

Notes:

The handwriting here was incredibly difficult to decipher, so there are lots of gaps below - either words I could not make out at all, or some where I've included my best guess. If you have any corrections or suggestions to offer, please do let me know!

There are no line breaks in the original document, but to make for easier reading, I have added them in where they seemed most fitting.

Although all the other names are given in their English forms, for some reason the name Mary is given in the French form of Marie instead.

Transcript:

In the Name of God so be it on this sixth day of the month of September in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty two in the afternoon at the City of Vigan diocess of Alais in Languedoc I the undersigned James Laurens a Native and Inhabitant of Charles Town Capital of the State of South Carolina in North America but having been for several years in Languedoc because of my health being at present in an infirm state but of sound understanding and having the use of my Memory I find it necessary to explain my last will and testament and make the [—]

and first I recommend my Soul to God in the name of Jesus Christ and as to my body that it be buried in the most private manner and the least expensive

and as to what relates to my estate I dispose as I think I ought institute in [manner] following first it is my will that my proportion which is two fifth part of the debt in Great Britain in the partnership of Hawkins Petrie and Company be paid therewith the just and lawful Interest unless that an argument can be made with the Auditors to receive the payment in South Carolina

I give to my most dear and beloved wife Marie Laurens an annuity of five hundred pounds sterling during her natural life to be paid regularly every six months in advance in the proportions of two hundred and fifty pounds sterling to commence from the day of my decease and it is my will that all my Real and personal Estate be liable for the payment of the said annuity unless that my Testamentary Executors and Executrices should choose to give her some other security for the payment of the said annuity to the satisfaction of my said wife and in case my said wife shall remain in Europe after my decease it is my will that the said annuity be paid to her at the place of her residence [clear] of all deductions and expenses whatsoever

I give unto my said wife all the money I have at present or that I may have in the hands of Mr William Manning of London and also the sum of five hundred pounds sterling invested for my account in the Consolidated Bank of London in the name of Mr John Savage if those two sums exceed the sum of twelve hundred pounds sterling Madam Laurens shall have a right to receive the whole and she shall render an account of the overplus to the Executors but if the said two sums shall not make twelve hundred pounds sterling then it is my will that my Executors and Executrices or some of them pay the sum that shall be wanting in sterling or in that which shall be equivalent to its full value in sterling

I also give unto my said beloved wife all the plate [—] [—] my wearing apparel table [service] and furniture of every denomination whatsoever whether in France London or America

I also give unto my said wife all and [—] my Male and Female Negroes excepting the female Satira whom I declare free from all servitude whatsoever and I [recommend] it to all my Executors and Executrices to assist the said Negro Woman if she be reduced to poverty or in any other distress

I give unto my dear friend Elizabeth Petrie widow and sister of my dear wife an annuity of fifty pounds sterling payable every six months in advance during her natural life unto my friend Edmond Petrie as a token of my regard an hundred pounds sterling and to each of his Brothers namely Alexander and George fifty pounds sterling and to his sister Marie Petrie fifty pounds sterling

I give unto my dear Brother Henry Laurens as a token of my unalterable friendship and esteem the sum of five hundred pounds sterling and twenty pounds sterling to purchase a Mourning Ring as a remembrance of his Brother

I give unto my dear Niece Martha Laurens as a token of my friendship for her and as an acknowledgement for the service she has rendered to me and my family and for her good and gentle conduct upon all occasions five hundred pounds sterling

I give unto my Nephew Francis Bremar of South Carolina the sum of three hundred and twenty pounds sterling to my Nephew John Bremar two hundred and fifty pounds sterling to my Niece Martha [L—] widow two hundred and fifty pounds sterling

I give unto my dear sister in law Ann Sanders as a token of my friendship and esteem fifty pounds sterling

I give as a mark of my friendship and respect for the memory of my deceased friend Jacob Motte to each of the Children of his last Marriage two hundred pounds sterling

I give unto my worthy friend Isaac Motte as a token of my friendship fifty pounds sterling to my worthy friend Louis Gervais as a token of my friendship fifty pounds sterling

I give three hundred pounds sterling to be distributed amongst my poor relations in such proportion as my Executors and Executrices shall think proper

I give five hundred pounds sterling to be distributed among the poor of South Caroline at the discretion of my Executors and Executrices I give unto the Protestant Church at Vigan fifty pounds sterling and in case that the Roman Catholic Church should pretend to and could possess [herself] of this Legacy It is my will that It shall become void and of none effect

And lastly I give unto my dear Nephew John Laurens to my dear Niece Martha Laurens to my dear Nephew Henry Laurens Junior and unto my dear Niece Marie Eleanor Laurens Minor and unto their Heirs for ever all my [Real] and personal Estate of what kind soever and at what place soever they be situated to be equally shared between them subject nevertheless to the payment of the annuity of five hundred pounds sterling to my wife and as my said Niece Marie Eleanor Laurens is under age her share shall remain in trust in the hands of my said Brother Henry Laurens her father and in case that my said Nephew and Niece Henry Laurens and Marie Eleanor Laurens shall happen to die in their minority it is my will that the share to them here above bequeathed shall go and be divided in equal shares between their Brothers and Sisters who shall survive each as [—] [them]

I nominate for my Executors and Executrices of this my will my Brother Henry Laurens my Wife Marie Laurens my Nephew John Laurens my Niece Martha Laurens and my Nephew Henry Laurens

such is my last will and testamentary disposition which I will that it avail in the best manner it [can] by law which [—] of the difficulty I have to explain myself in french though I understand the Language I have transcribed it in English on an [separate] sheet of paper and Mr Louis Gendre Notary Public of Vigan aforesaid wrote and translated it into French upon this sheet of paper dictated by my dear Niece Martha Laurens and in my presence and that of my dear Wife my dear Nephew Henry Laurens and my dear Niece Marie Eleanor Laurens and the said translation made the said Mr Gendre read over the contents to me distinctly and intelligibly and which I clearly understood and comprehended and I declare that it comprises my will most expressively and it is my will that it be fulfilled after my decease the same as though it had been done at Charlestown the place of my residence even though it should not have all the required formalities In testimony thereof

I have signed my name under the two foregoing pages at the [House] where I reside at Vigan aforesaid on the day and year as above I annul all other wills which I have heretofore made Note the utilization of the words and [—] fifty pounds sterling I give as a mark of my friendship as approved James Laurens

--

(Thanks to @nordleuchten for filling in some of the gaps!)

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on Ao3

Rated M

It was often said that memories need to be shared, but Satoru was fairly certain that phrase wasn’t meant to be taken literally.

He would have to ask Shoko about this later.

For reasons unknown, whenever he held Hannah’s hand as she dreamt, he saw into what could only be her memories. It’d been going on for the past few nights and he still had difficulty reconciling with the fact nobody could see or hear him. His body walked through everything like a ghost.

So, where’d she take me this time?

The jujutsu sorcerer blinked and spun around.

Ormolu furniture. Colorful Savonnerie carpets. Curio tables showcasing topaz medallions, chunks of uncut aquamarines, and magenta spinels faceted to metal rods. A chimney fire burned brightly in its hearth, lighting the office space. Satoru spotted a man, studying what looked to be a raw sapphire under a magnifying glass. The gentleman was impeccably bespoked in a slate-grey suit and gold cufflinks. His raven black hair was perfectly coiffed and un-receding. His waistline didn’t show signs of a glutton. However, his many jeweled fingers, one of which showed a gold siren wrapped around his pinkie, gave him away. Satoru grimaced.

It was Lord Jacob Thames, albeit a younger, much slimmer, and far more handsomer Thames than Satoru remembered. Practically unrecognizable.

There was a knock at the door.

A lanky butler entered the room. Satoru could see the mounds of sweat collecting above his brow. His gloved hands shook. He was beyond nervous and had every right to be.

“Collins,” barked the earl, still looking through the magnifying glass. “What the devil took so long?”

“M-My sincere apologies, milord,” stammered the butler, stooping low into a bow. “The girl only just arrived.”

The earl’s expression became shrewd, magnifying glass clanging to his desk. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Send her in.”

The butler dashed aside for a tiny auburn haired girl, no older than four, to step into the room. They’d stuffed her in a mustard colored jumper three sizes too big to adequately fit her doll-like frame, giving her the appearance of a ruffian. Her eyes were equally as apprehensive as the butler’s.

“Leave us.”

The head servant scurried out and closed the door, leaving the young girl and earl alone.

“Do you know where you are?”

Hannah’s hazel-green eyes deferred from the rubies glittering in a display case, and glanced up at the earl. “W-Wasserton, sir. Wasserton House.”

“Did the nuns tell you that, or the house staff?”

Abashed, the girl looked down at her tiny shoes and bit her lip.

Lord Thames observed this and hummed, nodding. “Then do you know who I am?”

The girl looked up. “You’re Lord Thames, ninth Earl of Graivmor and current owner of the estate,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “They say you’re my uncle.”

Lord Thames unveiled the lighter in his pocket and casually lit a cigar as though he hadn’t heard her. Pretty well spoken for a four year old, he thought. How irritating. The earl exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and sneered.

