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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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7x07: The Mentalists

Then:

Dean’s drinking professionally this season

Now:

At a seance, a couple inquire about their Uncle Danny. The woman is interested in knowing if he’s happy and with the family dog.

The man wants to know where some important papers are located. The psychic seems in control at first, but when the lights flicker and the flames in the fireplace grow, she looks surprised. The planchette moves ALL on its own and the air gets frosty. Then the planchette impales itself in the psychic’s neck.

Dean’s all alone and driving a crappy, stolen car after his bust up with his brother and the Leviathan’s making the Impala a wanted vehicle. He learns of deaths in Lily Dale, the most psychic town in America, and hits the road.

At the crime scene, he finds all the tricks the psychic employed, and then heads to Good Graces Cafe.

It’s not his type of place, but he hears his brother’s voice. Sam’s in town too to investigate. Dean jumps right into his everything’s good and let’s work the case spiel, but Sam is not happy.

Dean gives up the facade and tells Sam they might as well work together to get the case over with. A woman walks in and recognizes them. They convince her that they’re not the Winchesters, and then her dining partner comes up and recognizes them as FBI. They both express their shock at the deaths. The man introduces himself as a spoon bender.

The brothers start looking at the victims. Dean notes that they both had the same necklace, possibly a cursed object.

They head to interview Melanie, the granddaughter to one of the victims. They ask about the necklace, and she tells them all her things went to the emporium. They ask to see the necklace.

And then they take it under the FBI pretense. The shop owner says it’s the Orb of Thesulah. Dean wonders what that is. Sam points out that it’s a fake --and a town of fakes. Shocking.

That night, the man from the cafe pulls out his utensils to practice his craft. Suddenly they all stand on end and he gets whisked above them, only to fall to his death.

The brothers check out the crime scene and learn the man had a vision of his own death. Dean then gets a call from Melanie, and they head to her house to talk. She tells them that her grandmother left her a voicemail message of her own coming death. When she mentions that the air got cold, the brothers tell her they’re dealing with a ghost.

She does not believe them.

They tell her their story. She needs a drink (and so does Dean.)

Sam and Dean realize how difficult their situation is --fake and probably real psychics, ghosts, and a whole lot of confusion. They split up to canvas the town.

Camille Thibodeaux, a friend of Melanie's, has a death vision. She calls Melanie, and her friend brings Dean.

Camille tells him about her death vision. Dean cannily surveys the room and spots a security camera. Cut to later, where they watch her get attacked by an actual G-G-G-GHOST on the camera footage. Melanie remembers seeing a picture of the ghost in the museum.

At the museum, the tour guide spins a little backstory towards us. Hooking into the “brothers rift” theme of Season 7, we hear about sibling fights in the psychic gallery PLUS one success story of two brothers who got along famously. “Of course, that was just a stage name. They weren't actually brothers. That was a cover for their, um... alternative lifestyle.” Cut to a closeup of Dean.

They spot the Fox sisters’ portrait. One of the sisters (the ghost) was known for her death prophecies and telekinesis. The older sister, the museum guide reports, “didn't have her sister's charisma, but she looked after Kate. Sometimes, one's true gift is taking care of others.” Sometimes I watch these thesis statements on Dean and shriek at such a high pitch that I break every pane of glass in the gas station. Sam heads off to dig up some Fox sister skeletons, but the tour guide grabs Dean. “Do you know an Eleanor or an Ellen?”

“She seems quite concerned about you. She wants to tell you – pardon me – if you don't tell someone how bad it really is, she'll kick your ass from beyond. You have to trust someone again eventually.” ANYWAY. The tour guide fucks off and leaves both Dean AND myself shattered into a million pieces.

Dean storms out moments later and demands that Sam treat him with a modicum of courtesy. Sam entrenches in his anger. When Dean defends his choice to kill Amy, he then also dredges up Sam’s best pal, Hallucifer as reason number one to coddle Sam.

Later at the cemetery, Dean stands watch while Sam digs up a grave. They wonder why the ghost is warning all the psychics before killing them. The ghost zooms up just as they’re about to salt and burn the body. She seems relatively stable for a murderous ghost and pleads with them to listen to her. WHY won’t anybody listen to her? GIRLFRIEND, I feel you.

Sam and Dean torch her and she flames out dramatically. Camille and Melanie celebrate the good news: the ghost is, uh, dead. Re-dead-ified? Back at Camille’s place, they pack a quick bag. The death omens start to spiral around poor Camille. The older Fox sister arrives as a desperate Melanie calls the Winchesters for help. Melanie ineffectually tosses an empty salt container at the spirit before watching her friend get killed before her eyes. UUUUGH.

Later, a grieving Melanie shoos the Winchesters out of her home, telling them that Margaret (the ghost) enjoyed killing her friend. That morning, they dig up Margaret’s grave. “I feel naked doing this in daylight,” Dean observes. Oh, sunshine. From the shadowed forest, something lurks. Unfortunately, nothing lurks in the actual grave. Margaret’s coffin lies empty. Later, Dean notices a flyer for an upcoming psychic festival. All the headliners featured in the poster are now all dead. Dean runs this theory by Melanie, who realizes that she’s the next logical successor to the Lilydale psychic throne.

Sam heads back to the thrift shop to pursue new necromancer leads while Dean tries to ghost proof Melanie. He surrounds her in a great big salt circle. (SALT HULA HOOP, I whisper in Dean’s ear.)

Sam bursts into the suspected necromancer’s house only to find a lamaze class. He and Dean realize that the pawn shop owner is the necromancer, trying to feed them false leads. This is all very useful, but it doesn’t help Melanie. Margaret shows up at the house ready to REDRUM.

Breaking into the pawn shop owner’s house, Sam finds a spooky altar complete with a skull. The necromancer levels a gun at Sam.

The ghost appears, blowing out Melanie’s windows. RUDE! They fight while the necromancer monologues over them, telling Sam that he’s a real psychic. He just doesn’t get top billing because he’s not that pretty or charismatic.

Sam grows weary of the villain-splaining and shoots the necromancer. He then heads into the dude’s bedroom where he finds Margaret’s bones...in his bed. Welp. Good night, everybody!

After Sam torches the bones and saves Melanie, Dean gets the full recap at the psychic diner.

For Dean and Flowers Science:

Sam bows out of the conversation when Melanie arrives. Dean desperately tries to minimize his feats of heroism. She thanks him anyway and they both circle around the mutual-attraction-imcompatible-lifestyles hole. Honestly, I am so firmly entrenched in the Cas endgame but WHY don’t I read more of Dean/Melanie in fics? She’s a cutie! And then we can have Shipper!Melanie too.

Dean leaves the diner to find that Sam’s moved his duffel to Dean’s car. Sam tells Dean that he understands why he killed Amy now. He ALSO tries to get Dean to admit that he’s swirling around the black hole of drinky drinky despair. Dean tells Sam that he killed Amy out of instinct - he didn’t trust her. “Ever since Cas, I’ve had a hard time trusting anybody.” GUH. Dagger to the heart.

They trundle off into the next episode. (GUYS, this was written by THE Acker and Blacker duo! I had no idea!)

Look Into the Crystal Quotes:

See, there’s fake woo woo crap. And there’s real woo woo crap

This is gonna be looking like a needle in a stack of fake needles

If you affirmate me, I’m gonna punch you in the face

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 7x07 #the mentalists #supernatural season 7

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drkcnry67 · 3 years

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A/N: i hope i dont butcher this but i also hope this works, for this one i will be writing an entirely new character, ive written his shows counter part a few times and now i write himself, the man we know as the trickster/ archangel Gabriel, its richard speight jr himself. please tell me what you all think. i really hope i dont butcher this one. please dont hate me for the way i write this!

title: you're the other half of my soul

pairing: Richard Speight Jr x reader

fluff: soulmate au

H&H: angel tablet

tags: angel tablet prop, angel tablet turning out to be real, angel tablet speaking a prophecy, kissing, making out, i dont think there is anything else.

rating: 14+ maybe!?????

summery: not telling

mentioning @spnfluffbingo @heavenandhellbingo @sweetness47

normal, whats normal? the definition is well something that is just plain and ordinary to put it simply enough. normal however is not what you were.

for you worked as a stage hand for the hit tv show Supernatural. working as hair, makeup, and wardrobe for every single actor.

Today was a day where they were trying an idea you had, the props and such laid out and depending on how this day goes you would either get to say you wrote an episode of supernatural.

You instead wanted to make the angel tablet known ahead of schedule. You were sure that the angel tablet was fake, everyone knew it was a prop.

One day Richard comes in for a hair cut (not part of the job but a side gig you do), you sit him down into he chair and place the cape.

Yn: so what will it be today?

Richard: 1 Gabriel please!

Yn: coming right up... How's the shoot so far?

Richard: not bad, having to reshoot a few of the fights cause the equipment keeps glitching out.

Yn: how long has it been glitching out for?

Richard: not long, it started maybe early this morning during the first scene why?

You were now thinking "like a hunter"

Yn: well now I'm thinking like a hunter so what option sounds better demon or ghost?

You said as you took your clippers to his hair...

Richard: well that depends how well do you think this would go if it were the case.

Yn: well demons a devil's trap and an exorcism your good. Ghost involves bodies, fire, salt, iron and cemeteries I'd take the demons anyday!

Richard now staring at your facials which were currently focusing on your hair cut.

Richard: what would you do if someone in the cast had a crush on you.

Yn: well I'm not too sure you see I've never ever been in love. Never had a boyfriend, never fallen for anyone. I've been single this entire time and I mean if someone on the cast did have a crush on me I honestly would be shocked, probably a little nervous and yet happy that someone wanted to be with me.

Richard didn't even have a chance to sort out his thoughts instead he just kinda gently blurted out the following words and shut his mouth very quickly after realizing what he said.

Richard: well I mean what if it was me?

That just shocked the living hell right out of you. Was he trying to confess, was he trying to tell you he loved you...

You moved from behind him to stand in front of him now. As you spoke with a bit more confusion and gentility to your tones than anything.

Yn: what?

Richard: I love you yn! I have loved you since the first day I met you! And right now I profess to you my love, today I make a gesture of bliss, of my love, of my feelings! i happily give you my heart as a token of my affection!

you watch his features only growing softer with each word. not considering what may or may not happen!

yn: do you know how long i have been waiting for you to say that... i love you too Richard! and ive waited far too long for you to tell me those words.

richard smiled and stood now to meet your body with the most open and gentle embrace. richard takes in every single scent off your form. his eyes meet yours once the embrace is pulled back.

Richard: i suppose i dont have to ask to kiss you.

yn: you dont have to, but it is certainly nice to be asked such a question!

richard takes that as his cue, for unknown to you or richard at the moment of your kiss that you both were being watched Rob was standing at the door.

your mind however was screaming at you that you were kissing one of the people you work with, that you were finally off the market as it were.

rob clears his throat making you and rich break the kiss.

rob: i hope you guys have an explanation for this

yn: rob i know this looks bad, but i can promise you this will not hinder our duties. Now, please tell me the reason you have entered my trailer without knocking!

rob: i wanted to tell you that hair and make up needs touch ups on a few people!

you stare at rob who just eyes you and Richard just cozy in each other's arms.

rob: fine come down in 5 to the studio, also rich we are going to reshoot your scenes. make sure you are ready to do so. oh by the way i always thought you two looked good together.

rob leaves the room without another word, you and rich kissed again before you sat him down to finish his hair.

richard: i guess we actually get to...

thats when an explosion came from among the building where everyone was. this made you and richard run out of the trailer only to find the studio engulfed in a bright bright light.

without thinking you both ran inside and were almost paralyzed kinda without warning and trapped in your own minds, you were btoh staring at this light like it was alive or something.

voice in the light: stay the studio after dark, may the words of the tablet be revealed to your true destiny together you will both do great things, apart can only mean certain death. listen to the spirit of the tablet, for it will reveal what has long since been lost. Now speak of this to no one for this will not be easy, but beware something evil is here and doesn't like you 2 being together it will stop at nothing to stop you both from hearing or rather reading the tablet. Good luck to you both and happy hunting!

Back in your own bodies the light dispursed as you and Richard now were hugging it out.

Yn: okay I know no one appointed me in charge but please listen to me, everyone let's work together to put the studio back in order and then go home and get some sleep. The studio and filming will still be here in the morning.

A few hours later the last of the clean up crew went home, you and rich were back in your trailer and sitting on the couch before shoes were removed.

Richard: are you okay?

Yn: am I okay, no I'm actually not, the only person saving me from going over the edge is you right now! And I can't even imagine what is going through your mind! I am so sorry perhaps if we had not said anything about our feelings none of this would have...

Richard: hey hey, I don't regret confessing my feelings to you. It was the right moment besides, had we not done so we would not be sitting in your trailer alone and happy right now would we.

You stared into his eyes, they were just piercing yours the same way waves crash to the shore line.

Yn: I love you and I am still willing to make ethics work! No matter what happens during the....

That's when a small ball of light now floated in front of both of you.

Richard: babe please tell me your seeing this

Yn: oh ya I'm seeing it, not sure what it wants, but if you weren't holding my hand right now I would swear I was dreaming or hallucinating or something. all I know is my gut is telling me this ball of light and the voice we heard in the room full of light must be connected.

You and Richard make your way following the ball of light back to the studio, using your key card to get inside.

Richard: what are we looking for

Yn: the voice said something bout reading a tablet... Maybe the angel tablet prop?

You and Richard make your way to the set where your eyes go wide at the sight of what looks like a shadow figure standing before you both holding the tablet.

Figure: ah so it's time... Why won't the tablet reveal itself. Ugh...

You soon spoke without thinking leaving it dark that he wouldn't be able to easily find you. The place echos and it's easy to throw your voice.

Yn: hey ugly, put down the tablet.

Figure: what who said that.

Yn: I am yn, me and my friend here were just coming to check the props for the shoot tomorrow. Your trespassing, state your business.

Figure: come into he light so I may see both yours and your friends faces. So we may at least have a decent convo before I tear you both into pieces.

Richard: christo

The figure screeched. You both ran out from behind the wall and kicked the figure down. You then pushed him so he was standing under the key of Solomon.

Figure: what is this... You stupid girl, give me the... Wait what...

The tablet gloweed from the table near by, it was faint but got brighter and brighter as you and Richard approached it.

Richard: this is impossible.

You nod as you reach out and grab it, you hold it in your hands and feel it's plastic material change to actual stone.

Yn: this isn't real... It can't be...

Richard: oh my god. I think it's auto translating itself.

Richard then clears his throat as he prepared to read the tablet.

Richard: hear me, my pleas to thee, thy will be done, soon by thy light, thine hour is nigh, to wed thee whose hearts are now whole. In the sights of angelic chorus heard, things that should not be are, welcome to the world you know not, welcome to the sight, let thine trials commence.

you and richard turn around to face the figure... you both figured the first trial had to do with the thief or dark figure.

yn: alright squiggy time to fess up,,, who and what are you?

figure: alright fine, my name is nothing and you both are toast unless you release me as in give me the angel tablet.

richard: what the hell is the deal with the tablet. its real not a prop. what the hell do you want with it

figure: well with the tablet i can find out how to destroy your bond which awaken the power within both of you. your hearts are one in the same, your destinies are meant to be one.

You and Richard look from the figure, to the tablet, to each other and back to the figure.

Richard: well first of all, your not getting out of that circle. Second we are fine with being soulmates, we are absolutely fine with what the tablet has said, this is our first trial and it's to get rid of you. Together we say it, your done bitch. Hit it babe.

You didn't need to have any words or lines in front of you because you had them memorized.

Yn & Richard: exorciamous te omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas omnis incursio infernalis adversaraii omnis legio omnis congregatio insectas diabolica ergo dracto malidic te eclesium securum tuam fascious libertatum te regamos audinos

The figure burst into black smoke that went up toward the key, once it was gone the world became alot brighter the studio was less creepy.