“I didn’t want to bring you here,” he said, giving the cigar another puff. “But laws are laws, and God knows I have enough shit to worry about than arguing with a bunch of meddlesome priests, who feel it is their job to lecture me on ‘mercy’ and ‘forgiveness’ on behalf of my whore excuse of a sister.” The earl grew more impassioned as he said this, speaking ill of his deceased sibling as though she were an apostate. There was no remorse in the brother’s eyes, Satoru could see. This was a man unwilling to forgive and punish his own niece in the process. “So let me be clear,” he continued, getting his nose right up to the girl. Satoru felt the urge to reach out and pull her back. “During your stay, you are to remain in the servants quarters. At no point are you to step foot in the upper rooms, unless I bid it,” his voice deepened, “You are not to be seen. You are not to be heard. These visits are out of obligation and nothing more,” he paused for a final moment, “Do you understand?”

Hannah‘s frightened eyes stared into his, her lips quivering. It wasn’t really a question.

“Y-Yes, sir. I understand.”

The earl smiled. “Splendid.”  He walked behind his desk and pressed a button. The butler re-emerged from the door. “Now, get out — and Collins.”

Collins stood at attention. “Yes, milord?”

The earl flicked his fingers, indicating he wanted a word in private. Both Satoru and butler came forward, bending their ears to listen. “If you or the staff notice anything…off about the child,” Lord Thames grumbled, glancing briefly at the girl waiting by the door. “Do let me know.”

The butler dipped his head. “Of course, sir.”

The servant swiveled around and guided Hannah down the hallway to the servant’s quarters. The fire crackled in its hearth and the earl settled back into his chair, puffing away on his cigar. He studied the signet on his pinkie for a moment longer and muttered something before the first memory faded to black.

“You’ll be the death of me, Elizabeth.”

The office dissolved into smoke.

As if watching a film reel, Satoru suddenly fast-forwarded to when Hannah was lodging at a boarding school in Germany. She looked to be about seven years old, so small you’d think her growth had been stunted. She was easily the smallest of the children and routinely bullied. From what Satoru could tell, she was the only living soul who could see cursed spirits.

During this particular memory, Satoru witnessed Hannah becoming too afraid to step inside after recess because a curse, grade 3 or above, was hovering above the entrance, a rarity in Europe. She wanted to warn the other children to get away, but they didn't see anything other than a petrified girl, staring wide-eyed at thin air. So they laughed.

One older boy laughed louder than the rest and got right in Hannah’s face, taunting the girl in high-pitched German while spitting on her cheeks. Satoru didn’t know what the kid was saying, but he would’ve loved nothing more than to hoist the snot-nosed brat up the highest flagpole by the seams of his underpants and watch him cry like a baby for someone to get him down. Yeah, see if he’d be laughing then, the prick.

Meanwhile, none of the other children rushed to Hannah’s aid, gawking and circling around the little girl like vultures. If he were in her place, Satoru would see to it that these losers couldn’t speak to him like that without gaining a black eye because the only way to deter a bully was to make it clear they couldn’t bully you. Satoru was lost as to why Hannah didn’t fight back, taking their insults the way sorbothane absorbed shock waves; No retaliation. No snide, witty comeback, her fearful eyes too focused on the curse preparing to lunge at any given moment. Why was she showing kindness to people who didn’t deserve it?

A teacher entered the fray, putting an end to the torture session. All the children were assembled inside, but Hannah was sent to her room for some inexplicable reason, which almost had Satoru crying foul. The curse had flown off.

Satoru trailed Hannah to her room which was kept separate from the others, likely due to the terrible screaming brought on by the visions. Originally a janitor's closet, the lonely bedroom still shelved outdated cleaning supplies, coated in dust. The sun was starting to set. The ceiling lamp hanging above them emitted little to no light, but Satoru’s Six Eyes saw the twin-sized mattress stationed in the far corner below a small arching window. Forming a line along the windowsill were several seashells and rocks collected from the beach, and underneath the bed Satoru spied three heavy textbooks: The Lost Book of Herbal Remedies, Exploring Creation with Botany, and Basilius Besler’s second edition of Florilegium. Not exactly light reading for a seven year old. Wonder how she got them.

While sent to her room as punishment (supposedly), Hannah was in no mood for repentance. She was too busy fussing with a bundle of blankets and rags knotted together to form a long rope. Looping one end of the rope over the bedpost, Satoru watched her pry open the latch and throw the other end out the window along with an empty rucksack, letting it wave outside like a victory banner. She gave the rope a good tug.

It held.

With relative ease, Hannah crouched through the open window, held tight to the knotted rags, and planted her feet on the brick wall to support her legs, and like a spider attached to its spinneret, she carefully lowered her tiny body down the rope, one step after the other, and dropped to the ground when the blankets went no further, opting to land on her side and roll several times to lessen the impact. Suffering no broken bones, the little girl flew to her feet, grabbed the empty rucksack she had haphazardly thrown out the window, and ran for the coastline up ahead. Never more than a couple steps behind, Satoru witnessed his young wife trip a grand total of five times before they neared the beach, hearing her soft giggles ringing in the blustery air at her own clumsiness, glad to be free from that penitentiary excuse of a school.

As they reached the coast, a flock of seagulls were feasting on some helpless crustaceans washed ashore by the tide. Little Hannah charged at the seabirds, breaking into a bellyful of laughter as they scattered, her smile positively infectious. There’s a gap between her teeth, Satoru thought.

Approaching the water, the seven year old knelt to remove her worn leather shoes and bloodied socks.

Hold on. Bloodied?

Satoru failed to hide his unease at seeing the cuts, some of which were still bleeding. He didn’t know it then, but the other kids liked to put glass shards in her shoes and sometimes Hannah forgot to check before slipping them on. Why hadn’t he noticed them earlier? Though she didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the lacerations and welcomed the salty waves to fold from blue to white around her toes and wash away the blood. Satoru winced. Salt water and open cuts didn’t exactly mix well. Didn’t that hurt?

Evidently not.  

When the waves receded, Hannah’s feet were looking a lot better - Actually, scratch that - They appeared almost fully healed. Weird. Maybe it was all that excess dried blood. Satoru wasn’t sure.

Anywho, once cleaned, Hannah stuffed her blood-stained socks inside her shoes, placing them both in her rucksack. Her hazel eyes then darted animatedly from left to right, scouring the shore for anything valuable she might find. Using her bare hands she began digging holes in the wet sand, sifting through the many fish bones, bird feathers, and plastic bottles, until she unearthed what looked to be a round husk the size of a baseball; an old abalone from the looks of it. The shell was rough and ugly, like the jagged rocks buffering the waves, but hidden inside the shell lay the covetous mother-of-pearl found on dish cabinets and lacquered furnishings. Whether Hannah knew this was anyone’s guess, but the fact she dropped the abalone into her rucksack implicated as much; Another addition for her windowsill.

Husband and wife spent the remainder of that evening digging for seashells. Well, Hannah dug and Satoru watched, using his Six Eyes to spot the better looking ones.

“No, here, Hannah,” he would laugh, pointing to the ground. “There’s more over here. See?” But the child walked right through him. This was a memory, after all. He wasn’t actually there. Never had been, though he was enjoying this excursion more than he should’ve, watching the smiling girl loot the beach for buried treasure. As Hannah found new sand to plunder, the world's strongest sorcerer took a moment to appreciate the view, taking off his shoes for the heck of it.

While these weren’t his memories, Satoru could easily imagine the ocean spray hitting his face as wave after thundering wave pounded against the rocky bluffs up coast. The sun sparkled atop the water and clouds creamed the sky in hues of gold and pink from the oncoming sunset. Wow. Which part of the Atlantic was this again? The Baltic? If given the chance, Satoru would stare out at it for hours, contemplating the deeper meaning of life. He felt a presence standing next to him and turned to see who it was.

Time skipped. Hannah was no longer a care-free seven year old with a gap between her teeth, but a beautiful woman yet to be his bride. She was still short, of course, barely reaching his chest. The setting sun picked up the red in her braided hair. He could see the green in her hazel eyes and the cute freckles dotting across her nose, but something wasn't right. Like him, she too was staring out at the sea, except she wasn’t smiling anymore. The rucksack carried around her shoulders was gone. Her expression held no emotion, as if all the happiness she exuded from earlier had been sucked right out of her.

He couldn’t distinguish the twisted feeling in his gut when that first tear fell. No, don’t. His hand lifted to wipe it away. I hate seeing you cry. Just as his fingers brushed against her cheeks, however, a panicked voice called out from afar.

“Hannah!”

Satoru froze and pivoted to see a middle-aged nun hobbling up the beach, her brown veil flying every which way in the breeze as she frantically called Hannah's name.

Meanwhile, Hannah hurriedly dried her eyes. “Hier drüben, Schwester Hilda,” she called back, raising her arm to get the nun’s attention.

Hearing her voice, Sister Hilda turned and placed a hand over her heart. “Gott sei Dank!” she exclaimed in relief and raced to them as fast as she could, her brown veil billowing in the wind, “Wir haben dich überall gesucht. Wie oft haben wir es dir schon gesagt. Kein weglaufen.”

Satoru saw the way Hannah’s shoulders slumped. “Es tut mir leid,” she answered apologetically.

The nun waved her over, shaking her head. “Schnell, schnell,” she placed an arm around the young woman, ushering her back inside. “Es ist nicht sicher.”

Hannah obeyed like the good girl she was and together they walked back the direction they had come, taking no notice of the jujutsu sorcerer standing near.

Satoru didn’t understand a lick of German, but the desperation ringing in the poor nun’s voice unsettled him. Surely, Hannah was just wanting some fresh air. What could be wrong with that? Why the urgency?