Yn: well we now have the angel tablet and no clue what the next trial is.

Voice: thy will is granted, for your next task is simple in that, make your love declared to the world and produce an heir to help fight the upcoming darkness!

Both you and Richard just stared at the tablet.

Yn: thats it... Geez we could do that anyway...

Richard: yn, these last few years were hard you not knowing the truth of my feelings and you being around every day was torture but now sure as I stand before you today I declare that right here and now we are twin flames, United forever in a bond so strong that it can overcome anything.

You smile as the tablet stops glowing and a plastic duplicate goes back on the props table.

Yn: I guess this means no one need know what we just went through.

Richard: your trailer or mine?

Yn: which ever one is closer but can we do a favor and have the sense to do things right. I mean I'm all for loosing myself to you right now, but kids after the wedding, for the dress I want I need not be pregnant or anywhere close to it. So safety is a priority.

Richard carries you and the tablet back to your trailer so your not walking cross the grounds in the dark. Opening it you both are breathing in sighs of relief as you put the actual tablet in your safe and lock it tight.

You both fall onto the bed and you smile as you kick off your shoes and take off your sweater, Richard takes off his shoes and his sweater/shirt throwing all those items to the floor, you both pass out for it had been a long day.

~true love comes in all forms but the most potent form of true love is the twin flame~

#heaven and hell bingo #spnfluffbingo2021

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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House of Dark Shadows: The Craziest Vampire Movie You’ve Never Seen

https://ift.tt/37TdnN3

This article contains House of Dark Shadows spoilers.

In 1970 House of Dark Shadows flipped the vampire subgenre on its head. While certainly a B-horror in the Hammer mold, this chiller wasn’t satisfied with one bloodsucker, or even two. Instead Dark Shadows would turn nearly its whole cast into the ravenous undead, indiscriminately slaughtering beloved heroes and heroines, not caring for a second that they were also the stars of a daytime soap opera—one that was appointment TV for millions of kids across America.

Clearly it was a different time. And therein lies its charm.

When the television series Dark Shadows premiered in 1966, it wasn’t an instant pop culture phenomenon. Creator Dan Curtis was savvy enough to see the appeal in a daytime melodrama draped in a Gothic aesthetic, but he didn’t yet have the necessary hook for his central character as she stepped off a train in New England. Sure, mysterious Victoria Winters (Alexandria Isles) would meet the Collins family, who more or less ruled over the town of Collinsport from their ancestral home of Collinwood, but the reason to stick around only came about a year into the series’ original run.

That eureka moment turned out to be the dapper and effortlessly suave Jonathan Frid. Cast as Barnabas Collins, the Canadian theater actor was initially hired for a single storyline (a set number of episodes) as the heavy: Barnabas was an ancient and forgotten vampire, who’d been buried alive like the family’s dirty little secret after a curse condemned him to drink blood in 1795. Now he was out and wreaking havoc by feasting on the locals and obsessing over Maggie Evans (Kathryn Leigh Scott), whom he was convinced was the reincarnation of his lost love Josette—a fiancée who threw herself off a cliff in the 18th century rather than become Barnabas’ corpse bride.

It was morbid, obviously, but also romantic at a time when vampires were defined by the coldness of Christopher Lee or the goofiness of Scooby-Doo. Instead here was the most pitiable of creatures, one who doesn’t wish to be a vampire, and through impeccable manners and courtesies revealed a soft love for the Collins family, even when he preyed on them. Rather than create a great villain, Curtis inadvertently invented a tragic hero who audiences flocked to, both the typical daytime target demographic and also, surprisingly, kids and teenagers, who’d rush home from school to be lost in a melancholy land of eternal loves, ancient curses, and of course fangs.

Thus Dark Shadows became a blender for all things Gothic. Following in the success of Barnabas’ introduction, the series would go on to add ghosts, werewolves, séances, multiple stints of time travel, and one particularly devilish 18th century witch named Angelique (Lara Parker). It also appropriated every classic horror trope from Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, the Brontë sisters, and Edgar Allan Poe, and synthesized them for an audience that was now consuming it along with kid-friendly board games and trading cards.

So why not a movie, too? As early as 1968, Curtis began pursuing the idea of making a Dark Shadows movie, even while the series was still going. Eventually, House of Dark Shadows was the result. Released 50 years ago this week, this toothy amusement was the chance to do everything Curtis wanted with the series, but was prohibited from by Broadcast Standards and Practices censorship, budget constraints… and maybe even audiences’ good taste.

“Blood flows,” actor Roger Davis observed in The Dark Shadows Companion: The 25th Anniversary, which was edited by Scott. “It’s not like the serial. You have a few dabs of blood and the network brass have apoplexy. TV does a mock-up on life. This is in living color. And the vampires really bite.”

Whereas Dark Shadows, the television show, was appointment TV for those still in middle school, House of Dark Shadows was aimed directly at the drive-in crowd with its emphasis on blood gushing from neck wounds and stakes violently going into almost every character’s heart. As Scott’s book surmised, the film was “entirely the child of its creator,” who would at last have his evil Barnabas. And at a glance, it is an American riff on what had already become kitsch by 1970 thanks to Hammer Film Productions’ seemingly endless line of Dracula movies, plus the knockoffs.

And to be sure, House of Dark Shadows is in many ways a Dracula movie. It’s also insight into how Curtis originally viewed the Barnabas character before Frid went on a charm offensive. Playing almost like a CliffNotes version of Barnabas’ first several storylines on the show, the vampire is awakened during the film’s opening moments because of the foolishness of groundskeeper Willie Loomis (John Karlen). Barnabas then forces poor old Willie to become his living slave and creates a fictitious narrative about being a distant cousin descended from the original Barnabas Collins, whom family lore claims sailed away to London in 1795, never to be heard from again.

Bringing back the “original” Barnabas’ family jewels to ingratiate himself, the Barnabas of 1970 is free to attend family gatherings, fix up an old ruined house on the estate, and even feed on cousin Carolyn (Nancy Barrett), a dear relative who becomes a dead ringer for Lucy Westenra in Bram Stoker’s famed novel. Even so, Carolyn cannot displace Maggie (still Scott) in Barnabas’ eyes, who he is sure is the reincarnation of Josette.

It very much has the narrative beats of a traditional vampire movie, but the charm that lingers a half-century later comes in part from seeing these actors, who are intimately familiar with their characters, going through the paces with better production values. That quality also manifests in Curtis’ sense of atmosphere, now liberated from the stage-bound quality of daytime drawing room drama. I would even argue House of Dark Shadows is one of the more satisfyingly atmospheric vampire movies to come out of the 1970s.

Curtis filmed in the upstate New York’s Tarrytown area, mostly on the actual Gothic Lyndhurst Estate, built in the 1830s, and shot much of the exteriors in the legendary Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Whereas Hammer films tended to rely increasingly on sets during this period, and most B horror movies had no budget for evocative locations, House of Dark Shadows was filming its sequences in between tours of the Lyndhurst Mansion and in the same atmospheric cemetery that helped birth the myth of a Headless Horseman.

Regarding the filming location, screenwriter Sam Hall remarked, “It’s a wild house. I’d hate like hell to live in it.”

This is only accentuated by the fact Curtis knows how to drain a spooky location dry. Images like vampire Carolyn standing in a window, draped in white, beckoning her lover to become one of the damned is a better use of Lucy iconography than any Dracula movie made before House of Dark Shadows. And the film’s ending sequence reaches an operatic opulence rarely seen, even in vampire cheapies. Barnabas, bathed in a blue light and shrouded in inexplicable fog in the interior of his decrepit home, beckons Maggie, now in a wedding dress, toward him as the famous melody of Josette’s music box twinkles, only now in a weeping minor key.

The corruption of that wistful melody is intriguing. An original part of the Dark Shadows television series, Josette’s music box, and Frid’s soliloquies about it, is what first gave Barnabas his soul, distinguishing him from the general depravity of other pop culture vampires. One could even say Barnabas is the first significantly sympathetic male vampire in fiction. In House of Dark Shadows, he has a more sinister mean streak, but the pathos remains.

Hence why the film plays at times like a gonzo delight. It may feature the original, more wicked Barnabas, but it is still derived from the genteel series, and many of those elements carry over. Take Dr. Julia Hoffman (Grayson Hall) spending half the movie trying to cure Barnabas, a subplot that eventually ends happily for the pair on the show, but less so here. It’s soapy pulp, yet it’s given as much stone-faced gravity as the Collinsport Police Department unquestioningly agreeing to patrol around town with standard issue police crucifixes. One might ask if they keep silver bullets in every squad car too?

The overall effect is bizarre, but endearingly so. It’s also fairly influential, as confirmed by what happened after Dan Curtis dropped Barnabas in favor of another vampire.

Dark Shadows’ Witch Was As Influential As Its Vampire

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Bram Stoker’s Dracula and the Seduction of Old School Movie Magic

By David Crow

In 1974, following Dark Shadows’ cancellation, Curtis wrote and directed a Dracula TV movie for CBS that within its opening titles billed itself as “Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” Far removed from Stoker’s novel, the little remembered television film nonetheless starred Jack Palance as the vampire, and introduced several significant elements to the story by overtly making Dracula an undead version of historical figure Vlad the Impaler (which he is not in the novel) and turning Lucy into the reincarnation of his great lost love.

Curtis was in essence trying to recast Dracula as Barnabas Collins. Like House of Dark Shadows, Curtis even sought to build a Gothic atmosphere by filming in real locations, albeit now Eastern Europe. The result was effective in those scenes, even if the rest of the movie failed in no small part because Palance could never wear the tragic cloak so well as Frid.

In spite of its shortcomings, many have fairly speculated on whether Curtis’ Dracula influenced James V. Hart, the screenwriter of Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Hart was certainly more successful at turning Dracula into a lovelorn prince, and Coppola made that idea permanent in the pop culture imagination. Yet, at the end of the day, they were still remaking the pop culture image of Dracula so as to be closer in line with Barnabas Collins, instead of the other way around.

I would even argue that Coppola’s film is closer in tone with Dark Shadows, at least in its romantic moments, than Tim Burton’s big budget Dark Shadows movie was in 2012. Burton of course attempted to avoid some of the mistakes of House of Dark Shadows, namely by keeping Barnabas as the good guy who is trying to save his family instead of ultimately destroying them, as well as retaining the other fan favorite character, the witchy Angelique (who like all other non-vampire elements was omitted from House of Dark Shadows). But Burton also played her and the whole concept as pure camp, making the Collins’ a subject of ridicule, and their problems a punchline.

Admittedly, there is something faintly camp about the 1960s daytime series and its ‘70s drive-in remake; plots turn on ludicrous developments like Julia falling in love with Barnabas, and then intentionally sabotaging his vampire cure when she realizes he loves a younger woman. But they were sold with absolute sincerity, and in the case of Frid, a palatable conviction.

House of Dark Shadows continues that conviction, no matter how batshit things become. Thus the ending where, accepting he’ll never be cured, Barnabas transforms family patriarch Roger Collins (Louis Edmonds) and even the film’s version of Van Helsing (Thayer David) into vampires. And we get to a finale so madcap that it turns “Renfield” into the last remaining hero. Madness, indeed.

Ironically, House of Dark Shadows was blamed by some for the eventual death of the series. Every character in the film, including Barnabas, had to be written out of the show, for some weeks at a time, so the actors could go shoot a movie upstate (another reason Angelique and other significant characters were left out). This correlated with some of the series’ weaker storylines that lost audiences’ attention.

Additionally, it’s believed parents who went with their children to see the movie in October 1970 were appalled by the amount of blood and sensual subtext in the film. As a result, some may have forbidden their kids from watching the series further… with the show getting cancelled in April 1971.

“The TV ratings fell after the movie,” Scott’s The Dark Shadows Companion revealed. “It has been suggested by some that House of Dark Shadows led to the series’ eventual demise. Perhaps it was the audience’s reaction to seeing their hero Barnabas in an evil light. Perhaps it was because parents attended House of Dark Shadows with their children and, seeing the amount of blood spilled across the screen, discouraged their children’s choice of television viewing material.”

Star Frid was even more unsparing in his final analysis.

“[The film] lacked the charm and naivete of the soap opera,” Frid said. “Every once in a while the show coalesced into a Brigadoonish never-never-land. It wasn’t necessary to bring the rest of the world into Dark Shadows, which is what the film did.”

Nevertheless, both the series and movie left a few marks on the throat of pop culture. The series certainly paved the way for more multidimensional portraits of vampires to be explored, opening the door for, yes, the Coppola Dracula movie, but also Anne Rice and True Blood. In fact, even if House of Dark Shadows might’ve been considered too brutal by parents in 1970, decades of pop culture refinement would find a way to make the sympathetic vampire archetype much more tolerable when instead of drinking from his cousin, he sparkled in the daylight and told his prey they needed to wait until marriage.

Without Barnabas, his series, and his slice of bananas role is House of Dark Shadows, we may never have gotten Lestat, Edward Cullen, or Gary Oldman’s Dracula. At least not as how we know them. Fifty years on, that’s a bloody good legacy for a daytime drama and a B-movie you’ve never seen.

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alegacyofmikalsons · 4 years

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The Act of Living Chp.4: Connections

Author’s Note: I’m super excited to share this chapter with you. It’s a bit on the long side but, there was a lot I wanted to include since the plot is starting to pick up. There’s some heavy foreshadowing sprinkled in for where the story is going and what revelations are going to happen soon. I want to continue to thank everyone who has read and left their support, it really means a lot!

Rating: Mature

Series Summary: Klaus and Elijah were supposed to die, but fate in the form of new friends Serafina Hewitt and her sister Stevie intervened. A year later Stevie is dead and Sera returns to New Orleans to see her friends and investigate her suspicions about what happened. When it's confirmed that a powerful hunter group is responsible, she realizes a much bigger threat is coming, one that threatens all of New Orleans. As they race to stop it, she gets more than she bargained for, finding the truth about who she is and a growing attachment towards a certain Mikalson. Most importantly, they all get answers to the biggest riddle of all: what the act of living really means.

Masterlist: https://alegacyofmikalsons.tumblr.com/post/623479526213681153/the-act-of-living-masterlist

Tags: @kinda-iconic @endlesshero1122 @katelynnicolerollins @im-a-bisexual-mess

If anyone wants to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know! I also post this story on Wattpad so you can check it out there as well.

Shoutout to @bbchoices for beta reading this for me!

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/916376115-the-act-of-living-chapter-4-connections

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Several hours later, only a dull ache remains as I come downstairs freshly showered and changed into the lacy black dress Rebekah let me borrow. I stop in the living room surprised to find it in pristine condition. Just as Elijah promised all evidence of my destructive emotions is gone. That means Freya is here somewhere.

"Wow that was fast," I murmur before going to search for her.

However, I don't get far before hearing her raspy voice.

"That's the beauty of magic isn't it."

Turning, I see her walk into the room. "Freya, there you are!"

She quickly comes over, pulling me into a quick hug. "Sera, it's good to see you!"

"The feeling is mutual," I reply before asking, "Where's Keelin?"

"She stayed at home. Her feet are killing her lately so, I figured I'd let her rest. She's meeting us at the cemetery though."

I nod slightly. "How are she and the little one doing?"

"They're both good," she answers, a look of adoration appearing in her eyes. "The baby is healthy and is almost ready to go. After next week it'll be a matter of waiting."

I can't help the smile tugging at my cheeks. Talk of impending motherhood always put me in a good mood.

"Well, it looks like I'll still be here when the time comes."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? How'd you get the time off?"

"I just lost my sister, they'll understand. I know my boss will. As if for the council, if they don't then, I don't really care."

I keep my response vague since I want to hold off on telling her about Nemean. I don't want her and Keelin stressing about this unless they have to.

At the mention of Stevie, Freya's expression falls. "I can't believe she's actually gone. She was just at our place yesterday afternoon."

I know the reason why. She was working on the nursery for the two of them. It was her latest design project and a gift. Now, she would never get to see the result.

"The nursery. She told me last week that it's almost finished?"

I frown as another wave of grief causes a lump to form.

"That's right. All that's left is a few furniture items to set up and things to put away."

"Well let me know if I can help. I can definitely assemble things," I offer, clearing my throat.

She lets out a little sound of relief. "I might have to take you up on that."

We continue to talk for several minutes while we wait for the others to join us.

At some point I inquire, "When exactly did you get here? I didn't hear you come in?"

"Oh, I've been here for at least an hour. No one told you I was here?"

I shake my head, pressing my lips together. "I wish they had, I would've gotten ready earlier."

Hearing the sound of footsteps behind me, I turn around to see Elijah walking into the room.

He raises an eyebrow as his brown eyes land on mine. "And that's precisely why I made sure no one did."

"Overprotective much?" I quip in protest. "I wasn't in that much pain you know."

He gives me a dubious expression, crossing his arms. "That's not what it looked like to me."

The level of concern causes my annoyance to disappear. I do tend to shy away from showing any kind of vulnerability, including taking other people's help. Most of the time I can cover up any discomfort or distress I may be facing. This time, I clearly let something show or he'd learned how to look beneath the surface.

"Okay I'll admit I was...a bit sore," I respond, with a half shrug. "But, I'm not made of glass Elijah. I could've walked down a short flight of stairs! Or if it was really that big of a deal you could've sent her up to the library. No movement from me required there."

Before he can respond, Klaus enters the room followed by Rebekah and Marcel.

"She's right, brother," the hybrid says, a smirk forming on his lips. "I tried telling you she would react this way but you wouldn't listen."

Glancing over, I notice Elijah's face turning a faint shade of pink. It's a prospect I find myself liking. He's always so controlled, so to see him suddenly flustered is refreshing. I try not to dwell on it too much though, much like the other thoughts I've had.

"Serafina," he finally stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to overstep I was just...concerned for your well-being."

I bite my lip in an attempt to hide the smile forming. "Oh, I know you were. You wouldn't leave the room until I had to get ready."

Freya's eyebrows shoot up in amusement. "Oh really? He definitely doesn't do that with everyone."

This renders him speechless, the flush deepening as he adjusts his already perfectly straight tie. Luckily for him, his sister's comment also leaves me at a rare loss for words.

"Well, it was nice, even if I did find it a bit excessive," I eventually tell him, my cheeks starting to become warm. "I guess it's just...easier to taking care of myself."

This seems to relax him somewhat, as he gives me a silent look. A shared understanding of what exactly I mean.

"I figured you could use the company given everything that's happened," he responds with a half-smile.

My smile widens. "It definitely helped take my mind off of things. So, thank you."

"You're welcome."

It's only now that I look around the room and realize everyone is staring. I quickly avert my gaze as the blush on my cheeks spreads.

For a moment, no one says anything until Elijah clears his throat. "I believe it's time to leave is it not?"

I look out the window to see the sun low in the sky, not quite at the point of beginning its final descent.

"I'm ready to go if you are," I answer.

When the others nod in agreement, I breathe a sigh of relief as everyone heads toward the front door. Less than five minutes later, we begin to head towards our destination. As I walk, I'm surprisingly able to keep up with the conversation without too many distractions. Occasionally, a fraction of a strange memory takes me away momentarily whenever I pass someone, but the visions don't last more than thirty seconds. Before long, we reach Lafayette Cemetery where Keelin is waiting for us.

"You look lovely," I tell her after saying hello.

She responds by rolling her eyes. "You don't have to flatter me, Sera."

"I'm only telling the truth."

We continue to talk as the group heads inside. However, I trail off seeing how many people there are. All four factions are here talking with one another as if there wasn't a deep history between them.

"There's no tension," I murmur, eyes widening.

"I told you everyone liked her," Marcel replies, his expression solemn. "She helped bring the whole community together."

I raise my eyebrows. "She always had this effect on people. But, I didn't realize she did this much."

"You have no idea Sera." Hearing Vincent's voice, I notice him walking towards me, a ghost of a smile forming.

"I assume I have you to thank for this."

He wraps me in a quick hug which I accept with no hesitation.

"In part," he replies. His eyes examine me, having not seen me in person for over a year. After he's done, his brows pinch together in care. "How are you holding up?"

The question forces me to acknowledge the grief that's come over me since we got here.

"As well as you'd expect," I finally answer with a shrug I definitely don't mean. "You'd think it would be easier after so many times, but...it's not."

He nods, sadness clouding his features. "Believe me, I wish it did too."

After a minute, I sigh, pushing past the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. At least I don't have to worry about another episode. They don't tend to occur repeatedly. In fact, the time between them is usually at least a few weeks.

"Anyway, I'm surprised you were able to do this so soon," I mention.

"I was told to expedite things with the local PD since you figured out what you needed. We couldn't get them to bury her any sooner than tomorrow afternoon but Elijah did compel them into letting us do this."

Of course, he did.

"I could've waited a couple of days. But, I appreciate it," I say, shaking my head.

When I look over, Elijah offers a shrug. "It was the least I could do."

I return my attention to Vincent. "In other news, it looks like I'll be in town for a while."

"Really?" His expression brightens. "Maybe this time you'll be convinced to stay for good."

This receives a scoff from Rebekah. "Oh, believe me, we're trying. But, she's more stubborn about obligations than Elijah is!"

I raise my eyebrows as the elder Mikalson purses his lips.

"That is a perfectly good thing to have," I protest. "It takes a lot of patience helping people who don't want it."

My tone hardens as my thoughts drift towards the leaders of Mirebrook.

"I don't know how you put up with them," Vincent grumbles. "They don't treat you with an ounce of respect."

More like they want me dead. I don't exactly fault their reasoning since I am the one that helped cause the decade of chaos we've had.

"I don't really have a choice. Not when I promised mom I'd finish her term on the council," I reply. "And I can't give up on the kids at the school. They need someone on their side."

Maybe one day I'll leave that place. Either if I get tired of it or if the townsfolk succeed in driving me out. But, as much as I've come to loath living there, there are some ties I can't sever just yet.

My gaze wanders towards the surrounding people, as I take in the scenery. For a cemetery, it's beautiful even without the addition of string lights and white flowers. Almost everyone is somewhat close together, in pockets of three or four.

Standing off towards the edge outside the gates is an older looking woman, her eyes wild and searching for something. Immediately, she piques my interest. She has to be at least in her sixties, judging by her warm and wrinkled facial features and wispy, graying hair. Several layers of clothing, including a loose dress and yellow knit sweater, cover her skinny frame.

For some reason, I can't look away no matter how hard I try. I jump when she suddenly notices me staring. A mixed expression of pain and fear appears on her face. Then, with superhuman speed, she vanishes. Almost like she was never there.

"That's weird," I mumble to myself.

I can't shake the feeling that we're connected somehow. That I should know her.

Then, I look over to see Vincent staring at the spot where she was standing. In his expression, I find familiarity and hesitation.

"Have you seen her before?"

He finally meets my gaze with a start. "Oh, that's Minerva. She lives out in the bayou but I've seen her in the city a lot. She's...a bit of a character. Keeps to herself for the most part. Except when...well...that's not important."

His sudden evasiveness is starting to bother me. Usually, he never hides anything from me. I don't from him.

"Vincent, what?" I ask, unable to let this go. "When she looked at me, it seemed like she knew who I was."

It doesn't take long to lower his resolve.

"She...knew your folks Sera," he finally says.

I widen my eyes as my mouth opens. "What?"

"They...made me promise not to tell you. But, yes. She came by the house occasionally, ever since they brought you home."

The information makes my head spin. Then, I gasp as old memories flood my brain. I remember talking to her when I was younger, her appearance exactly the same. All the things she randomly left on our doorstep, including a white jewelry box with a shimmering gold ribbon tying it shut.

"That's who she is," I whisper as I come back to the present. "She never told me her name."

"Serafina?"

Hearing his voice, I turn to find him staring at me in bewilderment.

"I talked to her when I was a kid," I tell him. "She gave me gifts sometimes too. My mythology books...this necklace." My fingers find the gold chain around my neck. "I wonder what she was doing here. Why she didn't just come inside."

"I wish I had an answer for you," Vincent says, clearing his throat. "Anyway, things are starting soon so, I'd better finish getting everything ready."

Once he's left we head over to where the chairs are set up in front of a small display. Sitting down in the front row, I examine everything. The first thing I notice is the closed black casket where Stevie is tucked inside. Next to it is a picture of her and a bouquet of her favorite flowers. A stage platform is also there with a podium that's chipping away in some spots from use.

Before I know it, Vincent's there greeting everyone. "Hi, everyone thanks for coming out here tonight on such short notice."

He then goes through the short program of the ceremony before beginning his eulogy.

"We're here to say goodbye to Stephanie Hewitt, better known as Stevie. I was friends with her parents for a long time, especially her dad, Anthony who I'd known since childhood. And so, I've had the pleasure of being here when Stevie was born. I watched her grow up from a sweet little girl to a remarkable young woman. Last year, she moved back to New Orleans and our community after being away for many years. That's when most of you met her. What she found was a community deeply divided, more than it ever had been before and that is an understatement."

The remark receives uneasy laughs from many around us.

After it settles, he continues. "We've had our tries at peace, but they never lasted long. But, in several months, Stevie was able to do what so many of us couldn't. Like many of you, I was skeptical at first. It definitely wasn't easy either. However, the challenges only made her more resolved to see this through. And eventually, by some miracle, we began to come together. Because of her, the factions have a real chance at peace. I will always be in awe of that. I know for me personally, that she made this place, this community, feel like home again. And I just...hope that we'll be able to continue this without her." He trails off as his voice breaks. "But, I know that she'll always be with us in spirit, looking after us. That here, she'll never be forgotten."

I watch with a heavy heart as he struggles to keep himself together. A few minutes pass before he can speak once more.

"Now, I'll leave the podium open for anyone who would like to say some words," he instructs.

One by one, people share their memories and pay their respects until almost everyone here has said something. Then, to my surprise, Rebekah comes up to the front, a tangled web of emotions on her face. I didn't expect any of them to say anything here given how closed off they usually were.

"I won't take too much time, I promise. I just wanted to say a few words on behalf of our family," she says as the small crowd quiets. Taking a deep breath, she continues. "Many of you know that our reputation precedes us. It's no secret that we're difficult to befriend or be partial to at all."

This receives some nervous laughter.

"However, there are a few brave souls during our long life who have sought to do the impossible. Who sought to truly get to know us. Stevie was one of those people along with her sister, Sera. When they first met us, they knew all about the legend of the Original Family. Yet, that didn't affect how they treated us. That alone earned our respect. Over the past several years, that has turned into a close friendship, something that usually takes decades for us. That's because they were able to see good in us despite everything we've done. Stevie especially. When they care about you, they make it known and they would do anything for you."

She paused, taking a breath as her eyes glistened. "They even...found a way to keep our family together...against all odds. Stevie was one of the best people I've ever known and I'm sure that my siblings would agree. We've experienced our share of losses over a thousand years, but this one we will carry with us for a long time. Thank you."

"You didn't have to do that," I say after she sits back down beside me.

She rolls her eyes, wiping away her tear-stained cheeks. "Of course I did. Even if it meant a moment of public embarrassment, Stevie is worth the sacrifice."

I give her a bittersweet smile, unable to hold back a snide remark. "But, now the world knows that the Mikalsons aren't completely heartless."

"Oh, I'm sure we will do something to make them forget again," Klaus interjects, his smirk faltering ever so slightly.

It seems even he isn't immune to my sister's influence. The thought makes me smile. Lord knows he needed it as much as I did. When I return my attention to the front, Vincent is there once more.

"At this time, I'd like to invite Stevie's sister, Sera to say some words," he announces.

A coil of anxiety forms in my stomach as I widen my eyes. I didn't prepare to say anything since I don't live here. But, I can't turn down this now. Reluctantly, I stand and walk onto the small stage.

Sighing, I approach the podium, trying to tune out everyone's eyes on me. "Thank you, Vincent. And thank you to everyone who's here."

I swallow nervously, trying to figure out what to say that hasn't already been said. Eventually, I decide to talk about the beginning.

"Usually, when you meet your younger sibling, it's when they're born," I begin. "However, Stevie was five when I first came into her and my parents' life. That's because they first took me in when I was nine and the adoption was finalized a year later. When they first brought me home, I was a bit apprehensive and didn't trust them yet. Back then, I was known as a problematic child...by the system. My emotions, especially my temper, often got out of control causing destructive things to happen. At the foster home I was at before this, they didn't know what to do. The adults hated me and the other kids were too terrified to come near me."

I pause, as ancient traumas make their appearance. Taking a deep breath, I muster enough strength to continue.

"I was scared that this would happen at my new home too. And so for the first few weeks, I pushed them away as much as I could, Stevie especially. I, either ignored her attempts to talk to me or... I lashed out. This continued until... I went too far. This time, I ended up pushing her which resulted in a bloody nose and a decent sized bruise. My parents were furious, more than they ever were up to this point. I remember being terrified as they sat me down in the living room. I was convinced that this was it, they were going to send me back...to that system."

My voice breaks off as I relive that time of my life. How if I didn't have my parents, things could've ended up different.

"What I didn't expect, was for them to start asking me questions. Not as an interrogation, but because they somehow understood that I was doing everything for a reason. For a good twenty minutes or so I resisted, still expecting the worst to come. Eventually, though, I couldn't keep it in. I broke down and told them everything. They stopped being angry after that."

As I continue, I don't even have to close my eyes to be transported back in time.

"They promised that they would always be there for me, that they would always love me. And they kept their word. Right up...until I lost them. First, my dad when I was 19, and then my mom almost two years ago. After this talk, I had to go and apologize to Stevie. I found her in her room, drawing something. I barely got the words out before she forgave me. Just like that. In fact, she was happy to see me, as if the incident never happened. Even back then, she never held a grudge against you. Since that day, we became almost inseparable. I tell you this story because it explains why Stevie became the person she was. The ability to believe in the good of everyone, her capacity to see every perspective, her forgiveness. All of it, she learned from our parents. I'm not surprised she brought that here."

I shake my head, my hand balling into a fist. "All she wanted was to make people smile. Through her friendship, her art. Everything. She didn't deserve this...for her life to be cut short. I loved her so much...and I will miss her every day."

Blinking back tears, I step down from the platform and head back to my seat. Somehow, I'm able to keep myself together and they stay inside.

I feel Rebekah's hand come over mine, squeezing gently. The gesture somehow makes everything less painful. Soon, the ceremony ends with Vincent thanking everyone and providing instructions for leaving.

I make everyone wait outside the entrance for Vincent without too much protest. They still don't have the best relationship but, they manage to keep any lingering grievances to themselves around me. I wasn't going to pick a side in any arguments, which usually revolved around something small.

By the time I see him approach us, the place is empty and devoid of the decorations that were here.

"Sorry that went a little long," he says, a sheepish expression on his face. "I didn't expect that many people would want to speak."

I shrug. "Don't apologize, I'm glad they did. It makes me feel better that I wasn't here."

He frowns at me. "You're not blaming yourself for what happened, are you?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" I remark. "Of course I do. If I was there...I could've protected her."

"She wanted you to come with her."

I roll my eyes. "I know that, Vince. I wish I could've but...you know why I couldn't."

We exchange a silent look. He knew about Nemean and how they wanted me. He was the only person Mom trusted with it.

"So, you think her staying in Mirebrook would've been safer?" he asks incredulously.

"I don't know, maybe!" I exclaim, his tone rousing my easily set off temper.