He caught one last wisp of auburn, before the two women disappeared beneath the sand dunes and tall sea grass. A storm loomed beyond the shore. The sun dipped below the water. And the memory faded to black.  

Satoru then found himself standing outside an old farmhouse. The air was chilly and a dense fog overtook the acres of forest as night became dawn. It smelled of mulch and aging wood. A rooster crowed in the background. Nope, definitely not the Baltic.

A teenage Hannah emerged from the farmhouse, equipped in a plaid button-down flannel and denim overalls. Her rubber boots squeaked atop the dew covered grass as she carried an empty tin bucket up to the barn, a bright red bandana covering her hair. For a shortie she was hightailing it pretty good. Satoru had to break into a light trot. Why so fast?

“Salut, Charlie. Clyde,” she greeted quietly upon sliding the barn doors open, almost completely out of breath.

Two of the most humongous looking draft horses Satoru had ever seen, each strong enough to pull a freight car, stuck out their heads from behind their stalls, ears perking at the sound of their names. The young girl stood on her tiptoes and offered her knuckles to one of the gentle giants, looking like a fairy as its massive muzzle nudged her hand and sniffed. The creepy thing about this was when the horse’s eyes followed Satoru as he walked by. It could see him, but Hannah was too busy to notice and returned carrying a large bale of hay. She broke down the hay-bale and loaded the grass into Clyde’s trough, doing the same for Charlie. Lifting the lid off a long plastic bin, Hannah scooped some grain for each horse and observed the geldings munching away as she checked their water supply and shoveled their manure before opening the neighboring stall on the right.

“Désolée, Bertha,” she whispered.

Bertha, a brown dairy cow getting on in years, mooed lowly at the girl, unhappy she hadn’t been milked at her usual hour. Hannah quickly fed the cow similarly to the horses and grabbed the empty bucket she’d brought up the hill and set to placing her rear on an old wooden stool. She slid the empty bucket underneath the cow, strapped on a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket, and commenced to milking. It was quite the exercise, applying just the right pressure on the udder with her thumb and index to squeeze, but Hannah handled it like a pro. Satoru was so absorbed by the fact that his wife knew how to milk a frickin’ cow, he didn’t notice the tiny grey kitten attempting to eat his shoelaces, only to come up short.

“Oi, quit it,” he muttered, kicking the little beast away with his shoe, which did absolutely nothing. These were limited edition. “Scram.”

The kitten peered up at the Six Eyes wielder with big round eyes too large for its small fluffy head and released the tiniest “mew.” Hannah stopped milking.

“Well, there you are,” she cooed in English, having discovered the feline wallowing alone in the corner. “Que fais-tu là-bas, hmm?” She took off one of her latex gloves and lowered a hand for the baby to sniff. “Where are the rest?”

The rest? Satoru’s Six Eyes were drawn to the stacks of hay-bales lining the wall to his right. Suspicious, he transitioned to infrared and spied four orange blobs hiding amongst the bales.  

Knowing what to do, Hannah stood up from the wooden stool, grabbed an empty bowl from a shelf nearby,  and crouched under Bertha, squirting some milk into the bowl till it filled halfway and placing it on the ground. “Bon appetit,” she sang.

The kittens came scampering, toppling over each other like furry rollie pollies to see who could get to the bowl first, their fur matted with straw and dust.

“Heathens,” Satoru chuffed, shaking his head and watching the siblings fight over their food like a pride of lions at the zebra kill. Obviously Hannah didn’t hear this comment, but giggled as though she had. A bell alerted them to the changing of the hour. They had thirty minutes.

Quickly, Hannah covered the milk bucket with a cloth as best she could, locked Bertha’s stall door behind her, and rushed out the barn, leaving the animals to eat their breakfast in peace. The way she maneuvered down the uneven slope, it was a miracle the milk didn’t slosh everywhere. She reconvened inside the motherhouse and inadvertently led Satoru to the kitchen. He watched her hoist the bucket over a marble countertop, cracked in the center from an accident gone awry - either that or the surface was too old - and began raiding the cupboards. Finding a metal strainer, she whipped out a clean glass jug from the bottom drawers and (shakily) poured the raw milk into the jug to be pasteurized later, leaving the strainer to trap all the excess fat used to make cheese and butter. Satoru didn’t see her pause to take a breath. Twisting a lid on the jug and plopping the fat in its own container, she placed both produce in the fridge next to the fresh eggs. The dirty bucket and strainer were left in the sink. Hannah washed her hands and eyeballed the clock. Ten minutes.

Trying not to make too much noise, she tiptoed up the stairs to her bedroom, a monastic cell less than premium, and quietly shut the door behind her with a soft “click.” Now, it was at this point Satoru should’ve known better. He should’ve known women need their privacy, but since he could see through clothing anyway, the message failed to register. Hannah was already shimmying out of her overalls, naked in only her bra and underwear, till the Six Eyes wielder got the hint and turned to face the wall. Whoops. He could already envision Utahime landing a scathing slap across his cheek. “Pervert.” All he was missing was a dunce cap.

Waiting to recover his wounded sense of pride, Satoru focused on the rustling of fabric as Hannah changed and the sound of tiny beads rattling against each other. He glanced over his shoulder.

His mouth parted.

Her red bandana had been replaced with a white coif and veil, hiding her auburn hair. The plaid flannel and overalls were now a long black robe, poncho'd in a sleeveless tunic. A belt of rosary beads cinched her waist as she strapped on a pair of velcro-laced shoes typically worn by old people. The novitiate standing before him gave Satoru pause.

It could’ve been so different, he thought, struggling to wrap his head around the blatant concept; Hannah? A nun? He wasn’t sure he liked that idea. Not that he felt entitled to criticize the lifestyle itself. How people choose to live their lives was their business, and if it left them fulfilled, then more power to them, but he couldn’t picture Hannah as a nun. Like so much about these memories, it felt…wrong.

She didn’t belong here.

In those clothes.

In that veil.

You’re mine.

No mirror to check her reflection, Hannah flattened the creases in her habit as best she could, sighed a deep breath, and opened the door.

Having been following the Eightfold Path since he could crawl, Satoru had only stepped foot inside a church twice. Once when he was sent to retrieve (kidnap) Amanai from school, and the other on his wedding day. He and Hannah were the last to arrive at the chapel, joining the other twelve or so nuns praying solemnly in the pews. Their veils weren’t white like Hannah’s, Satoru noted, but funeral black. A priest sauntered in shortly afterwards, wearing green vestments while holding the Gospels over his head as the nun’s lead a processional hymn.

The Mass was terribly dull and lasted way too long. He was bored through most of it, not knowing French or Latin, though Hannah’s singing rang out like soft chimes in the small church, which was pleasant enough. He resorted to counting the cracks in the ceiling as the service dragged on and on. When the priest held up the offerings for the consecration and everyone got on their knees, Satoru walked right in front of the altar, leaned real close, and squinted hard. So this was their God, eh? Some flat bread and fermented grape juice. Yup, Christians sure were weird.

The end of Mass was followed by the Abess reading from the pulpit along with a short sermon and more prayer. He was glad when it was over.

Released from their purgatory, Hannah was allotted a quick breakfast - a baguette slice with a dollop of freshly churned butter and a soft boiled egg - which she devoured ravenously. Then on to lessons.

The teenager went back to her room for a satchel and trudged up a flight of stairs to the attic, where a nun welcomed her with a smile, gesturing to the vacant desk centered in front of a large chalkboard. Geometry. That was the lesson for today it seemed. Good, a subject Satoru actually liked. It would be Medieval History at one o’clock, however; Mmm, not so good. He peered over Hannah’s notes as she jotted everything her instructor wrote on the chalkboard. Aha, so she’s a leftie. Interesting.

Hannah was scrubbing floors next. Although the brush she was given looked more like a brick and washed like one too. The bristles were dense from re-hardened soap, effectively becoming a thick block of lard. Kind of gross really. The sound the brush made as it scraped along the floorboards had his skin crawling, but Satoru didn’t want to mosey off somewhere and leave her. What the hell were these floors made out of anyway? Finishing her scrubbing, Hannah tucked any loose strands of auburn back under her veil and glanced up at the clock above the door mantle. The bell rang. Time for, you guessed it, more prayer.

After the office of the None, Satoru was willing to theorize whether bashing his head upside the wall, really, really, hard would help wake him from this snooze fest, but naturally no wall was impenetrable. He walked through every solid object, every person, lurking anonymously wherever Hannah went like an invisible shadow. Seriously, where’s the exit? All this loitering about was making him hungry and some deep-fried manju would be really good right about now.

At three o’clock following lunch, Hannah was tending to the vegetable gardens outside: carrots, potatoes, cabbage, turnips, other bulbs and tubers. She had to change back into her overalls and rubber boots. The sun was sweltering down on them (her) like a tanning bed, but the heat didn’t seem to affect her none. Satoru watched the teenager parse a handful of dirt between her fingers, testing the fertilizer and de-weeding the ground, making sure the cabbages were watered by their roots so the leaves wouldn’t catch a fungal infection. A sweet smile graced her lips. She looks natural, Satoru thought; Gardening.

The evening slowed to a snail’s pace once Hannah changed back into her habit and communed with the other sisters inside the chapel, which Satoru gathered was meant for, what, choir practice? The nuns formed three rows, opened their hymnal books, and began singing in unison before breaking into separate harmonies. Hannah’s sweet soprano came out like distilled water, crisp and clearer than the rest. The Abbess would stop them if the piece was sung even a little out of key and force them to repeat the verse. This went on for roughly an hour, ending the day with a perfect “Salve Regina.”