I don't need a guilt trip or lecture at the moment.

"Come on, Sera. We both know how secure that place really is. She would've been just as vulnerable there as she was here. There was nothing you could do."

I whip around to face him.

"And whose fault is it?" I snap. "It's still mine. I'm the one who started all of this in the first place!"

"Because you were manipulated, Sera! By someone who claimed to love you!" I recoil, the words stinging as I'm reminded of the worst mistake I ever made. "What happened is on him and the rest of Nemean, not you."

Freezing with alarm, I widen my eyes at him. "Vincent--"

"Yeah, I saw the mark," he interrupts, his eyes slightly narrowed. "I know they're here, that they did this."

"Not everyone here did, and that was for a reason." My nerves tinge with anger once more. But, I know it's no use trying to keep this a secret now. "The community can't know yet, especially since we have no idea what they have planned."

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Sera, we have to tell people! They need to know what they're up against."

I shake my head adamantly. "No, that is the worst possible thing we can do right now."

"And why is that?"

"You know why," I snap, images from the last attack at the edges of my vision. "Mirebrook, two years ago. The council told everyone right away and look what happened! When the fire started none of them stuck to the plan we spent the last four months creating." This time as my eyelids well with tears, I can't keep them from spilling down. "Mom and I were the only ones who stayed behind! We were trapped in there for hours before someone came back."

When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are haunted. "I know Sera. As if I can forget what happened."

A tension-filled silence surrounds us as we calm down. Then, I hear Freya clear her throat.

"Wait a minute. Who the hell is Nemean?" she asks, her hands loosely on her hips.

Vincent gives me a nod. "They deserve to know."

As much as I'd rather not talk about this out in the open, I know he's right. Exhaling, I reveal who Nemean is and how I knew about them.

"Oh my god," Freya stammers after I'm finished. "Were they...really behind what happened to Stevie?"

"Yes," I say quietly. "Each time they kill someone, they leave their symbol in ink somewhere on the body. We found one on Stevie's neck."

"We also discovered one on someone else," Rebekah adds, her gaze landing on Marcel. "Daniel."

After a few seconds, he blinks in realization. "You already knew? And you didn't say anything?" he exclaimed, his forehead creasing into a scowl.

"I...yes." She gives me a hesitant stare.

Feeling a little guilty, I try to reassure him. "I made her promise not to say anything to you yet."

The irritation barely diminishes as it shifts towards me. "And why is that? I wouldn't have told any of the vampires yet."

"I know, I wanted to wait until I could convince Klaus and Elijah first which didn't take as long as I thought it would." I turn back to Freya who I can tell is also a bit annoyed. "And I didn't want to stress you two. My mom always talked about how it wasn't good for her clients."

Her gaze softens at this, her arms loosening from her sides. "I appreciate the concern but, I'd rather know what this threat is."

"What do you think Nemean will do exactly?" Keelin inquires.

Glancing around, I make sure no one can overhear us, even with enhanced hearing.

"I believe that there will be a large attack at some point," I confess. "One that could endanger everyone in the quarter, possibly more of the city."

Both of them look at me in horrified shock.

"What?!" Freya stammers.

"It's what they always do in places like this, with large supernatural populations. Did you hear about the explosion in Savannah, Georgia six weeks ago?"

Her eyes widen, the color draining from her already light complexion.

Keelin swallows, equally disturbed. "It was on the news. They said a gas leak was responsible."

"Which was started by Nemean. They also set the fire inside. I know because I've been tracking them for years now. Including hacking into their communications."

"That's awful," she murmurs, her hands gravitating towards her stomach instinctively.

"That's actually one of their less successful ones. Usually, their casualties are around twice that number."

Marcel's eyebrows knit in concern. "What made the difference?"

"The amount of warning time. Nemean only started sending their threats five weeks beforehand. The residents had enough time to prepare a defense while staying in the right mindset. The three places they targeted before this one? Same thing. I should've known they were coming here. All of them lead in a curved line...towards New Orleans."

This leaves everyone in stunned silence.

"That's why we need to keep this between us right now," I continue, giving Vincent a pointed look. "I doubt we'll be given the same treatment."

"Why not?" he counters. "Why wouldn't they just continue the pattern?"

I roll my eyes heavenward. "Because this is different! I'm here. More importantly, I care about this place, a thousand times more than I do Mirebrook. This isn't just a means to an end for them. This is personal. They're going to inflict as much pain as they can, which means they're not going to reveal their final move for a while. Trust me on this one Vince. Do you really think they'll give us enough to plan anything until they want us to?"

His jaw clenches repeatedly, his expression full of conflict.

"Alright," he relents, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I won't say anything for now." He narrows his eyes at me. "But if this backfires, I won't hesitate to say I told you so."

I press my lips together to keep a slight smirk from forming. "I would be concerned if you didn't," I remark before I raise an eyebrow at the others as a silent question.

Marcel lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. "The vampires won't hear a thing."

"You know we trust you," Freya adds, gesturing to Keelin who nods in agreement.

An ounce of relief runs through me, allowing the tension I usually carry around with me to ease slightly.

"Thank you," I say before a yawn escapes my lips.

Suddenly, I'm aware of just how exhausted I am from everything that's occurred since this morning.

"Are you...actually tired for once?" Rebekah exclaims with a laugh.

They all knew how I tended to stay up late. Usually, the short amount of sleep I received is somehow enough to keep me energized but, this isn't normal circumstances.

I fail to hide the smile making it's way upwards. "I know, I hardly believe it myself."

"I should probably get going then," Vincent says, his gaze meeting mine once more. "I assume I'll be seeing you soon?"

"Probably. You're the only person here who knows as much about Nemean as I do. I'm sure you'll be able to assist somehow."

He gives me an amused look. "What'd you do, bring all those files with you?"

"Of course not. I digitized everything several months ago. All I needed to bring was my laptop and four flash drives."

After another minute or so of idle conversation, he finally heads for his place. Freya and Keelin leave shortly followed by Marcel and Rebekah who have their own place in the Quarter for when they're not traveling.

"I assume that you'll be staying with us," Elijah says, somewhere between a statement and a question.

I shake my head, realizing I hadn't said anything until now. "Actually, I got a hotel room when I first arrived. It was a couple of hours before check-ins started but, I managed to charm the guy into letting me do it early."

He blinks at me in surprise. Though I catch something else too. Disappointment? I can't quite tell. Usually, people's emotions were easy to decipher but, not his. At least, not when he didn't want you to.

Finally, he gives me a slight grin. "I assume there's no way to dissuade you?"

"Nope." Though I have to admit, the prospect of staying with them is tempting. Luckily, I did plan on having to do it eventually. "But, I did just pay for tonight. After that, if your offer still stands I'll take you up on it then."

"Of course love," Klaus tells me, his gaze dancing between the two of us.

Elijah nods, choosing to ignore him. "You're always welcome when you're here."

We agree to reconvene around 10 in the morning tomorrow before taking my leave. The walk is a relatively short one, around fifteen minutes. The hotel is a historic one but not a major attraction. It's a bit more than I wanted to spend but, since I'll only be here for a night, I didn't really care.

As I start to round the corner onto the street it's on, I notice a figure emerge from the building. Something about it seems strange, compelling me to investigate. I quickly duck back against the brick. Peeking out, I freeze when the person walks underneath a streetlight, illuminating their face.

Minerva.

Why would she be at the hotel? Vincent mentioned that she lived in the Bayou. When she goes past where I'm hiding she stops suddenly, and I hold my breath. Then, the air suddenly warps around her and I have to bite down on my lip hard to keep from gasping.

Blinking, her appearance changes as everything stills once more. The woman is now several years younger and strawberry blonde hair cascades down her shoulders. A pristine white and gold dress covers her slim but muscular frame.

What the hell?!

She looks around as if she can sense someone is watching her. However, her blue eyes never land on mine and she eventually walks past me. The air shifts once more and before I can blink the older woman is back, as if nothing ever happened. I stare in confusion, unable to process anything until she's merely a shadow in the night.

Shaking my head, I finally walk down the street once more and head inside the hotel. When I reach my room, I'm snapped out of my bewildered state as my blood turns to ice. The door is slightly ajar. I didn't forget to lock it. The memory is clear as day. Which means someone else opened it.

I reach for the knife I always keep hidden, briefly closing my eyes to feel the coil of dark energy that hums in my veins. Once I have control of it, I push open the door open completely. Not seeing anyone from out in the hallway, I step inside, my eyes darting around the small space.

"If you're still here, I have a weapon and know how to fight," I exclaim, my tone harsh. "I suggest you come out now."

I receive no response, the only sound from the old radiator. Growling, I search the entire place including the bathroom and closet with no luck. Whoever was here left before I arrived. Examining my suitcase, I find it undisturbed.

With a huff, I lower my hand to my side and allow the energy to become dormant once more. Surveying the room again, I spot a small slip of paper on the nightstand that wasn't there before. Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I pick it up expecting it to be from Nemean. The paper is smooth under my fingers, thick.

This isn't anything like they've left before. Turning on the lamp, I hold it up to the light until a faint watermark can be seen. Expensive no doubt. A short handwritten message is written on one side in simple yet elegant penmanship. I don't recognize the writing. It isn't Richard's or one of is subordinates. The ink is black which could mean anything. I'd have to analyze it up close to know more.

Sighing, I finally decide to read the message, which is addressed to me.

Dear Serafina,

You do not know who I am but, I believe that I may be able to help you. I am aware of your conflict with the Nemean Brotherhood and have seen the different ways that it may end. It is because of this that I have decided that the time is come to reveal myself to you. To tell you the truth of who exactly you are. More specifically, what you are. It will be the key to defeating your enemy. You have no reason to trust me but, I have watched you from afar since you were a mere infant. I have even visited Mary and Tony to ensure that you were alright. When you left New Orleans, they entrusted me with the care of your home. If you choose to meet with me, I will be there waiting for you. However, I understand if you do not. I will send you the information in another manner.

- A.

The words leave me speechless my heart hammering in my chest. Is this real? Or some elaborate trick? As I continue to stare at the note, it suddenly starts to glow in my hands. Jumping, the paper falls to the ground, a tingling sensation running up my arms. Then, I look down to see my necklace gleaming in the same faint yellow color, the metal suddenly hot against my skin.

I stumble back, almost knocking the lamp over as a strong realization hits me. An overwhelming sense that this is the clue to find out exactly who I am. What Nemean wants with me.

Everything.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

#the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikalson x oc #elijah x oc #originals au

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raewritesfiction · 4 years

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The Angel Statue Stole My Soul

A/N: this is a piece i wrote in 2018 based on a legend in my home town. behind my old house from when i was about 10 years old there is a graveyard that is rumoured to be haunted by one of the statues. i had to do some serious research to get the information right in this cuz i didnt wanna mess up.

click here [will take you to my instagram] for a narration by Darren Marlar of The Weird Darkness Podcast (check it out, I highly recommend it). Cropped and posted with kind permission from Mr Marlar himself. Episode is from 23rd August 2019 - I Am addicted to coffee and 2 more creepypasta stories.

I live in a relatively boring town in England; I'm sure everyone says that about their town but nothing interesting ever happens here. However we do have many myths and legends; just like any town.

Some are “official” and have roots in real life events - the priory and convent for example have tunnels that connect them where, a few years back, excavations found many many small skeletons. They were baby skeletons and while some were not fully formed, the vast majority were. It was theorised that the nuns and especially the monks were not so pious afterall. One of my favourite legends is that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse will ride through this town when the end of all times comes - all I can say is I hope I get to see them ride because, what a sight that would be!

Some other myths and urban legends are not so easy to track down the origins of but are passed around by word of mouth and everyone in my town knows about them. One of the most well known is of the Angel statue in the graveyard behind Northumberland Avenue. You can laugh and make Dr Who jokes about not blinking, but… where do you think they got the idea from?

I was originally told this legend when I was only seven or eight and then it was brought up again when I was ten.

We had moved a few years previous into a house that backed onto the largest cemetery in my town; I was asked a lot about if anything “weird” happened in that house. I didn't understand what they meant and had to ask my mum who had lived in this town her whole life; year after year she would say “when you're older.” That happened to be when I was ten and wanted to know why other kids at school thought those houses were haunted and if I had ever seen a ghost.

“There's a haunted angel statue in the cemetery behind us. Every year at midnight on Halloween she moves and then 60 seconds later resumes her original position.”

I laughed and said I wanted to watch her move or I wouldn't believe it - even at ten years old I was a little madam; some things don't change. My mum got worried and looked at me deadly serious.

“You can't… anyone who watches her move is cursed to be called to the cemetery and become a statue themselves… most people who try fall asleep seconds before the clock hits midnight, as if there's something trying to protect anyone stupid enough to give it a go.”

I remember huffing and crossing my arms in defiance. I would stay up and I would watch her stay still because as much as I loved our town's stories, this is one I couldn't believe.

Many years have passed since and it was only recently I thought of the story again. I was walking through the cemetery on a cliché bright sunny day; as much as anywhere remotely religious makes me feel uneasy, this cemetery has always brought me peace. I wasn't walking any particular route and also wasn't taking any notice of where I was going; I almost walked into the caretaker of the church and it's grounds who was stood right in front of the angel statue.

This is the first time I had actually looked at the statue up close “in person”. I had only ever seen it from afar or through my bedroom window before we moved house. It’s much more imposing close up and much taller; I'm tall at almost 6 feet but this thing towers over me. It's face doesn't have lots of detail, just enough for you to tell where it's features are and while everything around it has been kept clean and tidy, the area around the statue is a mess of thorny vines, fallen leaves and mulch.

The statue itself has fared relatively well under the circumstances with no cracks, or chips out of it but one of her hands is missing. The stone was weathered but doesn't let on that it's been stood there for as long as anyone can remember. My face must have shown how uncomfortable it was making me because the groundskeeper spoke up.

“She'll do that to you. Don't stare in her eyes for too long.”

I quickly look away having not realised I even had been looking in her eyes. “Why's that?”

“She'll take your soul and drag you to hell - it's why her hand was removed.”

“That isn't down to age then?”

“No. In the nineteen-hundreds angry mob mentality… they managed to break off her hand after hours of trying.”

“Oh…” I blink and looked at the jagged cut. “...does she actually move..?” I kind of just blurt out the question.

“She doesn't like people watching her move; turns them into statues themselves. I've come in a few times and found new statues that I knew hadn't been there the night before…”

I frown “but… wouldn't people notice a missing person?”

The groundskeeper shakes his head “they get written out of the universe as if they had never existed in the first place… those who remember a name will ask about it and be met with blank expressions; soon after they'll forget the name themselves… or they'll hear it and know it sounds familiar. They just won't know why.”

I laugh a little, somewhere between nervous and feeling like I was being messed with. “It's a joke… right?”

He shakes his head again “No, Miss. It's no joke… I keep a tally of new statues. I've worked here for nearly fifty years and I've counted ten new statues…. The keeper before me… he disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” I frown but somehow know where this is going before he speaks.

“The church claim I'm the first keeper they've had since 1934 but, I found paperwork and records that beg to differ. I didn't start here 'til 1968 .. there was another before me but one day...he just stopped coming to work. He stopped making records of his work. He stopped counting new statues and then people forgot his name.”

I shiver and look around the area of the cemetery I'm stood in. “Why don't you destroy it?”

He laughs which turns into a cough “Oh people have tried… They really have...lucky ones end up in hospital with broken bones, burns and no memory of how they got their injuries.”

“...and the unlucky ones?” I'm unsure if I want to know at this point but it's too late to take the question back.

“They end up being buried. Mysterious heart attacks, brain hemorrhages, internal bleeding.”

I visibly shudder and take another glance over the statue.

“You'll hear her now… she'll start calling to you.”

“....What?”