Hannah returned her hymnal on a shelf with the others, waved goodbye to the nuns, and made the silent pilgrimage back to her cell. Under the aid of candlelight, she spent her last waking hours finishing homework and repairing the holes she’d torn in her overalls with a thread and needle, pricking her fingers a couple times as she stitched. She didn’t change out of her habit and veil. Instead, the teenager blew out her candle, slipped off her shoes, and crash landed onto the bed with a resounding ‘whop,’ knowing it would start all over again come break of morning and there’d be no escaping it. Not once had she complained. Not once had she tarried or refused the work.

Her lids slowly closed.

A bell tolled in the distance.

Everything faded to black again.

A few seconds passed and soon the cold stench of antiseptic stung Satoru’s nose and tongue like salt inhalants, along with a sharp tang reminiscent of something metal. The black void surrounding him materialized into placid white ceilings above placid white walls on placid white floors. The window outside showed a wintry scene with snow falling to the ground, while a skeletal figure slept on a bed beside beeping machinery, an IV dripping into a vein that wasn’t blown. His skin looked as though it hadn’t been washed in days, growing dry and leathery with patches collecting on his bedsheets like dandruff, and his face was so gaunt from weight loss that Satoru could see every protruding bone jutting around his cheeks and eye sockets. Although, he was most alarmed by the man’s jaw. It hung in such a grotesque angle that it was likely impossible for him to close it, making him appear as though he were left permanently screaming in a Van Gogh painting. The dude was in rough shape. Satoru estimated he didn’t have much longer.

“Good morning, Richard,” Hannah chimed, wheeling in a cart topped with a meal tray and towels. She was still in a white coif and veil, except she wore a white knee-length dress and tights with a Red Cross on her chest. The makings of a hospice nurse.

Richard initially didn’t stir or open his eyes, enticing Hannah to lean over the bed and gently tap his arm. “Richard,” she whispered. “It's morning now. Time to get up.”

The man opened his eyes in a panic, looking utterly confused, not knowing where he was. Hannah rushed to comfort him. “My name’s Hannah, Richard, remember? Han-nah? I’m the one taking care of you.”

For a moment Richard managed to make eye contact, but he was incapable of seeing the woman. The cataracts clouding his vision were too thick, and judging from his odd behavior, his hearing was probably deteriorating as well. Hannah eventually succeeded in settling him down, his mouth still hanging agape.

“Alright, we’re going to lift you up now,” she said as another woman in a veil and dress entered the room, and together the two caretakers worked to carefully flip the man on his side. Richard moaned in pain, his emaciated body too weak and feeble to do anything, no muscle to pull himself up. He was bare underneath the hospital gown. Satoru could see the bedsores blotching his heels from being confined to the mattress for so long and watched Hannah gingerly remove the soiled underpad from him and wipe his bottom and drain the collection bag from his catheter before changing the bedding. The smell alone would’ve left Satoru gagging, but like two well-oiled machines, neither hospice nurse so much as coughed. Fully cleaned, they placed the man back down on the hospital bed. The other nurse took the dirty sheets to be washed and entrusted her colleague to finish the rest.  

Keeping him warm, Hannah draped a new blanket over the man. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she soothed, tucking in the edges like a mother would her child. She was so patient. “Are you hungry?”

A vacant look in his eyes, the cripple responded with a gurgling noise from the back of his throat. What that meant, Satoru didn’t know. Hannah brought the cart over to his side and parted the lid off the tray and — Aw, man. What the fuck was that supposed to be? Oatmeal? Who in their right mind would eat that?

From there, Satoru found it very difficult to watch Hannah try and spoon feed the dying man. He couldn’t chew or swallow the porridge correctly, wearing most of the mush on his chin, but Hannah cleaned it up with a napkin and threw the plastic spoon away after four small bites. That was it. The man would eat no more and quickly shut his eyes and fell asleep, fatigue winning over.

I’d rather they put a gun to my head, Satoru thought grimly, moved with pity for the man. The youth always think they’ll live forever, quick to forget that all things must come to an end. Would this be his, he wondered.  A slow, agonizing death, with no one but a sweet orphaned nurse to care for him? Afterall, when you die, you die alone, right?

As her final act of kindness, Hannah wheeled the meal cart to the corner, washed her hands and arms in the sink, and made herself comfy in the closest chair near Richard’s bed. Crossing her legs, she flipped open a little pocket book from her skirt, and stayed by his side until the moon’s pale face shown out the window, falling asleep in the chair.

The hospital room faded from view.

Chapter Contents

[acommonloon]

It's nearly green beer day...today it Was I reckon. This green apple and something I forget, was a tasty pint at 4%, sessionable though I only had the one.

Earlier I looked at a property near the infamous Zulu Trailer Park.

The Zulu Trailer Park

I've read many times there's power in a name. Lol the first time I heard of The Zulu Trailer Park, I was enamored. Still am.

My uncle Steve said it to me the first time, referring to an area near where he kept horses. Maybe I heard it before but when he said it I asked him what it meant. I can see his grin in my memory even though I'm sure it's only an amalgam of his grin anytime he shared a bit of local gossip or lascivious detail; which he did often.

That my uncle Steve took pleasure in revealing untoward news about others was ironic. While all of my mother's brothers enjoy varying degrees of county infamy, Steve has more uncovered baggage than Spirit Airlines. A young man once introduced himself to me as "Your uncle Steve's bastard." I've not met the others - as far as I know.

Anyway, the Zulu Trailer Park, as uncle Steve described it, was a bunch of unkempt trailers inhabited by drug dealers/users and other local ne'er-do-wells.

Honestly, I've yet to locate those properties specifically but the one I was at today was in the area. It was a property I'd appraised previously and I remember talking to the man. He was in poor health then and the house had more than typical religious iconography. When I called the realtor, she said the man had died.

The house was bereft of furniture when I walked through photographing the rooms except, the back bedroom in which a 1/3rd scale statue of white Jesus stood in a corner. I left Jesus out of the pic and continued about my business.

I've walked through thousands of people's homes. Many vacant because they were estates left after the owner died. I'm not a believer- anymore. I was raised to worship/fear God but at some point I chose to be free.

Still, I'm a avid reader of SciFi and fantasy so the idea of the supernatural isn't anathema to me. In 20 years of walking through the homes of recently deceased people, I've never felt a single unexplained chill, seen an apparition, or heard a ghostly wail. Sorry, nothing this time either.

Driving away I passed a property flying an American flag and a "Let's Go Brandon" flag. Maybe I have been to the Zulu Trailer Park. I was just looking for a different kind of hopeless.

[don-the-death-collector]

Teresa (and Lucky)

To give you an idea of what my job entails, I'll start with my very first job and the secrets that came with it.

It started small. I handed out a makeshift business card that wasn't even laminated to the funeral home that had taken care of my father after I explained my plan to the owner. He was surprisingly supportive. I still appreciate that support to this day, where I still get customers that Anthony had sent my way with a glowing recommendation. I emphasized that I don't do crime scenes, that I can do hoarding cases, and a general overview of my services.

It was definitely a surprise when I got my first client the next week.

The caller was a sweet but anxious girl, barely 18, who had been saddled with her mother's estate with no grandparents or siblings who could help her. The poor thing seemed like she was jumping from thought to thought and emotion to emotion throughout the whole call. At one moment she would be crying and sharing her regret that they hadn't been close and the next she would be cursing up a storm over the fact that her mother had had "one last fuck you" by making her daughter take care of all of her belongings. I let her go without interrupting aside from some gentle validation when she seemed to need it. Eventually she asked me if she could come to my office and fill out a form for the apartment to be cleared out.

I...I hadn't thought that far yet.

I didn't have an office. I didn't even have any forms. So I made a rough one up in the middle of the night and asked Anthony if I could use one of his conference rooms (for lack of a better name) to meet her in. Again, he agreed. God, the more I think of those early days the more I realize I owe him big time for all his help. But that's beside the point. The next day she met me at the funeral home after another call about the meeting place and we discussed what she wanted.

Here's a rough approximation of what my sleep deprived brain came up with in the middle of the night:

*Consent Form for Services Rendered*

1. I, _______________________, hereby give Don**** ****** permission to enter the home of the deceased, __________________, based on my authority as next of kin, administrator, or executor of their estate.

2. In terms of furniture, I would like to keep the following furniture

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And the rest may be donated or disposed of.

3. In terms of personal belongings, I would like to keep the following items

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And the rest may be donated or disposed of.

4. In terms of sentimental belongings (ex: photos, notebooks, letters, etc.) I would like to keep the following items

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And the rest may be disposed of.

If there is any uncertainty about what should be done with _____________________'s belongings, I can be reached at _________________________.

I have understood the information provided to me and agree to the discussed price of $________________ based on labor and size of living space in sq. feet.

Signature and Printed Name: _________________________________________________________________________

The form was...rough to say the least. But it got the job done and I honestly haven't had to change it much over the years. I told her the baseline price I was charging per square foot and the added price per hour of labor and she agreed without a second thought. Clearly wanted to be free of the task, and I didn't blame her.

Although the first day of this job was light, it was a good tone setter for my work moving forward.

Bright and early the next day I set off for the address I was given with a sense of nervous excitement. This was the first day of a potential career, one that didn't involve retail work 5 days/week, and if it worked out I was confident I could support myself doing this instead. I'd done some research on the prices using what similar services I found and if I did well then...well, then I would have a better life. Even if it was dealing with a lot of death. When I pulled up, I wasn't really sure what to think.