“You're curious about her. She'll know… and she won't like it… she'll like it even less that you think it's all a joke. She doesn't have much of a sense of humour.”

“Okay but… what do you mean she'll call to me?”

“You'll start hearing whispers. She'll know your name .. you'll think it's nothing but they'll get louder. They'll become so loud that you won't be able to ignore them and the only way to quiet them is to come here and watch her.”

“And become a statue?”

“If you're lucky you'll be protected. There's something here… nothing to do with God or the Devil as such, religion and beliefs don't matter; just good and evil…”

I swallow thickly and rub my face “what happens if I'm protected?”

“You'll fall asleep.” He answered simply then corrects himself “...actually you'll pass out. You'll probably be woken up by me… if not… I'll find a new statue.”

I nod and I thank him & I offer my hand to shake his which he politely declines with a smile. “nothing personal, Miss.”

I haven't slept properly since that day. I haven't had a night where I haven't woken in a cold sweat hearing whispers; at first they were too quiet for me to hear what was being said but now it's October and it's heading towards Halloween… the whispers are louder and more constant. Some of them aren't even whispers anymore they're just incoherent screams.

But those whispers send chills down my spine.

“I already own your soul. It will be most useful.”

#The Angel Statue Stole my Soul #horror fiction #horror #fiction #myth #legend #weird darkness #weirdo #darren marlar

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medea10 · 5 years

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Pokemon Sword & Shield Latest PV

Oh come now Medea, don’t you have something better to do than a shitpost for a game that’s not coming out for another 4 months?

Nope.

You have reviews backed up for miles including Aggretsuko, Dragon Ball Super, Tokyo Ghoul :re, and Ace Attorney.

Don’t care. Priorities.

Male is named Victor

Female is named Gloria

Pokemon, didn’t you learn your lesson from Black and White?

Stop making food into Pokemon! For one thing you’re making me hungry. Secondly, remember all the hate the Vanillite line got!

On the other hand, it’s cute! And fairy types get a pass because of cuteness. But what could possibly top cute food?

AAAAAAAAAAAH!

CORGLES! IT’S MY LITTLE BREADLOAF! EIN! LOOK AT IT’S CUTE LITTLE FACE! DON’T YOU WANT TO RUB UP AGAINST IT!

LOOK AT HIS CUTE LITTLE BUTT-WAG!

WHO’S A GOOD BOY?!

Seriously folks, I still don’t know what to name the little fella! This pokemon is going to have the longest-ass name officially from me (fuck # count). Winston Ein Corgles the Breadloaf.

Oh God, I know Ash will NEVER catch this cute little corgles. Because it’s an electric type and who needs any other electric type pokemon when you’ve got Pikachu?

BUT PLEASE, SWORD AND SHIELD ANIME (if it’s thy will for you to exist), PLEASE HAVE ONE OF THE OTHER PROTAGONISTS CATCH THIS LITTLE NUGGET!

Also...

Ball fetch ability. I know it’s new and everything. But if this little guy actually grabs men by the balls ala Handbanana style, I will just die.

“All I know is ‘Ball’ and ‘Good’...And ‘RAPE’!”

Oh balls, am I going to have to add a third middle name to this guy?

MEDEA, YOU ARE NOT NAMING YAMPER, HANDBANANA! END OF DISCUSSION!

Fine.

“Ball Fetch is a new Ability introduced in these titles, and it will come into play when you throw a Poké Ball at a wild Pokémon but fail to catch it. As long as Yamper isn’t holding an item, it will go fetch the first Poké Ball that failed to catch a Pokémon, regardless of what type of Poké Ball it is!”

I WANT THIS POKEMON IN MY LIFE!

What else we got?

Oh nice, we haven’t had a Steel/Dragon combo (that wasn’t legendary/mythical/some shit like that).

Abilities: Light Metal and Heavy Metal?

New rule: This pokemon’s official sound MUST be either a scream to come from Jamison Boaz or Marilyn Manson. I mention Boaz because I’m currently hooked on Aggretsuko. As for Manson...

He’s just my favorite is all! Point is, this pokemon’s sound needs to be an epic metal scream.

Oh this guy.

Mr. Unbeatable they say! Not for long bitch!

Unless of course we enter the Pokemon League and (womp womp) his whole team is all Level 100 when you go in expecting all of them to be Level 66 at the most.

But Game Freak couldn’t be that cruel.

Could they?

What the...?!

I’m suspicious. Next person please!

Mm-hmm.

I don’t trust either of you. No. Maybe it’s because I have severe distrust for men in power with young hoochies beside them.

Or maybe it’s because I’m picking up SEVERE shifty mother fucker vibes after watching one too many episodes of Inazuma Eleven.

But I don’t trust Chairman Rose. What does Pokemon.com say?

“Rose is the chairman of the Galar Pokémon League and also the president of a large business conglomerate. He’s made the Galar Pokémon League world-famous by implementing Gym Battles featuring the Dynamax phenomenon. He’s also the one who first endorsed Leon for the Gym Challenge. It seems he has quite the eye for talent!”

Nope. Still not trusting him. Let me put it to you this way, I trust Kyubey from Madoka Magica before I trust this guy.

OH HEY, ANOTHER BW REFERENCE HERE! Remember when each version for Black and White determined who you would fight in the final gym battle, Drayden or Iris? We’re doing it again!

If you purchase Pokemon Sword, in a certain gym battle, you fight against Bea (fighting-type trainer).

She looks like a combination of a NPC Girl Karate Master in past Pokemon games with a Danganronpa character.

And if you get Pokemon Shield, your opponent is...

A serial killer?

The newest character for Saw VII?

La Llorona?

The human form of Banette?

Well, I wasn’t expecting to piss myself today watching a Pokemon video but life has a funny way of giving me WTF moments to go over.

This is Allister, a ghost-type trainers. Um, what did Pokemon.com write for this fella.

“Allister is a talented Trainer of Ghost-type Pokémon who has taken on the mantle of the Ghost-type Gym Leader at a young age. He’s extremely shy and fearful, and he always hides his face with a mask when around other people. He rarely makes public appearances and apparently spends most of his time around ruins or in cemeteries.”

Definitely a human form of Banette.

I like that he has a Mimikyu.

Okay, enough with the trainers. How about this Attack on Titan we’ve got going on? What about these Gigantamax things?

Wow, that cake better not be a lie, Game Freak!

Seriously, I feel like I’m looking at Mami’s fight against Charlotte in Madoka Magica.

Okay, wow. A lot to mull over. First of all, elephant in the room. This game will screw us on the National Dex. Meaning, some pokemon will be unobtainable in this game. I know there’s a chance one of my top 6 are going in that scrap heap (and probably it’ll be the Oddish or Poliwag line knowing them). At least I saw Clefable in a past PV so I’m happy there.

Secondly, I am so happy they officially announced Yamper today! I know Pikachu or Mareep are usually my go-to electric pokemon. But I have to, have to, must, must, must freakin get Winston Corlges Ein Handbanana the Breadloaf.

#yamper #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #allister #bea #chairman rose #alcremie #duraludon #leon #oleana

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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Thresholds to the Spirit World and How to Enter the Spirit World

Some people believe the spirit world is a parallel dimension to ours. That it lies directly on top of ours, fully functioning in its own way all around us without us ever knowing. But some of us know. Some of us experience spirits our entire lives while others don’t see or experience a single thing. But the question remains – are there doors to the spirit world? Our ancient ancestors believed there were thresholds to the spirit world. These thresholds are all around us, sometimes in very obvious places. Learn about the thresholds to the spirit world and how to enter the spirit world. Proceed with caution.

DISCLOSURE: I may earn a small commission for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial, and/or link to any products or services from this website. Your purchase helps support my work in bringing you information about the paranormal and paganism.

Thresholds to the Spirit World

Caves

Since prehistoric times, caves were thought to be an entrance to the land of the dead – the Underworld. Our prehistoric ancestors left their markings on cave walls. One of the most famous cave paintings is located near Montignac, France. The Aztecs feature caves in their myths as being the place of creation, namely the seven caves of Chicomoztoc. The ancient peoples revered caves, not only for comfort in winter months, but for what caves represented – the womb of the earth. From the earth we come and to the earth we return; therefore, caves are thought to be an entrance to the spirit world…if one travels deep enough into a cave one will reach the spirit world.

Cemeteries

One of the more obvious thresholds to the spirit world is the cemetery. Is it because the dead are buried in cemeteries? Or is there more to it? A cemetery is not only a resting place for the dead, it is ground that has been blessed by a religious clergymen, and also a place where people gather in emotional moments to recognise love and loss. These things come together in a whirlwind of energy to provide a definitive threshold for spirits to come through from the other side. There are spirits that are still attached to their bodies, as well as guardians of cemeteries who were either once human spirits or are angels. When you cross the cemetery gates, you cross over a threshold guarding the outside world from the land of the dead. The gates of cemeteries are often iron to keep the spirits from getting out.

Crossroads

I once saw a woman state in a FaceBook group the crossroads is a metaphorical place not a literal place of spirits. I’ll bet this woman never sat at a crossroads after sunset. In many traditions all over the world, the crossroads was a place where spirits congregated and could be met with ease. This is why many gods and goddesses are associated with the crossroads: Hecate, Papa Legba, the Devil, and more. It is a junction where two roads converge – a liminal place that’s neither here nor there. Spirits tend to like those kinds of places. If you decide to work with spirits of the crossroads, be warned – some can be tricksters as they guard the door to the spirit world and only let those through whom they feel worthy.

Doors

In the older days, our ancestors believed spirits lingered in doorways and windowsills. Just as a door or window protects the household inhabitants from the physical world outside, they also protect us from harmful spirits. Spirits were thought to be attracted to the living, be it their loved ones or enemies, and were thought to try to enter the home but sometimes get stuck on the threshold for one reason or another. This is why it’s said to be bad luck to step on a threshold – to always step over it. It is possible to step through a door into the world of spirits, just as we step through a door into a building or to the outside world.

Edge of the Woods

Why would the edge of a forest be a threshold to the spirit world? Corners, edges, doorways, all of these things have a common factor – they mark the perimeter of a place. The edge of the woods marks the beginning or end of a massive group of trees, plants, and animals of all kinds. The wild places left in this world no doubt are teeming with spirits of nature – fairies, tree spirits, forest guardians, the Green Man, and more! So when you cross the edge of the woods, you cross into the realm of forest spirits. We’ve all heard stories of people getting lost in the woods and experiencing creepy things, haven’t we? Is this because the trees all look the same or because the forest spirits don’t want that person there?

Fairs & Festivals

This one seems odd – why would spirits be somewhere lots of humans gather like a fair or festival? I believe it’s a common misconception that spirits are to be found in quiet places away from society. In fact, many spirits gather in places where there’s lots of human activity for a few reasons. One reason is they are attracted to the energy that living human beings give off. Another reason is because they might think they are still alive and go about doing things they once did. Yet another reason is because some spirits feed off the energy produced by large crowds of the living. In Judika Illes’ Encyclopedia of Spirits, she says spirits “enjoy them as much as we do.”

Groves

Groves are, simply put, groups of trees. There are oak groves, pine groves, sequoia groves, cedar groves, willow groves, just about any tree that groups together could be considered a grove. Groves were the meeting places of the Celtic priesthood – the Druids. They worshipped the trees and therefore their most sacred sanctuary was the grove. Groves house the ancient tree spirits and land guardians, and therefore are another threshold to the spirit world.

Hedgerows

Back in older times, the hedgerow was a row of bushes that guarded one’s property from the wild. It kept animals and intruders out. The hedgerow itself was a threshold between the family’s property and the wilderness and therefore was known to be a liminal place where spirits gathered. Once again – a place that’s neither here nor there but in between much like a door to the spirit world. This is where the term “crossing the hedge” comes from – it means to cross the threshold of our world in to the spirit world.

Mirrors

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all? To quote the Evil Queen from the famous fairy tale. Mirrors have long been regarded as powerful tools – tools that not only reflect our images back at us but also seem to be another of the thresholds to the spirit world. There are many superstitions about mirrors for this reason. You might have heard of people covering mirrors after someone in the family dies – this is to prevent the soul from getting trapped or lost between this world and the next. I’ve read online people refuse to keep mirrors in their bedrooms because they “freak them out” (side note, I have 3+ mirrors in my bedroom and have never had a problem). There are stories of haunted mirrors, like the mirror of the Myrtles Plantation, and superstitions about breaking mirrors and bad luck. Still others use mirrors to “scry” or see into the other world. Mirrors are a powerful tool to peer in to the realm of spirits. Use them wisely.

Seashore

The seashore is a liminal place – bridging the gap between the earth and the ocean. It is another powerful threshold to the spirit world. In ancient times, the ocean was thought to be a realm of the spirits or that spirits lived under the ocean. Water is a conduit for spirits which adds to the sacredness of the seashore. Elemental spirits gather at the seashore and are more active during a Full Moon. Ever heard of ghosts along a seashore? It’s no wonder spirits are often seen walking down the beach.

How to Enter the Spirit World

There are different ways to enter the spirit world, and all take great practice and caution. Other ways to enter the spirit world include walking over or through a threshold to the spirit world combined with entering an alpha state of mind. You can do this physically by entering a cemetery or sitting at the crossroads and opening your mind and senses to the spirits around you. Offerings to the spirits are helpful in creating trust between you and the spirits and also in protecting you against evil-doing spirits. Always cover your head and back of your neck with a scarf, bandana, hat, etc. when physically travelling to spirit thresholds – this keeps spirits from attaching to you.

Some people enter the spirit world naturally, sometimes without even knowing. I believe sleepwalkers are natural spirit world wanderers. If you’re a sleepwalker, you’ve probably entered the spirit world during one of your episodes. Astral projection also takes you into the spirit world while asleep. Another effective way to enter the spirit world without even leaving your home is through guided meditation. Look up meditations on shamanic journeying and travelling up or down the World Tree. Before performing such powerful meditations, it’s best to cleanse your space and yourself through smudging and spiritual cleansing baths. When you come out of the meditation, be sure to close out your session with the spirit world by grounding your energy and sternly stating out loud that no spirits are to follow you into this realm – the door to the spirit world is closed. Another cleansing is advised to rid yourself and space of negative energy/spirits.

Spirit World Entry Tips

Cover your head and back of neck when going to spirit thresholds and crossroads

Cleanse yourself and/or space before entering the spirit world

Cleanse yourself and/or space after spirit world contact

Ground your energy after spirit world meditations

Offerings to the spirits at thresholds and crossroads are crucial!

Practice third eye opening meditations to aid in seeing spirits

For forest entry – carry iron, pull pockets inside out, or wear clothes inside out

https://otherworldlyoracle.com/thresholds-to-the-spirit-world/

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loretranscripts · 5 years

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Lore Episode 19: Bite Marks (Transcript) - 26th October 2015

tw: death, graveyards, corpses, details of decomposition, ghosts Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

[Announcement of upcoming live shows (now in the past)]

In 1890, the tiny Greek village of Messaria on the island of Kythnos was plagued by something otherworldly. Whatever it was, the villagers claimed that it would enter their homes, eat their food, break their dishes and then move on to repeat itself elsewhere. They named this creature “Andilaveris”, and they claimed it was a vrykolakas, a close cousin to the traditional European vampire. Andilaveris drank their wine and smashed their belongings, howling like a wolf and making a loud, horrible mess, but the most interesting feature of this story is that no one actually saw Andilaveris do these things. The villagers claimed to witness it all, of course, but they said he was invisible; he was, in essence, a noisy spirit, but the only cultural lens they were able to view him through was as a vampire. And they weren’t the first: between 1591 and 1923, people across Europe told similar stories – an invisible monster that raided their homes and destroyed their belongings. Today, we see events like these play out across the screens of our local move theatre. Hollywood has been fascinated with invisible, violent forces since the early 1980s, when they brought us Poltergeist. What once was looked on as overly spiritual and easily disproven is now attracting the attention of popular culture, but poltergeists have a history that runs far deeper than just the 1980s. From first century Roman accounts to modern newspapers, stories of humans interacting with angry ghosts have been told for a very, very long time. Some are clearly hoaxes; some are misinterpretations of natural events; oftentimes they are a grab for attention or a cry for help; but sometimes, on very rare occasions, a story comes along that is nothing short of haunting. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The word “poltergeist” evokes a number of ideas for most people. Most think about the movie. Some picture objects being thrown around a room by invisible hands. You might even envision the sound of chains, or doors creaking open in the night. And they wouldn’t be too far from the truth – the word “poltergeist” is German, and it literally means “noisy spirit”. The idea is that, while the typical ghost story only uses one of our five senses, our sight, stories of poltergeists can often tap all five. Most poltergeist accounts reference the same types of activity: objects that are mysteriously moved or broken; noises in and around the house; physical attacks such as biting, pinching, hitting, and even tripping. Some people even claim to have seen objects, or other people, levitated by an unseen force, and unlike some folklore, stories of noisy spirits are nearly universal. Similar manifestations have been reported by witnesses in dozens of cultures for centuries, from Japan and Brazil to Australia and the United States. To those who view widespread distribution as a major sign of proof, poltergeists have become an indisputable fact. One of the earliest records of a poltergeist encounter actually comes from the 1st century Jewish historian, Flavius Josephus. He recorded an exorcism in 94AD that sounds eerily similar to those of us familiar with modern exorcism tales. In his report, he describes how, as the spirit was being driven from the person, a bowl of water all the way across the room was suddenly overturned by an invisible hand. Jacob Grimm, half of the famous Grimm brothers who recorded many of the stories we remember from our childhood, also wrote more scholarly books. In his book Deutsche Mythologie, Grimm recorded a story from the German town of Bingen am Rhine that took place in the 4th century. According to the story, people were pulled out of their beds by an unseen force; loud noises could be heard, as if someone were knocking on the walls or floor; stones were even thrown, but the person – or spirit – who did the throwing was never found. Gerald of Wales, the famous clergyman and chronicler, wrote in 1191 of a house in Pembrokeshire that was filled with poltergeist activity. Here, the unseen spirit was said to have thrown handfuls of dirt as well as tearing clothing and breaking objects in the house. Most frightening to those who experienced it, though, was the fact that this spirit was also said to vocalise all the secrets of the people in the room.

Similar stories have been recorded countless times in the centuries since Gerald’s day. In one story from the early 1700s, one family encountered unusual activity in the church rectory, in Epworth, Lincolnshire. Reverend Samuel Wesley and his wife, Susanna, had 10 children and had lived in the house since it had been built, shortly after the previous rectory burnt to the ground in 1709. During the winter of 1716 to 1717, the family began to experience regular noises. They would hear knocking on the walls and doors, or the sounds of people running up and down the stairs. The house was searched from top to bottom, hoping to find the person responsible, but no cause was found. They even named the noisy spirit “Old Jeffrey”, and it was said that the spirit made himself visible on Christmas day that winter. Shortly after, the noises stopped, never to happen again. In more modern times, one well-known story is that of the Black Monk of Pontefract. There, in the growing community just outside the city of Wakefield in West Yorkshire, England, reports began to circulate about the most violent poltergeist in European history. Joe and Jean Pritchard lived at 30 East Drive in 1970 along with their son, Phillip, and daughter, Diane. According to their report, they were plagued by problems in the house from the start: objects were thrown, the temperature in rooms would suddenly drop, and they would even find puddles on the floor. They named the spirit Fred, and soon learnt that Fred was not just mischievous, but also violent. Not only did the spirit throw eggs and take bites out of their sandwiches, but it also dragged their 12-year-old daughter, Diane, up the stairs by her neck, leaving handprints on her skin. After Fred attempted to strangle Diane a second time, this time with an electrical cord, the family asked for help. The police were brought in, as were a number of psychics and paranormal researchers. Even the mayor came by for a visit, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually, the Pritchard’s moved away, and the noises inside Number 30 stopped. But according to the woman who lives next door to the house that’s connected to Number 30, Fred the ghost hasn’t gone anywhere. He still makes frequent visits to her side of the wall, and although he’s usually very quiet, she claims that he sometimes stands in the room and glares at her with menacing eyes. Under the scrutiny of historical research, though, most recorded poltergeist stories have been shown to be frauds. Oftentimes they were nothing more than pranks put on by the homeowner, or the person who stood to gain the most from the attention. But every now and then, a story comes along that defies explanation, and when that story involves violent physical attacks and a serious threat to human lives, it becomes downright chilling.

In 1999, a homeless man broke into a large tomb in a prominent cemetery known as Greyfriars, in Edinburgh, Scotland. It was cold and rainy that night, and the man was looking for shelter. I might have gone elsewhere to find a warm, dry place to sleep, but when you’re down and out, anything will do, right? This man wondered through the graveyard in the dark until he found a large mausoleum, something that looked large enough to allow him to get out of the elements and sleep in relative comfort. This one was known as “The Black Mausoleum”, and it was enormous. It resembles a large rotunda, with the spaces between the pillars filled in with cut stone. When the homeless man stumbled upon this tomb, it was exactly what he had been looking for, and had plenty of room to stretch out and sleep in, and it was dry. So, he did what anyone desperate for shelter would do: he broke in. Because it’s rare to find a tomb with windows, the interior of the vault was completely black. Thankfully, the man had a lighter or some other form of illumination, and he used it to explore. In the centre of the floor was a large, iron grate, similar to what you might find over a sewer drain or in the sidewalk over a subway tunnel in New York City. Beneath the grate was a staircase that curved and twisted its way down to a lower level. I know - this sounds like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, but believe me, it’s real, and it gets worse, because beneath the first level, at the bottom of the stairs, this homeless man discovered four wooden coffins. They were, of course, very old, and the man probably assumed that, because of this, they would contain valuables that he could sell. I imagine he set down whatever it was he was using as a light on one of the nearby coffins, and then began to try and open another one of them. When it didn’t work, he resorted to smashing the lid to break the lock, and that’s when he took a step backward. The boards in the floor must have been very old. The man must have put his full weight in just the right spot. All the possibilities must have lined up perfectly in that moment. A brief groan from the wooden floor was followed by a loud crash, and the man tumbled backward into a long-forgotten pit, some part of an even lower level that dated back centuries. The best guess that historians can make is that the pit was actually used for the illegal dumping of bodies in the wake of the plague, in 1645. What they do know for sure, however, is that the pit was sealed very well. So sealed, in fact, that when this homeless man landed on the pile of 350-year-old corpses, they were surprisingly well preserved. They weren’t skeletal and dry, like you might expect. No, these bodies were wet with something that resembled green slime. The clothing was intact, albeit ragged and torn, and their hair was matted to their shrivelled heads, and of course, there were an overwhelming stench in the air. The man bolted, and I don’t think there’s a single on of us who could blame him for doing so. Fearing for his life, the man climbed out of the pit, up the stone stairs to the main vault, and out the door. He was in such a hurry that he even fell and cut his head on the doorway to the mausoleum. Outside, a security guard was patrolling the area with his canine partner, when the homeless man burst out of the tomb. Now, maybe it was the blood running down the man’s face, maybe it was the white dust that covered him from head to toe because of his adventures… below the tomb, maybe it was just the simple sight of a pale, shrieking figure charging out from a dark crypt – whatever the reason, when the guard saw the man, he turned tail and ran, just as fast as he could, away from the darkness of the cemetery, and into the city beyond.

As difficult as it is to imagine, the frightening events of that night in 1999 were just the beginning. Like a tiny spark igniting an entire barn, the break-in at the Black Mausoleum set in motion something that no one has since been able to adequately explain. It turns out the mausoleum belonged to none other than Sir George Mackenzie, a man who had died in 1690. Along with being a lawyer and Lord Advocate to the crown of Scotland, Mackenzie had been instrumental in sending hundreds of Presbyterian Covenanters to their death in the late 17th century. Today, he is known as “Bloody Mackenzie”, and according to the local reports, this invasion of his resting place set off a series of events that can only be blamed on a very angry spirit, and it didn’t wait very long. They day after the break-in, a woman was taking a walk through the cemetery. It’s unclear whether she was a tourist interested in seeing the Covenanters prison area of the graveyard, or just a local out for a walk, but when she drew near to the mausoleum, she decided to peer through one of the two small grates in the tomb door. As she stood there, a gust of cold wind rushed out of the tomb with such force that she claimed it knocked her backward and off the stone steps, landing on her back. A few days later, another woman was found unconscious on the sidewalk outside the tomb, sprawled out on her back as if she had fallen. She claimed that invisible hands had grabbed her around the throat and attempted to strangle her. When she pulled back the collar of her shit, her neck was ringed by a series of dark bruises, as if fingertips had been driven into her skin. Soon after, another tourist, this time a young man, experienced something eerily similar. For others, though, the consequences of visiting the tomb were more physical and lasting – some people have found scratches on their arms, neck or chest, while others have discovered burn marks. Many of these injuries disappear almost as quickly and mysteriously as they appeared. Some, though, claim to have been permanently scarred. All told, people have broken fingers, felt their hair pulled, been pushed or struck, and all by an unseen force. People have even felt nauseous or numb, or both, and not just one or two people, but hundreds. Sometimes these attacks happen near the tomb, and sometimes they happen later.

One particular story stands out: a former police officer reported participating in a tour of the cemetery a few years ago. After returning to his hotel room that night, he picked up the book he had been given on the tour that covered the details of the haunting. As he did, he felt a sharp pain, as if someone were trying to burn him. When he ran to the mirror to check, he found five deep scratches on his neck, beneath his chin. The following morning, the officer visited his mother and told her what happened. He also gave her the book – according to him, he couldn’t stand to have it around any longer, and so he left it at her house. When he called her later and asked about the book, he caught her in the bathroom. She was standing in front of the mirror, examining five, long scratches on her throat. All told, nearly 400 people have claimed to have been attacked by something other-worldly around the tomb; almost 200 of those people have actually passed out during a ghost tour. Sometimes, every person on a tour will feel the exact same thing. Oftentimes, complete strangers will independently report the exact same experience. The odd experiences extend beyond the tours. An unusually high number of dead animals have been found in the area around Mackenzie’s tomb; unexplainable fires have broken out in nearby buildings; people have reported cold spots, and the usual photographic and electronic malfunctions have occurred there as well. Some have gone looking for an explanation for such a large number of unusual reports, but the theories are as varied as the types of attacks. One idea tries to connect the unlikely dots between the nearby Edinburgh University’s artificial intelligence unit, which uses high voltage machinery, and the sandstone deep undergrown, beneath the ancient cemetery. The porous stone, they say, absorbs the energy and releases it later, causing odd experiences. But this is a difficult theory to swallow, especially for the people who have been physically assaulted by whatever it is that haunts the tomb. The company that conducts the tours through the graveyard is just as interested in finding the cause, though, and that’s why they’ve spent years collecting photographs of injuries, first-hand accounts, letters from witnesses, and other documentation. Unfortunately, most of those records were destroyed in 2003, when a fire swept through their office. Everything inside the tour company’s space was incinerated, but nothing more. Every single nearby building remained untouched. The insurance company never found the cause.

Outside of places with frequent earthquake activity, most people don’t think it’s normal for photographs to fall off their walls, or for a chair to slide across the floor, or to be knocked down by an unseen force. For some, these events are equal parts unusual and inconvenient. For others, though, they are frightening. It’s difficult to say what’s really going on in these stories. Some events can be chalked up to natural causes, or the human tendency to misinterpret the things we see. We are very good at finding patterns, after all – it’s called pareidolia, that moment when we see patterns where they don’t really exist. We do this when we look up at clouds and see the shape of a turtle, but it happens subconsciously as well. Our minds are always searching for patterns – or perhaps there’s something more to the stories. What if there really are sinister, violent spirits that can attack us if provoked? In many stories, priests are brought in to bless the homes and perform exorcisms, a solution that certainly assumed there’s a supernatural source, and sometimes, it’s worked. In the years since the break-in at the Black Mausoleum, there have been two attempts at exorcism. The second of those took place in 2000, just a year after the activity began. Colin Grant, minister of a spiritualist church and professional exorcist, was brought into Greyfriars Cemetery. While standing in front of the Black Mausoleum, he performed his ceremony. While doing so, he claimed to feel overwhelmed by the sensation of oppression, that hundreds of tormented souls were swirling around him, trying to break through into our world. He said that he had feared for his life, and he quickly left before he could finish. Just a few weeks later, Colin Grant was found dead, victim of a sudden heart attack.

[Closing statements – from this episode onward, it seems that the more recent closing statements, including mentions of both the book series and both seasons of the show, have replaced the original closing statements, and so I won’t be transcribing them until I am caught up with the show].

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #poltergeist #grimm brothers #gerald of wales #greyfriars kirkyard #black monk of pontefract #george mackenzie #bloody mackenzie #hauntings #folklore #transcripts #19

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kristipetersenschoonover · 5 years

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This is, perhaps, the most haunting tale surrounding the lost expedition: this message was in a letter left in 1847 on King William Island, and its contents hinted nothing, of course, of what was to come for the unfortunate crew.

If, last year, you watched the first season of AMC’s The Terror, then you have an idea of what this post is about: an exhibit about the mysterious fate of 1845’s vanished Franklin Expedition, the most infamous of Britain’s attempts to find the Northwest Passage.

DEATH IN THE ICE: THE MYSTERY OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION exhibit was at Mystic Seaport from December, 2018 through the end of April, 2019. It landed in the Collins Gallery of the Thompson Exhibition Building after a stint up at the Canadian Museum of History.

This is below decks on the whaling vessel Charles W. Morgan. While this has nothing to do with DEATH IN THE ICE, parts of it looked so much like below decks on THE TERROR or THE EREBUS–as shown in the AMC TV series–that it felt almost like I was on a theatrical set and not the real thing. But make no mistake: real people spent months at sea, sleeping in this tiny bunk.

These doors lead to quarters below deck on the Charles W. Morgan. Again, doesn’t have anything to do with the Franklin Expedition–only that the set for the AMC series had exactly the same doors in some places.

This is below decks on the whaling vessel Charles W. Morgan, which was built in 1841–just four years prior to the Franklin Expedition’s fateful voyage. This is an area, according to the interpretive signage, where whale catch was processed.

This is a lamp that burns in the sleeping quarters, so that visitors can see just how dark it really was below decks on the whaling vessel Charles W. Morgan.

The rigging of the whaling vessel Charles W. Morgan, flagship of Mystic Seaport.

The bow of the whaling vessel Charles W. Morgan, flagship of Mystic Seaport.

Mystic Seaport’s Treworgy Planetarium, which presented a special show, “Polar Night, Arctic Light” as a companion to the DEATH IN THE ICE exhibit. The hour-long program explored the night sky from the perspective of King William Island, where the wrecks were found, so that visitors could see what the Franklin Expedition’s men may have seen.

Me on the steps of Mystic Seaport’s Treworgy Planetarium, which presented a special show, “Polar Night, Arctic Light” as a companion to the DEATH IN THE ICE exhibit. The hour-long program explored the night sky from the perspective of King William Island, where the wrecks were found, so that visitors could see what the Franklin Expedition’s men may have seen.

For those of you who don’t know, the NP was a fabled shortcut from Europe to Asia—something, if found, that would’ve saved time and money, as the current trade routes took months (and, initially, in the fifteenth century, the over-land routes were controlled by the Ottoman Empire).

There were several attempts to find the NP, and ultimately, it wasn’t navigated until 1906. While the passage had been found, the fact that the Franklin Expedition—which consisted of 129 men on The Terror and The Erebus—had not haunted generations of researchers and explorers.