On first glance the apartment looked normal. Nice even. But the more you looked at it the more you noticed the odd details. Newspaper over one of the windows. A crack in another. What looked like scratches around the doorknob. The feeling around it was odd too. I'd come to know that this was just the feeling of going into a house you know has no resident any longer, but at the time, I was just kind of freaked out. Regardless though, I had to go in. I already had my gameplan. First clearing out all the trash, then the small stuff like paperwork, then the appliances and such, then the furniture. Being prepared like that always calmed my nerves in new situations, and it certainly did that here as I unlocked the door, took a breath, and went in.

It was...disgusting in there. More flies than I would have imagined, and the smell was...god, it was horrible. Rotting food, cigarette smoke, cat pee, and-

Cat pee?

I racked my brain for a second about the meeting. I was sure I brought up pets, it's something I usually do for small talk and to make me and the other person comfortable. She said she didn't have any, that her own rental agreement didn't allow it, and that I wouldn't need to worry about letting any out when I went to this apartment.

Then why was there cat pee?

I put on a mask I had in the backpack for the cleaning part of the job to help dull the smell and started investigating. If there was an animal in the home, that was my first priority. Cans of food in trash. A single squeaky mouse. An overfull and filthy litterbox, and a bathroom mat that seemed to have substituted in the meantime. I started calling, making awkward kissing noises, and after several minutes received the most pitiful meow I had ever heard from the living room. I laid myself as flat as I was willing to on the filthy carpet to look under the couch and met eyes with a thin, scruffy-furred black cat with the widest yellow eyes I had ever seen.

"Hey there, little guy," I cooed, trying to coax him out.

The cat hissed and tried to make himself smaller and scoot as far from me as possible. I frowned and pushed myself up to look around the kitchen for any food that wasn't rotten (or ideally that was legitimate cat food), and was fortunate to find a can of wet food that had been knocked over behind a few expired cans of corn.

"You hungry?" I asked, trying and failing to find a clean plate, with there being some evidence that these had been what the woman was using for the cat's food.

At the rustling in the kitchen the cat had poked his head out ever so slightly from the couch, revealing a small black nose and light whiskers. It made a little chirping noise that at the time I didn't understand, having been raised with dogs all my life, and when I set the can down he wasted no time running at it and eating so fast that I was worried he would hurt himself on the can. I might as well have left for all the care he had towards me as he devoured his food, and as I watched him I noticed the poor thing's ribs showing.

"How long were you here alone...?" I asked him, mortified.

Even if he could answer I don't think he would have, he was clearly very busy making up for lost meals. I let him be as I stepped away to call the client. After a few rings she answered, sounding confused.

"Hello?"

"Hi Amy, it's Don. You have a sec?"

There was some muffled shuffling as she moved to a different area, signaled by a door shutting. "Um, sure, what's wrong? There wasn't anything I wanted aside from valuables or cash."

"There's...uh...there's a cat here."

Silence for a moment. "What?"

"A cat. It looks like your mom had a cat."

A longer moment. "...Just...bring it to the shelter."

"I know you can't have one based on our conversation, but maybe a friend or-"

"Just get rid of it. I don't care where it goes. I don't want it. I don't want to see it."

There was something almost desperate in her voice, and it kept me from arguing. The tone told me I probably didn't want to know why she was so against this poor animal. I looked to him as I answered, gently, "...since you don't care where it goes, could I have him?"

She seemed taken aback for the briefest of moments before answering quickly, "Yes, if you could. Please. I'm sure you'll have a better home than that one."

"Yeah...Yeah I definitely do."

"Good. Then, is there anything else?"

"No miss, nothing else. I'll let you know if I find any valuables or cash."

"...Thank you, Don."

I hung up and looked at the cat as he scratched at the now empty can, hoping he had missed something. At least I'd have some company while I finished the first part of the job, and when I went home I'd see what I'd signed up for. I still don't know why I volunteered myself at that moment. Something about that cat...I felt for him. Maybe saw something in him that called out to me. Or, of course, I could just be romanticizing things after the fact. Either way, now that he had some food in him and knew I was the one that gave it to him he followed me around as I got out the box of garbage bags and a pair of gloves and started piling handful after handful of garbage into bag after bag. Expired cans of food. Rotten meat that had been in the fridge for god knows how long. Plates so caked with mystery food and mold that it was easier to throw them away than try to clean them up to donate. Several full ashtrays. A few handfuls of used tissues. Several TV guides from over a decade prior. A...um...adult item that I was thankful I was throwing out instead of that poor girl. Little by little the floors and surfaces were exposed, my new buddy sitting and watching me or meowing at anything resembling a can. He seemed particularly confused by the ashtrays since they were roughly the size of the can of cat food and were clearly being emptied into the bags, and at one point even growled when I refused to set it down for him.

By the time the garbage alone was done, it was dusk. A whole day just cleaning out all the trash, and more garbage bags than I had been prepared to deal with on my first job. In the future I would always rent out a dumpster as a precaution, but this time, I would have to take a few bags with me each time I left the house. I still remember the smell and how it didn't leave my car for days. But the cat got in no problem. Even let me carry him out after I'd gotten the last bag, and sat in that seat just like the German Shepard I'd grown up with.

I named him Lucky.

I went back to the house the next day while Lucky was asleep in what used to be the bed for my aunt's Boston terrier (I really appreciate how quick she brought it once I said what happened). My goal that day was simple enough: pack up anything that wasn't an appliance or furniture and divide the donatable from more trash. I didn't know it then, but this would end up being my favorite part of the job. This was when you start finding the real secrets.

At first things were simple enough. I hadn't thrown out any legible papers in case there was something on them that Amy would need for the estate side of things, so I started there. Some of it was boring of course: half-finished to-do lists, numbers for god knows who scribbled on junk mail or old bills, doodles of varying quality. If I remember right my favorite thing in those categories was a really abstract looking drawing of a chicken. But there were a few little gems already peaking through in this pile.

On a piece of paper labelled "The New World Testament" there was an odd series of symbols or numbers. The symbols varied from what looked like meaningless jumbles of lines to small shapes to vaguely religious ones like a cross with a halo or a star with wings. It clearly had some value since it had been kept safe from the mess left on the kitchen table, but whatever it was had been lost on me. The lines of numbers and symbols were in clearly defined paragraphs and sequences, and I probably spent way to long trying my hand at code breaking before giving up and moving on, setting the paper aside. On the same table was a bible with dog-eared pages, a lot of them in the "book of revelations" or the old testament. I wasn't exactly the religious sort but I'd been raised Catholic and recognized bits and pieces. That got set aside too.

When I moved on to the bedroom, the possibly useful separated from the less than helpful in a recycling bag, it was what I'll affectionately refer to as "haunting" sensation. Bedrooms are the best place for secrets and the worst place for peace of mind in a job like mine. Too easy to get a sense of the person whose life you're clearing away. A Snoopy stuffed animal. A few crosswords and word searches. The sizeable cluster of pills on the other hand was at least more "detective work" than "graverobbing" for me. They were mostly the same kind aside from some almost empty bottles of Olanzapine. Multivitamins, Metformin, and Vitamin D pill bottles were emptied and sometimes on their side, as if grabbed haphazardly. The several bottles of Risperidone, however, seemed untouched. Since there are regulations on medications that make disposing of them a bit harder I counted the pills left in the bottles that weren't empty, and while there as only one bottle of Olanzapine with more than a pill or two, there was either the same number or none at all missing from the Risperidone. No idea what they were for at the time, didn't think it was right to look it up.

Another chunk of time taken up with the personal bits passed before I found anything that caught my curiosity, As I mentioned I try not to worry about appliances until later, but sometimes the smaller ones get gathered during the hunting bit. One of these was an old radio/cassette player that I was shocked still worked when I tested it, and when I opened the cassette deck to see if there were any tapes in it there was instead almost a dozen thinly folded notes stuffed inside that nearly popped out once it was opened.

I mean, who could blame me for focusing on that instead?

I unfolded the one at the back of the pile, hoping it was the oldest, and started to read.

It's been four days since God blessed me by speaking to me again.

I missed him so much, I thought he had abandoned his most faithful servant. But it was the poison those madmen gave me that did it. They tried to cut me off from our Lord and keep me from preventing the end times. Agents of the devil, that's all they are. But I forgive them. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us. Though they lost their way, I will not.

He told me today to begin transcribing his teachings into the language of angels, and I decided to also log the journey for myself for the future disciples to see how I struggled in the name of our Lord.

I will not fail you.

I frowned and looked back at the bible and the paper filled with code on the table, wondering what these "teachings" were, before grabbing another. As I did I jumped as the radio crackled to life a moment and uttered a few garbled words before going quiet again.

"I...must have hit the button..." was all I could think to say to reassure myself as I continued.

The agents of the devil have realized my mission.

I've seen them at the window of my room, trying to listen in to the teachings of the Lord. They want to stop me. They want to sever my connection with Him again. They want the Antichrist to rise unopposed.

They won't falter me! They can't have my soul!

He told me how to protect his words and his teachings from prying eyes. I will bombard them with the false news of the false idols, plaster it to distract them, and protect our future salvation.

Lord protect your faithful servant, and trust that I will follow your will.