The exhibit was housed in the Seaport’s Thompson Exhibition Building.

Inuit knowledge was ultimately the key to locating the lost Franklin Expedition. One of the things that’s especially interesting about that? The stories the Inuits passed down had to be accurate in terms of where things were located, because without that accuracy, hunting vital to survival couldn’t be carried out.

This is dinner service from THE TERROR—from when it was serving in the War of 1812. I’m not sure if these were in use during the fateful voyage, but I’m thinking not, or someone would have made a note of it somewhere. It’s gorgeous stuff. If I could get replicas of this? I would.

One of the most fascinating aspects of this story is how the men lived on the ice.

From this letter excerpt, it doesn’t seem at all as though the men were suffering too greatly.

One of the newest technologies of the time was canned food. It has been thought that lead in the cans may have contributed to the sailors’ demise.

These items were found at what the Inuit called “The Boat Place.” It is certain they belonged to Franklin’s doomed crew.

These plates were actually on the HMS Erebus and were recovered from the wreck. They have been EXACTLY replicated for AMC’s THE TERROR television series (just watch the first dining scene in Episode 1 and you’ll see them). These particular artifacts feature scratch marks from cutlery.

These plates were actually on the HMS EREBUS and were recovered from the wreck. They have been EXACTLY replicated for AMC’s THE TERROR television series (just watch the first dining scene in Episode 1 and you’ll see them). These particular artifacts feature scratch marks from cutlery.

In 2014 and 2016, Parks Canada discovered The Erebus and The Terror, respectively—and it was the body of Inuit traditional knowledge, which had been passed down for decades, that defined the search area and eventually resulted in success.

I read this and all I could think of was ‘WTF—didn’t these guys read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’?

The hulls of both ships were outfitted with iron plates to help them “cut” through the ice.

This interpretive material outlines alterations to prepare the expedition’s ships for travel.

Although researchers have a much better picture of how the tragedy unfolded, the solving of the mystery—of what actually happened during those frightening and arduous three years—is still underway. Now that the wrecks have been found, there is even more evidence to be studied (prior to this groundbreaking discovery, there had been some artifacts and three graves discovered on Beechey Island).

Examining the mummies on Beechey Island gave scientists an opportunity to consider factors which may have contributed to the sailors’ demise.

I was about to enter the portion of the exhibit that talks about the discoveries of human remains on Beechey Island.

In the 1980s, three graves were discovered on Beechey Island. In each was a man from the Franklin Expedition. Due to the environmental conditions, the bodies were mummified.

In the 1980s, three graves were discovered on Beechey Island. The remarkably preserved mummies revealed much information and spawned several theories about the seamen’s final fate.

Simulation of the cemetery on Beechey Island. There is a fourth grave there also, but it is thought to belong to a later expedition that had actually been sent out in search of the original Franklin Expedition.

This is a simulation of the grave of John Torrington, found on Beechey Island.

Simulation of John Hartnell grave on Beechey Island.

Simulation of William Braine grave at Beechey Island.

In the meantime, however, some of the artifacts have been curated and can be seen in various museums and collections. Recently, the Mystic Seaport in Connecticut hosted DEATH IN THE ICE: THE MYSTERY OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION.

A recreation of what some of the uncovered artifacts looked like before they were unearthed.

A model of the EREBUS on the bottom of the sea.

The bell from the HMS EREBUS. I believe this is one of the first items that was brought to the surface.

I was fortunate enough to visit (since scary sea mysteries have long been a part of my childhood thanks to my dad, this was a MUST SEE no matter what I had to do to get there). The exhibit was open this past winter.

It turns out that the TERROR bombed Stonington, Connecticut, during the War of 1812.

I’ve included some resources for further reading on the Franklin Expedition. If you are a big reader, there are many well-written books on the subject. I’ve listed one here I read that I liked, but don’t be shy about searching through the list of titles online for more.

ARTICLES

Parks Canada: The Franklin Expedition https://www.pc.gc.ca/en/culture/franklin

National Geographic: “How the Discovery of Two Lost Ships Solved an Arctic Mystery,” by Simon Worrall, April 16, 2017

https://news.nationalgeographic.com/2017/04/franklin-expedition-ship-watson-ice-ghosts/

Horror Fuel: “All That’s Left: The Only Remains of the Franklin’s Lost Expedition,” by Daniel S. Liuzzi, January 21, 2018 http://horrorfuel.com/2018/01/21/thats-left-remains-franklins-lost-expedition/

Amusing Planet: “Beechey Island and Franklin’s Lost Expedition,” by Kaushik https://www.amusingplanet.com/2018/04/beechey-island-and-franklins-lost.html

BOOKS

Ice Ghosts: The Epic Hunt for the Lost Franklin Expedition, by Paul Watson https://www.amazon.com/dp/0393249387/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_Hq4cDbEPYKTB4

Death in the Ice: The Mystery of the Franklin Expedition (Souvenir Catalogue series), by Karen Ryan

This is a catalogue of the artifacts in the Death in the Ice exhibit, which was at the Anchorage museum before arriving at Mystic. https://www.amazon.com/dp/0660078813/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_da5cDbB8GYF8T

VIDEO

Buried in Ice: The Franklin Expedition (1988) https://youtu.be/41ajloClO7U

Timeline: The Search for the Northwest Passage https://youtu.be/M1I79u5Y9n4

Revealed: Franklin’s Lost Expedition (2005) https://youtu.be/Wg9Z3EyJ5DU

Secret History: The Hunt for the Arctic Ghost Ship (2015) https://youtu.be/CAQusg8U4EQ

I’ll answer this question before it’s asked: AMC’s The Terror is based on Dan Simmons’ novel of the same name, which I found disappointing on a number of levels. I recommend spending ten hours on the series instead.

AMC’s The Terror

On Demand on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B07BDQK1VV/ref=cm_sw_em_r_pv_wb_9oh0UgMilOViM

Blu-Ray/DVD: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DKSPGP4/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_.x7cDb3FF8JM5

A look back at DEATH IN THE ICE: THE MYSTERY OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION If, last year, you watched the first season of AMC’s The Terror, then you have an idea of what this post is about: an exhibit about the mysterious fate of 1845’s vanished Franklin Expedition, the most infamous of Britain’s attempts to find the Northwest Passage.

#a history of THE TERROR in Connecticut #AMC’s THE TERROR #books about the Franklin Expedition #Ice Ghosts #Mystic Seaport #seaport museums #the bell from the Erebus #THE EREBUS #the Franklin Expedition #THE TERROR #were there any artifacts pulled up from THE TERROR or THE EREBUS

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prixmiumcontent · 6 years

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Doctor Who - “The Unquiet Dead” - S01E03

A Meta Post/Review

Revised 01 December 2019.

Summary

In Cardiff, an undertaker and his servant deal with the fact that their deceased clients keep coming back to life and even kill the living. The Doctor tries to show Rose the TARDIS’s backwards-in-time feature by taking her somewhere more tourist-friendly, but the TARDIS knows best and brings them into the center of the drama. The Doctor, Rose, and reluctant ally Charles Dickens try to help Gwyneth, the undertaker’s servant, make sense of the “sight” which she has possessed all her life and what it might have to do with the ghostly, gaseous creatures who have haunted the funeral parlor and the surrounding areas.

Content Below

Analysis

Arbitrary Ratings

Content Warnings for Parents and Kids (Depending on Your Age)

Analysis

The Thesis Statement

Having shown Rose (and the audience) aliens and monsters and the possible future, the third episode of Doctor Who takes Rose to the past. The first three episodes of New Who are very clearly formulaic to a point that they might be viewed as something of a three-part pilot for a new audience. It is very clearly outlined in order to show the audience something of the breadth that the show can and will offer. There are aspects of the first two episodes that I personally find just a little bit difficult to watch now. They have obvious budget constraints, strange costume and effect choices at times, and several early installment hiccups that would be ironed out even by the end of Series 1.

If and when I am introducing New Who to a friend/new viewer, I always ask them to be ready to bear with me through Episode 5 and discount how silly and terrible aspects of Episodes 4 and 5′s villains are, too. However, I think that this episode is really one of the first that has aged pretty well in spite of any of its early installment difficulties. Now on to the episode itself.

Christmas in Cardiff

The cold open of this episode is more charming to me now than it was when I first watched it. Perhaps it is simply having more context for what a difficult place the United Kingdom was during the 19th Century. It is a place that seems riddled with ghost stories and scary tales in great part because of how difficult living was in the region when the Industrial Revolution had utterly changed the world, entrenching its own ills and advancements without any hope of going back.

One of my favorite things to do when I don’t feel like looking at a screen is to listen to podcasts, and I often favor true crime and mythology. I can’t tell you how often the two intersect in Victorian Britain, so I feel that this setting is a really good choice for Doctor Who to establish its time traveling element backward in time.

The opening scene with Mr. Sneed, a funeral parlor owner, comforting one of his clients upon the death of his grandmother is also something that is uniquely personal to me. Before becoming a teacher, I worked at a cemetery for a while. Anyway, one of the things that stands out to me as possibly unique is how obvious they make it that the reanimated Mrs. Redpath snapped her grandson’s neck. For some reason, this seems much more realistically deadly than some of the deaths that have followed in the show even though the series has a consistently high body count.

While I tend to balk at the idea that Doctor Who in its current incarnation has ever been a children’s program primarily, I appreciate the fact that upon Gwyneth’s introduction the different social norms - the class difference between her and her employer and the way in which he patronizes her in a sexist way in particular - are made clear in a way that seems like it would be easily accessible to younger audience members without a sophisticated understanding of the history of any of those things. It is unsettling without being cartoonish and absurd beyond what it should be.

The special effects in this episode with the Gelth and reanimated corpses themselves may not in any way compare to what Doctor Who has been able to accomplish and expect since, but I think what those visuals lack the set and set pieces and audio make up for. I find the old woman’s scream layered in with the childish cry of the Gelth voice inside her absolutely unnerving.

Again I would muse that Doctor Who isn’t something that I really expect many small children to be interested in on their own except for moments at a time. However as a family program I think that it often has pretty sophisticated storytelling that holds up to deeper analysis. Later in the episode, a person who is viewing the story in a wholly moment-by-moment way may easily sympathize with the Gelth and wonder if the Doctor’s curious, guilt-ridden compassion for them is correct. However, if one simply pays attention to the opening scene before the Doctor and Rose ever arrive (with the TARDIS tugging them in the direction they should go, after all), one can see that there is nothing benevolent, lost, or curious about the entity reanimating Mrs. Redpath’s corpse.

While she goes through the motions that Mrs. Redpath had intended to take before her death - attending the Dickens performance - it would seem that this is either simply a faulty connection between the Gelth and its human vehicle or something of a test run with the Gelth interfacing with the human brain it now controls like a user interface. What is most haunting about this whole thing is that there isn’t any sense that this woman is getting to fulfill a wish in any meaningful way from beyond the grave. Rather, something has coopted her unfulfilled plans after having mercilessly murdered her grandson. There isn’t any symbiosis between anything that remains of Mrs. Redpath in her body after her soul has gone. This is something that a keen viewer (or simply one who has seen it far too many times like myself) might pick up on, but it shows that there are layers to the narrative that are accessible to any age or caliber of viewer with reason.

The Greater Good

As an aside, since I imagine if you’re reading this post you are familiar with or curious about the episode, I want to give a little layman’s refresher on what “bodysnatching” is, given that Mr. Sneed tells Gwyneth that his is what they are about to do. Stripped down, this episode is literally about the ethics and morality of bodysnatching in a modernized and scifi-ized context. I recently heard a refresher in a podcast (Lore if you’re wondering), so I’ll pass it on to you: Bodysnatching was a practice that took place during the early days of medical research and large-scale medical schools. The term “operating theater” is sometimes used into the present day, but if there is an observation room it tends to be sealed behind a window in order to keep the operating room sterile. However, in an age before sterilization was fully understood or practical to do, one way in which medical students would learn about surgery and, more often, the inner workings of the human body would be to watch a more experienced physician perform surgeries or dissections of corpses in a room that literally looked like an amphitheater with a small stage.

One has to remember that prior to imaging technology that we have today, the only way to understand what was going on inside the body was to literally see the inside of a body. Therefore, corpses were in high demand in the training of young medical students. However, laws concerning the remains of law-abiding, typically Christian citizens after death prevented teaching doctors from getting access to the number of corpses they needed. This is where bodysnatching came in.

Bodysnatchers were not necessarily conventional grave robbers. In fact, some would even return clothes and the material riches buried with the deceased to the coffin in order to avoid prosecution as best they could. Their profit was made primarily or entirely through the shady deals that hospitals and medical schools made with them out of desperation, as the only legally available bodies were those who were the unclaimed who had died in workhouses and the bodies of executed murderers. Eventually, some alterations to the law which allowed for the donation of bodies made the need for this practice disappear, but there was a time when medical doctors had to make the choice between what they viewed as the most productive and helpful of two evils.

I think that the clear connection between that and the plot of this episode is as plain as day upon informed viewing.

Except for you.

Before the Doctor and Rose become aware of what is happening outside the TARDIS, we witness a bonding moment between the two of them. Rose is still wearing the same clothes from when she ran away with the Doctor, and one gets the impression that they have been having some issues with the TARDIS since they got back inside after getting chips at the end of the last episode. They haven't gone anywhere else. The Doctor is trying to wrangle the TARDIS into cooperating with backwards time-travel, but for some reason, she is not cooperating as well as she did with going into the future. One might assume that perhaps it is because she knows where they need to go even if they don’t yet.

The Doctor intends to take Rose to Naples, Christmas Eve, 1860. At first, he believes that he has succeeded. The Doctor is clearly in impress-Rose-and-convince-her-to-stay mode, full tilt. She has forestalled any decision about going home, and so he is allowing himself to hope that she will stay.

We have not yet had any complex analysis of why he wants this, but we do know that Nine tried traveling on his own and came back for Rose in particular. While I am not an Old Who expert by any means, we all know that he has had a history of traveling with companions. Generally, the Doctor in New Who is reluctant to take on new companions, but he has a moment which proves him wrong about a particular person. In the case of Nine, though, we don't so much have a moment as a process with his wanting Rose to stay with him, longer and longer each time.

For her part, Rose shows that she has the time travel bug badly when she responds to the idea of visiting a Christmas that has passed long ago. She holds reverence for the fact that something comes and goes and is over forever for everyone except the Doctor. She wants to be a part of this life, no matter what it might cost her, in this moment. After this and her commentary about learning about the expansion of the sun on television in the previous episode, it is once again clear that for whatever she lacks in certification and credentials, Rose is a brilliant person with a thirst for knowledge. She wants to see living history. She wants to experience the world around her.

In Doctor Who Confidential, I recall RTD mentioning that the Doctor and Rose were written to be soulmates of a sort from the beginning, and I think that this more than anything is what he probably meant. It isn’t just about personality quirks, but it is about that itch that Rose has to run away from her ordinary, expected lifestyle to touch the pulse of history unfolding and mattering around her that makes her “like the Doctor” and a match for him in that regard.

Healthy Skepticism

When the Doctor and Rose go for a walk in Cardiff and hear the screams coming from Charles Dickens’s performance as the reanimated Mrs. Redpath makes herself known, the Doctor and Rose go about investigating the problem in distinct ways. The Doctor does have a concern for the safety of others, but he goes directly to the highest vantage point and tries to identify the source and to ask the person who appears to have the most authority. Meanwhile, Rose notices the old woman and the undertaker and his servant and goes after them. She is concerned about the welfare of someone she has picked out of the crowd as needing help. Both of these are important roles, but the fact that Rose does this when she is traveling with the Doctor points out again how he needs someone like her to live up to his calling and reputation.