False news of false idols? What the hell did that mean? As I looked at the windows I finally noticed that they were covered with newspapers the same way one of the windows in the front had been. I got up for a second and looked to see which of those front windows had been covered and realized it was directly behind one of the kitchen chairs. I couldn't remember if that chair had been the one where the code and the bible had originally been sitting, but it was likely a safe bet considering what I'd read.

I sat back down and grabbed another, and was again interrupted by the radio crackling to life, this time somewhat intelligible.

"...protect his children from..."

I leaned in a bit, wondering if maybe it was some kind of religious broadcast that was feeding into these notes.

"...the Lord shields you from the devil's gaze..."

There was a loud smacking noise at one of the windows and I let out what I'm sure could have been mistaken for a little girl's scream. In the subsequent scramble to my feet I knocked over the radio and it again fell silent.

Worried that a bird had hit the window I put the note I was still holding in my pocket and headed outside to investigate. No bird, thankfully, but I almost wish there had been. Because on this side of the glass was the clear smudge of a hand and a slight crack that hadn't been there before.

Then again, it's not like there wasn't a broken window on the front side of the house. Maybe a kid had noticed someone was in the house and decided to mess with them. I frowned at the thought. If it was then they certainly hadn't helped this poor woman's mental health with their bullshit.

With one more lap around the house just in case I returned to the woman's room to keep reading.

I have decided to keep my logs within the vessel of the Lord to further protect them from the prying eyes of the devil's servants.

They cannot open the vessel. I have blessed it with the Lord's guidance.

As I have listened to His teachings I was told to begin collecting animals, as the world would be bathed in cleansing fire much like the flood of old and need to be reborn anew. I have been busy with my work but the Lord has helped me in this task by sending me one of his children. The creature has no name, as I'm only housing him for the new world, but I care for him as I would my own in the name of His glory.

I am your faithful servant, Lord. I follow your word to the letter.

So, that's why Amy didn't know about the cat. He must have been a stray that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up entangled in whatever this woman had believed. As for "the vessel", I could only assume she meant the radio, after all that was where the notes had been.

As if on cue the thing crackled to life a third time, scaring me a bit less this time around, and it was even clearer than before.

"As the time of reckoning approaches, heed the signs of the devil's work. He will try to tempt you, as he once tempted Eve, and will slowly drag you to hell with him and away from the healing light of the Lord. Do not be tempted my child. Heed the signs, and do not walk the path of sin. Do not eat the apple a second time."

Something about the words made me feel a bit ill. Those radio pastors sure have a way with their fire and brimstone talk. He had an undeniable charisma that made it feel as if he were speaking to me personally rather than who knows how many listeners. As it died again, I promised myself I'd change the station if it came back on.

I have received another blessing. I no longer need to sleep, and as His son before me I am no longer tempted by simple food and water. I can focus on my work. The end is coming. I must stop it.

I must save Amy.

For some reason, at that moment, all hell broke loose. The radio kicked on at what had to have been its max volume with something between a screech and deafening static as the windows shook from the impacts on them from outside, a few pictures falling off of the wall they shared. I clamped my hands over my ears, overwhelmed by the noise and my racing heart. God, maybe this woman had been on to something, because it sure as hell felt like the world was ending in that moment.

It stopped as suddenly as it started. I removed my hands shakily to check the radio, terrified of the idea of it making that horrible noise again. One of the notes that had still been in the tape deck was somewhat singed, presumably by the electricity that surged through the radio, and another had actually been burned through where it had made contact with the inner workings, making it impossible to read.

When I checked the photos for what fell, the two of the five that had were of a young girl I assumed to be Amy.

I stopped at that note. That was enough to tell me that these were not something Amy needed to see, not that the earlier ones had done some convincing already. I carefully folded each note and put it back in the radio before considering the thing. I could just throw it out of course along with the now meaningless "teachings" and the bible verses that inspired them, but...it felt wrong. In her last days this poor woman was lost in her frantic quest to serve God and save her daughter, and if I threw these things away then all that pain would be for nothing. At least, that's how I felt about it.

God, thinking about my decision after all that makes me sound like I was asking for a poltergeist or a ghost or something.

But kept it. I kept the radio, the notes, the code, and the bible. As I finished the rest of the job and gave Amy the paperwork she hadn't known she needed as a first timer, I settled these items in my home along with Lucky and, out of respect, made a label for the radio that had the woman's name on it: "Teresa". I would keep this habit with future finds, labeling things with the names of the dead who owned them, and it's become a kind of ritual to show these people respect as I hold on to their secrets.

It still kicks on now and again, but it hasn't screeched at me or destroyed any of the notes as far as I can tell since that day. Every time it does I try to change the channel, but the damn thing won't let me. It's usually a few snippets from the radio pastor but every once in a while there's a woman with a gentle voice talking about forgiveness and the Lord's kindness. It's only happened 2 or 3 times where it was that voice, but I definitely prefer it.

I hope in some small way that taking in Lucky and saving the last things she had ever cared about helped Teresa feel at peace. I hope helping Amy helped her feel at peace.

Secrets like these are actually more common than I'd have expected going into this, so in a way I'm glad that my first job was for someone who had struggles like this. It helped me appreciate what people in these situations really go through, and I think I'm a kinder person for it. And I hope I gave Teresa's story the respect it deserves. My first case. My first secrets. My first taste of the unexplained.

God, that ended up being a lot longer than I thought! It feels better to talk about these than I expected. Friends and family don't exactly want to hear about a job like mine more than the bare minimum, and this is the first time I've felt like I can share some of my finds without risking someone discovering who the secrets I've collected are from. Thinking of who to talk about next though is surprisingly hard. Each case has it's own charms, for lack of a better word, and some I still can't really explain. Hell, I've had to call the cops for a few. I guess for anyone who wants to hear more just give me a name or a question about the job and I'll keep sharing.

In the meantime, you all take care of yourselves, alright?

Maybe I'll try to finish these old notes while I wait.

[rankertopanwar]

Manshed auctions

Manshed Auctions

In the realm of collectors and enthusiasts, where passion meets pursuit, Manshed Auctions stands as a beacon of discovery. Specializing in an array of niche interests, from vintage memorabilia to rustic relics, Manshed beckons aficionados and curious souls alike to delve into the captivating world of auctions. With a virtual gallery at your fingertips, let’s embark on a journey to uncover the treasures awaiting within the digital halls of Manshed Auctions.

Manshed Auctions: A Haven for Collectors

Nestled within the digital landscape, Manshed Auctions boasts a diverse collection that caters to a spectrum of interests. For those seeking the allure of the bygone eras, Mancave auctions offer a nostalgic retreat into the world of vintage memorabilia and collectibles. From retro signage to classic advertisements, each item holds a story, waiting to be cherished by its new custodian.

Rail auctions chug along the tracks of history, presenting enthusiasts with a ticket to explore the world of locomotives and railways. Whether it’s vintage model trains or antique railway artifacts, these auctions provide a platform for railway aficionados to add to their collections and preserve a piece of transportation heritage.

Memorabilia auctions serve as a treasure trove for fans of pop culture, sports, and entertainment. Dive into a sea of autographed memorabilia, rare artifacts, and iconic pieces that evoke memories of beloved moments and celebrated figures. From vintage movie posters to sports jerseys worn by legends, each item encapsulates a piece of history, waiting to find its place in a new home.

Exploring Beyond the Rails: A Diverse Selection

While railways and memorabilia capture the spotlight, Manshed Auctions extends its offerings to encompass a myriad of interests. Petrol auctions revitalize the nostalgia of old gas stations, featuring vintage petrol pumps, signage, and oil memorabilia. Whether for restoration projects or decorative purposes, these auctions cater to petrolheads and collectors with an appreciation for automotive history.

Australiana auctions celebrate the rich tapestry of Australian heritage, showcasing indigenous art, vintage bush items, and cultural artifacts. From Aboriginal paintings to classic Aussie collectibles, these auctions pay homage to the diverse traditions and landscapes of the land down under, inviting collectors to immerse themselves in its vibrant spirit.

Deceased estate auctions offer a glimpse into the lives and legacies of those who have passed on, presenting a curated selection of heirlooms, antiques, and treasures. Each item carries a narrative of its own, weaving together the threads of history and memory into a tapestry of remembrance.

Beyond the confines of traditional auctions, Manshed embraces the rustic charm of yesteryears with enamel sign auctions, bowser auctions, and oil auctions. These auctions cater to enthusiasts of vintage signage, petrol paraphernalia, and industrial artifacts, providing a platform to acquire unique pieces that add character to any space.

Unearthing Hidden Gems: The Thrill of Collecting

At the heart of Manshed Auctions lies the thrill of discovery, where each bid is a chance to unearth hidden gems and add a touch of history to one’s collection. Whether you’re a seasoned collector or a newcomer to the world of auctions, the virtual halls of Manshed beckon with promises of adventure and nostalgia.

Collectible auctions offer a playground for enthusiasts to indulge in their passions, with a diverse array of items ranging from rare coins to antique furniture. With each auction, collectors have the opportunity to expand their horizons, connect with fellow enthusiasts, and bring home pieces that resonate with their personal interests and tastes.

Vintage auctions serve as a gateway to the past, offering a curated selection of timeless treasures that evoke the charm and elegance of bygone eras. From retro fashion to mid-century furniture, these auctions celebrate the enduring appeal of vintage aesthetics, inviting collectors to adorn their spaces with pieces that stand the test of time.

In the dynamic world of Manshed Auctions, the thrill of bidding is matched only by the satisfaction of winning a coveted item and adding it to one’s collection. Whether you’re drawn to the allure of railways, the nostalgia of memorabilia, or the rustic charm of vintage relics, Manshed Auctions invites you to embark on a journey of exploration and discovery. With each auction, a new adventure awaits, promising excitement, camaraderie, and the joy of uncovering treasures that speak to the heart.

Visit for more details - https://manshedauctions.com.au/

[dumpyourjunk-ca]

Junk Removal Los Angeles For Comprehensive Cleaning

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Easy Clean-Outs With A Complete Tidy Up If you are seeking for Junk removal Los Angeles services, don’t get afraid as the professionals are here at your service. Only they can provide you amazing information on what exactly to perform, how and when. Their services to the work, timings, prices, everything is the best, hence you can expect amazing outcomes.

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Searching for the best solutions on Junk removal Santa Monica can be easier for you, if you check up all the posts and reference website provided by the author. Must follow and grab great ideas.

[sethshead]

"The reason why we should remember Cattelena, who lived in #Almondsbury near Bristol, is that she is one of the few African women to have left a record in the rural Britain of the seventeenth century. All we have is the inventory of her goods at her death in 1625: a cow worth £3, a bed, a quilt, a candlestick, four pots, dishes and spoons, ‘all her wearing apparel’, a coffer and two little boxes. It amounted to £6, 9 shillings and sixpence. She was not wealthy, but she was supporting herself, with the aid of her cow and her labour. She was single, like one in five of the women of seventeenth-century England, and she appointed another woman as her executor. Her name – only a first name was given - suggests she had arrived in Bristol via Spain. That’s all we know, but it’s enough to change our picture of the English countryside.

"Almondsbury is a small village close to Bristol. At the time Cattelena lived there at least another 16 Africans lived in Bristol. Just like Phylis Setterford, the way we know about Cattelena is because of the inventory of her possessions after her death.

"She is described as ‘Cattelena, a negra deceased of Almonsbury in the county of Gloucester, single woman & in the diocese of Bristol’. Her inventory includes cooking utensils, clothes, bedding, tablecloth, and a candlestick. However, Cattelena’s most prized possession was a cow.

"One cow would keep her in milk and butter, as well as provide an income through the sale of dairy products in the local area. Cattelena would have been able to graze her cow on common village land. This would provide her the opportunity of independence and self-sufficiency.

"Dairying was women’s work. With around 80% of people living in the countryside, it could be a serious income generator. On a farm you would have one dairymaid to six cows. Anything greater would require more servants, and a herd typically had no more than twelve cows. The best hours for milking were between 5-6am and 6-7pm. From Whitsun (May) to Michaelmas (end of September), a cow could produce a gallon of milk a day, which could be used to make a range of ‘white meats’ – meaning cheese and butter. Catellena’s cow was worth £3 10 shillings, £460.32 in today’s money. In 1625, the year Cattelena died, this would have also bought you 10 stones of wool, a quarter of wheat, and was the equivalent of 70 days of skilled labour.

"In Tudor times, cows were given names. Some reflected their function, as well as the owner's sense of humour. Eleanor Cumpayne of Halesowen, Worcestershire, inherited a cow named Fillpayle from her father George in 1559. Was this name an order shouted at the cow or a compliment for how productive she was? Other cow names recorded include Gentle, Brown Snout, Lovely, Motherlike, Winsome, and Welcome Home. There is no record of Cattelena’s cow having been given a name, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t, as this wasn’t a typical thing to record in an inventory.

"There is no furniture in Cattelena’s inventory. This could suggest that she rented a room in someone else’s home. This could be the home of a widow named Helen Ford, who was named as administrator to Cattelena’s estate. Cattelena was unmarried but this was not unusual, with around 30% of the English adult female population single. However, it was rare for single women to live in their own home and only about 5% of single women below the age of 45 were head of their own households. Naming Helen Ford as her administrator suggests she was not living with relatives.

"The total of Catellena’s possessions was valued at £6 9s 6d (£851.59). The existence of Cattelena’s inventory shows us that Black Tudor women could own property themselves and live independent lives. It is significant that as a woman she owned anything at all, it indicates her relative independence. Not only was she not enslaved, but thanks to her cow she seems to have been able to support herself and was free from service or any family obligation. Imagining Cattelena, a dark skinned, independent woman, going about her day-to-day business, preparing her meals, cleaning her bedding, milking her cow, in her rural village makes us imagine English life of the past in a completely new way. She was independent, but she lived an ordinary life, much like most other Tudors.

"#blacktudorwomen#womenshistory#Catellena#womeninworldhistory#fyp"

h/t Women In World History

[declutterservice]

Dealing With A Deceased Estate Cleanup In Sydney

Dealing with a deceased estate can be emotionally and logistically challenging. Deceased estate cleanup services in Sydney can help ease the burden by offering compassionate and professional assistance. These services typically include rubbish removal, furniture disposal, and thorough cleaning, allowing you to focus on more important matters during this difficult time.

[careremovals]

Efficient and Eco-Friendly: Junk Removal Same Day Service for Cleanup Needs

Junk removal same day service is necessary since people occasionally have a tendency to store a lot of goods in their garages that eventually become unnecessary. Experts are able to do the task swiftly and gather a wide range of things, including construction supplies, outdated equipment, malfunctioning appliances, furnishings, cleaning supplies, beds, and more. The greatest thing is that experts make every effort to recycle as much garbage as they can, and other items are disposed of responsibly. 

A delicate and necessary service that helps with the humane treatment of a deceased loved one's possessions is deceased esteate cleaning. Professional support may be useful when a family is confronted with the difficult chore of liquidating an estate. Cleaning a deceased person's estate includes getting rid of stuff like clothes, furniture, appliances, and large objects while taking into account the sentimental significance of each item.

Let's Examine Some Additional Professional Clean Out Services

Industrial Rubbish: When it comes to disposal, industrial waste might be more challenging than other kinds of waste. Because the top-rated expert industrial trash removal services are EPA-approved, businesses may dispose of the waste without worrying. Expert industrial cleaners make sure that things are treated carefully, recycled when it can, and disposed of in an environmentally responsible way.

Backyard Rubbish Collection: For homeowners trying to keep their outside area tidy and clutter-free, this is an essential service. Backyard garbage may take several forms over time, such as dirt, clippings, stumps, and broken branches, all of which need to be disposed of in an ecologically responsible way. Expert waste collection services for backyards are capable of handling a wide range of materials, including windows, corrugated iron, plasterboard, firewood, and fence.

Professional junk removal specialists save the environment while providing same-day services, timely assistance, and a zero-damage guarantee. Contact the top junk removal professionals right now for a prompt pricing quotation.

Source

[rankertopanwar]

Memorabilia auctions

Manshed Auctions

In the realm of collectors and enthusiasts, where passion meets pursuit, Manshed Auctions stands as a beacon of discovery. Specializing in an array of niche interests, from vintage memorabilia to rustic relics, Manshed beckons aficionados and curious souls alike to delve into the captivating world of auctions. With a virtual gallery at your fingertips, let’s embark on a journey to uncover the treasures awaiting within the digital halls of Manshed Auctions.

Manshed Auctions: A Haven for Collectors

Nestled within the digital landscape, Manshed Auctions boasts a diverse collection that caters to a spectrum of interests. For those seeking the allure of the bygone eras, Mancave auctions offer a nostalgic retreat into the world of vintage memorabilia and collectibles. From retro signage to classic advertisements, each item holds a story, waiting to be cherished by its new custodian.

Rail auctions chug along the tracks of history, presenting enthusiasts with a ticket to explore the world of locomotives and railways. Whether it’s vintage model trains or antique railway artifacts, these auctions provide a platform for railway aficionados to add to their collections and preserve a piece of transportation heritage.

Memorabilia auctions serve as a treasure trove for fans of pop culture, sports, and entertainment. Dive into a sea of autographed memorabilia, rare artifacts, and iconic pieces that evoke memories of beloved moments and celebrated figures. From vintage movie posters to sports jerseys worn by legends, each item encapsulates a piece of history, waiting to find its place in a new home.

Exploring Beyond the Rails: A Diverse Selection

While railways and memorabilia capture the spotlight, Manshed Auctions extends its offerings to encompass a myriad of interests. Petrol auctions revitalize the nostalgia of old gas stations, featuring vintage petrol pumps, signage, and oil memorabilia. Whether for restoration projects or decorative purposes, these auctions cater to petrolheads and collectors with an appreciation for automotive history.

Australiana auctions celebrate the rich tapestry of Australian heritage, showcasing indigenous art, vintage bush items, and cultural artifacts. From Aboriginal paintings to classic Aussie collectibles, these auctions pay homage to the diverse traditions and landscapes of the land down under, inviting collectors to immerse themselves in its vibrant spirit.

Deceased estate auctions offer a glimpse into the lives and legacies of those who have passed on, presenting a curated selection of heirlooms, antiques, and treasures. Each item carries a narrative of its own, weaving together the threads of history and memory into a tapestry of remembrance.

Beyond the confines of traditional auctions, Manshed embraces the rustic charm of yesteryears with enamel sign auctions, bowser auctions, and oil auctions. These auctions cater to enthusiasts of vintage signage, petrol paraphernalia, and industrial artifacts, providing a platform to acquire unique pieces that add character to any space.

Unearthing Hidden Gems: The Thrill of Collecting

At the heart of Manshed Auctions lies the thrill of discovery, where each bid is a chance to unearth hidden gems and add a touch of history to one’s collection. Whether you’re a seasoned collector or a newcomer to the world of auctions, the virtual halls of Manshed beckon with promises of adventure and nostalgia.

Collectible auctions offer a playground for enthusiasts to indulge in their passions, with a diverse array of items ranging from rare coins to antique furniture. With each auction, collectors have the opportunity to expand their horizons, connect with fellow enthusiasts, and bring home pieces that resonate with their personal interests and tastes.

Vintage auctions serve as a gateway to the past, offering a curated selection of timeless treasures that evoke the charm and elegance of bygone eras. From retro fashion to mid-century furniture, these auctions celebrate the enduring appeal of vintage aesthetics, inviting collectors to adorn their spaces with pieces that stand the test of time.

In the dynamic world of Manshed Auctions, the thrill of bidding is matched only by the satisfaction of winning a coveted item and adding it to one’s collection. Whether you’re drawn to the allure of railways, the nostalgia of memorabilia, or the rustic charm of vintage relics, Manshed Auctions invites you to embark on a journey of exploration and discovery. With each auction, a new adventure awaits, promising excitement, camaraderie, and the joy of uncovering treasures that speak to the heart.

Visit for more details - https://manshedauctions.com.au/

[cleanupssmelbourne]

Deceased Estate Auctions in Melbourne: Streamlined Solutions by Clean Ups Melbourne

Dealing with the belongings and property of a deceased loved one can be a daunting task, both emotionally and practically. At Deceased Estate Auctions in Melbourne, we understand the complexities involved in managing a deceased estate. Our services, in collaboration with Clean Ups Melbourne, offer a comprehensive solution to ease this burden for families and executors.

Compassionate Handling of Belongings

Our team at Deceased Estate Auctions in Melbourne approaches each estate with compassion and sensitivity. We understand the sentimental value attached to these items and ensure they are handled with care throughout the process. From sentimental heirlooms to valuable assets, we treat every item with the respect it deserves.

Efficient Estate Auctions

With our efficient estate auction services, we aim to maximize returns for the estate while minimizing the stress for families and executors. Our team professionally assesses and appraises the estate's assets, including furniture, antiques, collectibles, and more. Through strategic marketing and a wide network of buyers, we ensure that items are showcased to potential buyers, resulting in optimal returns.

Comprehensive Clean-Up Services

Following the estate auction, Clean Ups Melbourne takes charge of the property's clean-up and organization. Our team removes any remaining items, handles responsible disposal, and ensures the property is left clean and orderly. This end-to-end approach allows families and executors to focus on other important matters while we take care of the estate's clean-up.

Tailored Solutions for Every Estate

At Deceased Estate Auctions in Melbourne and Clean Ups Melbourne, we recognize that each estate is unique. Whether it's a large estate with extensive belongings or a smaller property, our services are tailored to meet the specific needs of the estate. We work closely with families and executors to create customized solutions that align with their timelines and requirements.

Contact Us Today

If you are faced with the responsibility of managing a deceased estate in Melbourne, let Deceased Estate Auctions and Clean Ups Melbourne handle the process for you. Our compassionate handling of belongings, efficient estate auctions, and comprehensive clean-up services provide a seamless experience during this challenging time. Contact us today to discuss your estate needs and how we can assist you.

Cleanups Melbourne

PO Box 515, Yarraville, VIC, Australia 3013

info@cleanups.com.au

0490 047 101

https://cleanupsmelbourne.com.au/

[businesspikuk]

Uncovering Hidden Treasures: The Intersection of Probate Clearances and Antiques

In the world of antiques, there's an allure that transcends time. Each piece carries with it a story, a history that whispers secrets of generations past. From vintage furniture to delicate porcelain, antique enthusiasts are drawn to the thrill of discovery, seeking out these treasures in various nooks and crannies. Yet, there's a lesser-known avenue through which these prized possessions often emerge: probate clearances.

Probate clearances might not immediately conjure images of dusty attics and hidden gems, but for those in the know, they present a unique opportunity to unearth antique treasures. So, what exactly are probate clearances? Simply put, they occur when the possessions of a deceased individual are sold or distributed, typically overseen by a legal process known as probate. During this time, estates are evaluated, debts are settled, and assets are dispersed. It's within this framework that antiques often come to light.

One of the primary reasons antiques surface during probate clearances is due to the sheer volume of possessions involved. In many cases, individuals accumulate a lifetime's worth of belongings, ranging from everyday items to valuable heirlooms. Amidst the sorting and assessment process, antique pieces that were once tucked away in forgotten corners suddenly find themselves thrust into the spotlight.

Another factor that contributes to the prevalence of antiques in probate clearances is the evolving tastes and preferences of successive generations. What might have been cherished by one individual could hold little significance for their heirs. Consequently, these items are often included in probate clearances, providing an opportunity for antique enthusiasts to acquire them at a fraction of their market value.

For those with a keen eye and a passion for antiques, navigating probate clearances can be a rewarding endeavor. It's not uncommon to stumble upon rare finds or valuable pieces that have been overlooked by others. From intricately carved furniture to vintage jewelry, the possibilities are endless.

However, it's essential to approach probate clearances with sensitivity and respect. Behind every estate lies a story, and it's important to recognize the emotional weight that comes with the dispersal of personal belongings. While the thrill of uncovering treasures is undeniable, it's equally important to handle these transactions with empathy and understanding.

In conclusion, the intersection of probate clearances and antiques offers a fascinating glimpse into the world of estate sales and hidden treasures. From rare collectibles to timeless heirlooms, these auctions provide an opportunity for antique enthusiasts to expand their collections and connect with pieces of history. So, the next time you hear of a probate clearance in your area, don't hesitate to explore—you never know what hidden gems you might discover.

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Safe House Clearance Ipswich

Address 50 Princes Street, Ipswich, IP1 1RJ, United Kingdom

Phone 01473 876453

Website https://safehouseclearanceipswich.co.uk

Description Safe House Clearance Ipswich is a professional house and office clearance company serving residential and commercial clients across Ipswich, UK. Established in 2008, we have over 10 years of experience providing fast, efficient and environmentally responsible clearance services.

Our team clears properties of all sizes, from single rooms to entire houses and office blocks. We handle the removal of all unwanted goods and waste, including furniture, appliances, electronics and other household or office items. Our full range of services includes:

Full house clearances

Part house and flat clearances

Office clearances

Factory and warehouse clearances

Rubbish and waste removals

Labor-only clearances

Eco-friendly waste disposal

Whether you need to clear a deceased estate, downsize to a smaller home, or vacate commercial premises, Safe House Clearance Ipswich can efficiently empty the property and dispose of contents sustainably. We provide transparent pricing with no hidden fees.

Our valued customers appreciate our sensitive, discreet service, attention to detail, and commitment to minimizing environmental impact. We recycle as much as possible.

To learn more about how Safe House Clearance Ipswich can facilitate your residential or commercial clearance requirements, contact us today for a free quote.

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When Dumpster Rental in Monroe NC is a Must

Dumpster rental can be a crucial service in various situations when you need to manage waste and debris efficiently. Here are some scenarios where dumpster rental in Monroe NC is a must:

Home Renovations and Remodeling: During home improvement projects such as kitchen remodels, bathroom renovations or basement finishing, you generate a significant amount of construction debris. Renting a dumpster ensures a safe and convenient way to dispose of materials like old cabinets, flooring, drywall, and more.

Construction Sites: Construction projects, whether residential or commercial, produce substantial amounts of waste, including debris, concrete, lumber, and other materials. A dumpster rental in Monroe NC provides a central location for workers to dispose of waste, enhancing job site safety and efficiency.

Estate Cleanouts: When dealing with the estate of a deceased loved one or preparing a property for sale, you may need to clear out large quantities of items, furniture, and other belongings. A dumpster simplifies the removal process.

Moving and Relocation: If you’re downsizing or moving to a new home, you may want to declutter and get rid of items you no longer need. Renting a dumpster allows you to dispose of old furniture, appliances, and other items efficiently.

Roofing Projects: Roof replacements or repairs generate a substantial amount of roofing material waste, such as shingles and underlayment. A dumpster is essential for safely and conveniently disposing of these materials.

Landscaping and Yard Cleanup: Large-scale yard work, landscaping projects, or tree removal can result in the need to dispose of branches, dirt, sod, and other yard waste that may not fit in standard trash containers.

Commercial Cleanouts: Businesses often require dumpster rental when renovating or closing down. It’s crucial for disposing of office furniture, equipment, and other items in an eco-friendly manner.

Community Events: Large-scale events like festivals, fairs, and concerts generate a significant amount of trash and recycling. Dumpster rental helps event organizers manage waste and keep the venue clean.

Disaster Cleanup: In the unfortunate event of natural disasters, fires, or floods, dumpster rental is essential for efficiently removing damaged materials, debris, and contaminated items from affected areas.

Demolition Projects: Complete building demolitions or interior demolitions create substantial debris that necessitates a dumpster for proper disposal.

Spring Cleaning: When conducting a thorough spring cleaning of your home or property, you might find yourself with a substantial amount of items to discard. A dumpster simplifies the process.

In these and many other scenarios, Dumpster rental near Monroe NC provides a convenient and responsible way to manage waste removal. Be sure to choose an appropriate dumpster size based on your specific needs and consult with a local dumpster rental service for guidance on regulations and pricing in your area.