I had never really considered how both of Rose’s first outings involve her getting trapped in a room in some way. I can’t decide if this is an homage to the old show, a cautionary tale, or simply meant to show that there is a learning curve for traveling with the Doctor. It seems a bit odd that it happens in two episodes in a row, but when Rose awakens in the funeral parlor with Mr. Redpath coming back to life as well, she goes back to her customary cautious skepticism. She tries to go for the most ordinary, rational conclusion first, but she much more quickly accepts that she is dealing with zombies than she did with the shop window dummies in the first episode.

I cannot attest to how well Charles Dickens is portrayed in this episode as I don’t know as much about him as some other historical events and figures. However, I must say that the depiction is sympathetic and interesting. I really enjoy his presence in the episode, and the Doctor’s fawning over him is a cute bit of characterization that shows the Doctor’s ability to compartmentalize even when he does care about the present danger.

It is also nice to have a historical figure so known for pointing out social ills and being a skeptic of spiritualist frauds in a story that points out something that seems like it points to something of that nature going on. I appreciate that the story acknowledges the more rational sides of what could be even when it is presenting something that is more fantastical.

The debates that take place in this episode between the Doctor and Dickens and the Doctor and Rose, on a meta-level, primarily have to do with establishing a balance between skepticism and belief and between standard morality and the willingness to push those boundaries. Each person in either argument can be seen to have a point, and one of the things I admire the most about Doctor Who is the way in which it allows people of all different backgrounds to carry some of their own presuppositions and worldviews with them while challenging others. While the series itself tends to err on the side of science and rationality and in not allowing faith or religious belief to be an “opiate” that allows people to ignore present dangers and concerns, it does not take on such a cynical point of view that the most cynical and skeptical person in the room is always right.

In this case, the Doctor seems very resistant to the idea of an afterlife as Gwyneth perceives it, even though he has no problem with the fact that the Gelth need corporeal bodies in spite of existing outside them. While he knows that there are multiple universes and dimensions, he is dismissive of the idea that Gwyneth’s parents sent these “angels” to look after her. And this gives way to the Doctor cynically using what he believes to be Gwyneth's (primitive?) beliefs to further an agena. While he can be a tolerant and open-minded person, in this case Nine isn't having any of that.

The Doctor uses Gwyneth’s beliefs to manipulate her. He conveniently ignores those aspects of the narrative she presents about the Gelth and her understanding of them that he knows are objectively false but which further his purpose of giving these “pitiable” creatures the opportunity to live.

To be fair, one of the reasons he is so insistent about doing this is because they inform the Doctor that they lost their corporeal forms during the Time War. He feels personally responsible for what they have lost. He sees a resource in the empty human bodies of the dead, and he comes to a compromise in his mind. He plans to allow them to go through with their plan of using the reanimated dead and then to take them to a place where such an advanced race might be able to build new and proper bodies for themselves. Therefore, he allows Gwyneth to believe that she is helping “angels” that her parents sent from the afterlife to comfort her.

The Gelth themselves also use emotional manipulation in order to convince the Doctor and Gwyneth that they are pitiable creatures. They utilize children’s voices and a visage that looks very much like the shape of a human child when they manifest into a gaseous form. This comes in spite of the fact that we have already seen that they will kill before they will verbally communicate with humans. They have ingratiated themselves with Gwyneth and have comforted her. They have learned about her life and needs because they need her in order to establish a physical link within the rift that has opened up between their part of the universe and Cardiff. In spite of the fact that longterm exposure to the spacetime rift has allowed Gwyneth to develop an apparently-supernatural insight into the minds of others around her, among other things, she has had no ability to discern the true, more violent intentions of the Gelth.

Rose takes a different angle, but she is equally as skeptical about Gwyneth’s qualifications to make her own decisions about this circumstance. Rather than allowing Gwyneth to “believe what she needs to” in order to get the job done, Rose wants to protect her from her naivete that is based on the cultural differences between a woman of Rose’s time and one of Gwyneth’s. While this point of view may be more immediately sympathetic to me, it is also making the point that not meeting a person where they are and acknowledging the insight they do have, in spite of any blindspots or ignorance, is also dangerous.

Last but not least, we have Dickens who is skeptical about the very existence of something other-worldly influencing the physical and real world he knows. This is in spite of a few references to the fact that he perhaps holds to some religious and/or metaphysical beliefs. He resists the rampant abuses of the spiritualism fad of the time while also allowing himself to be convinced through empirical evidence. Charles is the character in the story who gains the moth “faith” in something that he cannot understand or make sense of completely, and he comes out of it with a renewed sense of vigor in his person and life in spite of the fact that he is nearing its end.

Gaslighting (not really I'm just making a joke)

Now, back to the way the Doctor manipulated Gwyneth and its consequences. Because the Doctor missed every possible sign that the Gelth were up to no good in a much more deliberate, calculating way than the Nestene Consciousness was, the Gelth manage to begin pouring themselves through the portal Gwyneth has become for them. The Doctor and Rose have to lock themselves in a sort of cage? I don't know what that is for in a funeral parlor. Maybe it is a closet, but it has a weird, barred door. They are left alone, and if not for external help, the Doctor and Rose would have both been overtaken by the Gelth. Rose is again faced with the possibility of her imminent death, and again she says that she is glad she met the Doctor rather than allowing herself to dissolve into regret. She doesn't want to die, but she seems to be continually convincing herself that even dying like this is better than not having done it at all.

I lived and breathed Doctor/Rose from the first few weeks I was into Doctor Who. Ever since I felt like I had a footing in the canon, though, I have always found that fellow-shippers always seemed to view the Doctor and Rose's relationship through rose-colored glasses (pun intended or no). I think that one of the most interesting parts of it is how it experiences very heartfelt, sweet growth through frankly insane, impulsive actions. It isn't an especially normal love story by a long shot, and I don't really understand the compulsion to act like it is, but I digress.

Luckily, Dickens decides to come back after having run away in terror. He figures out that the creatures are made of gas and that they can essentially pull them out using the gas system in the funeral parlor. Planet, Doctor, and Rose saved again. Then, the Doctor is faced with figuring out how to clean up the mess he has made through listening to his survivor's guilt instead of common sense and assuming that he knew better about intergalactic politics than everyone else in the room - regardless of the context and stakes. He tries to insist that Gwyneth send the Gelth back, and when she does not immediately comply, he again calls upon her beliefs in a way that he clearly does not himself espouse. He tells her that if her parents could look down and see her that they would help her and want her to do it. He knows that she has realized that the Gelth have manipulated and lied to her, but he still goes about trying to manipulate her. Poor Gwyneth simply could not catch a break from anyone.

The Gelth pulled this trick on all of them when they simply remained silent to demands for promises of safety, to the Doctor’s plan for helping the “few” of them, and so on. This lack of good faith conversation is shown on “both sides” - when it is intended to shelter and protect someone and when it is deliberately malicious. In both cases, it still causes some harm.

When Dickens returns and the Doctor once again tries to manipulate Gwyneth in order to save her and to, by extension, save everyone, it is still clear that the Doctor isn’t the one who is in control. Rose tries to insist that she stay behind because she has come to care about Gwyneth, but the Doctor successfully pleads that both the humans go without him. He even uses the phrase “I won’t leave her while she’s still in danger,” which one might argue is yet another emotionally manipulative phrase, but I tend to think that it is a very raw, true statement about how the Doctor must view life and death in some of the circumstances he finds himself in.

More things in Heaven and Earth

The Doctor is shocked when he works out that Gwyneth has been physically dead the entire time she had been interfacing with the Gelth. They killed her, and yet she maintained control of her mind. While she was literally their bridge, she manages to hold them and push them out. I wonder how much of that ws intentional or a matter of narrative convenience. In any case, it shows that the Doctor is also wrong about the existence of a person’s intentionality and personhood “after death,” at least in this one particular case. When he rejoins Dickens and Rose outside and recounts this to them, Dickens is the one who reminds him to have an open mind even when the truth seems regressive or irrational, showing that he has learned his lesson. The Doctor needs to learn his own lessons too, sometimes.

While this isn’t a Christmas special as such, it also introduces the fact that there is a certain special, forgiving nature to the Christmas season even in this universe and regardless of why. I think that this episode is affirming regardless of where you fall on the spectrum of easy-faith or easy-skepticism. It shows that the best way to approach something is through honest searching. That is why Gwyneth is a tragic hero in this episode. No matter what anyone else around her was doing, she was approaching her attempts to understand from an authentic place. She listened without a lot of presuppositions, and that was her strength. In the end, it cost her her life but let her keep her soul.

Arbitrary Ratings

Story - ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Characterization - ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Aesthetic - ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Overall - ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Considerations for Watching with Parents or Kids (Depending on Your or Their Ages)

This episode is actually pretty family-friendly except that it includes a lot of death. Lots and lots of death and dealing with corpses. If you feel your parent or child can handle that, then you’re probably safe.

Support

If you enjoyed this post and are over 20 years of age, please consider donating to my ko-fi to help an under-employed teacher pay her bills and for small millennial pleasures like avocados. You can find a link above. Other ways to support and encourage my writing are to comment/reply/engage and to reblog!

#doctor who #doctor who meta #rose tyler #the doctor #ninth doctor #nine #gwyneth #mr. sneed #doctor who series 1 #prixmiumtext #prixmiumtextdw #review #long post

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tellmewhatyouheardpodcast · 3 years

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The Headless Horseman: part 1

Hail and welcome another episode of Tell Me What You Heard, the podcast dedicated to deep dives on the creatures, motifs, and legends of world folklore. I’m your host LG. In our four episode first season, we’re focusing on wailing women, galloping Hessians, Halloween motifs, and some scary stories to chill your bones. So throw another log on the fire, put your cat on your lap, and get ready to be chilled and, if you’re lucky, thrilled, because this episode, we’re talking about the Headless Horsemen.

***

So, I did say headless horseMEN in the intro. But the truth is, you’ve probably only heard of one headless horseMAN, and that’s the one from Washington Irving’s short story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, published in 1820. If you haven’t read the story, you’ve probably seen one of its approximately 1 billion adaptations. Disney did one in 1949; Tim Burton in 1999; the Smurfs even did one in 2013. It’s pretty weird.

The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow is usually depicted as a tall, broad figure astride a black horse -- maybe the horse has flaring nostrils and glowing eyes. The figure itself sometimes wears a cape with a tall collar -- I think this costume is to enhance the fact that his head, instead of being , y’know, inside the collar, isn’t. Maybe instead the head is under his arm in a football carry, or maybe he carries it in front of him on the saddle, or maybe he’s holding it by the hair. The head itself is non-descrip -- the facial features don’t even get a mention in the story. That’s because it’s not the head itself, but the headless figure, that’s the focus of terror.

In Irving’s story, the headless horseman is described as

the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind...Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.

In plainer language, the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow is said, by the superstitious locals, to be the ghost of a German soldier, fighting for the British in the Revolutionary War. His head was blown off by a cannonball, and ever since then he rides at night along the roads of the valley all night, looking for it. The Hessian -- that’s the word we call German troops hired by the British to fight in the war -- was buried in the cemetery of Sleepy Hollow’s Old Dutch Church and, the legend says, the reason he’s always seen in such a hurry is because he’s always trying to get back to the graveyard by dawn

During my research, I found that Irving’s Headless Horseman isn’t actually based on any local legend from that area. Instead, the idea is mish mash of creatures and stories borrowed European folklore. What’s more, the famed protagonist of Irving’s story, Ichabod Crane, also has precedence in European legends and literature. Ichabod, like Washington Irving himself, is both a combination of old Europe and the new America. He doesn’t fit squarely in either category, and he carries on his shoulders a long literary tradition -- picked up later by the likes of Walt Disney, Tim Burton, and, y’know, the Smurfs.

***

When I first dove into the horseman legend, I realized that the way the Horseman chases his victims -- hunts them, you might say -- made me think of the Wild Hunt. The Wild Hunt is a folklore motif that has been referenced lately in video games like The Witcher and The Elder Scrolls, and I’m pretty sure in the Teen Wolf TV reboot. It hails from Northern Europe, and is especially prevalent in Scandinavia and Britain, but similar tales exist as far south as Italy.

The motif consists of a band of supernatural hunters, on horseback, passing in an intense pursuit. Depending on where the tale comes from, the riders are ghosts, or elves, or fairies, or valkyries, and they always have a leader of epic magnitude -- a God like Odin, or a mythological figure or king like Merlin. The idea was adapted for Stan Jones’s 1948 country song “Riders in the Sky” -- in that song, the Riders are eternally doomed to chase the Devil’s cattle. Sometimes the Wild Hunt has that putative element, but the legend itself is -- obviously -- not Christian in origin and doesn’t usually include any type of damnation. We don’t know how far back the legend goes -- we don’t know how far back any legend goes, not really -- but we do know Jacob Grimm was the first to document the Wild Hunt concept in his 1835 book Deutsche Mythologie, a book that was published 15 years after The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, to give you a sense of time.

I don’t posit that the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow makes any direct reference to the Wild Hunt, but I do want to point out that the idea of a wild chase on horseback, and an innocent being pursued or endangered by it, is quite literally a tale as old as time. Because, make no mistake -- if you stumble upon the Wild Hunt, or hear it closeby, you are toast. The hunters are not just a spectacle -- they’re a threat.

To avoid being trampled or hunted yourself, you can follow the steps of the man from the Cornish version of the myth.

A poor herdsman was journeying homeward across the moors one windy night, when he heard at a distance among the tors the baying of hounds, which he soon recognised as the dismal chorus of the dandy-dogs. It was three or four miles to his home; and, very much alarmed, he hurried onward as fast as the treacherous nature of the soil and the uncertainty of the path would allow; but, alas! the melancholy yelping of the hounds, and the dismal halloa of the hunter came nearer and nearer.

After a considerable run, they had so gained upon him, that on looking back -- oh, horror! -- he could distinctly see hunter and dogs. The former was terrible to look at, and had the usual complement of saucer-eyes, horns, and tail accorded by common consent to the legendary devil. He was black, of course, and carried in his hand a long hunting-pole. The dogs, a numerous pack, blackened the small patch of moor that was visible; each snorting fire, and uttering a yelp of an indescribably frightful tone.

No cottage, rock, or tree was near to give the herdsman shelter, and nothing apparently remained to him but to abandon himself to their fury, when a happy thought suddenly flashed upon him, and suggested a resource.

Just as they were about to rush upon him, he fell on his knees in prayer. There was strange power in the holy words he uttered; for immediately, as if resistance had been offered, the hell hounds stood at bay, howling more dismally than ever ; and the hunter shouted "Bo shrove!" "which," says my informant, "means, in the old language, the boy prays." At which they all drew off on some other pursuit, and disappeared.

So here, the Cornish man was able to fend off the villains with a special word of divine or holy provenance. That fact alone makes it clear how much Christianity has seeped into this myth. I’ve read other accounts where a full prayer is offered, especially when a holy man is the one on the short end of the Wild Hunt Stick.

If only poor Ichabod Crane had known this in Irving’s story. Because, instead of praying, Ichabod does exactly what I think most of us would do in his situation, no matter how brave or sophisticated we are or think we are.

He bolts.

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

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1x19: Provenance

Now:

We open to a fancy couple admiring an olde tyme portrait they recently won at a charity auction. They won it, loved it SO much they ran home and hung it above their fireplace first thing --didn’t even change out of their fancy clothes. That’s love, folks! The wife finds the family in the photograph to be a bit creepy, but it seems to turn the husband on.

They decide to take the evening into the bedroom. As the husband locks up, we watch the father in the photograph move his head! The house gets darker, the music gets creepier, the straight razor in the photo gets missing-er. The wife calls for the husband to hurry, and the husband strips as he heads to bed. He starts to crawl into bed in the pitch black but recoils and turns on the light to find his wife dead and blood everywhere! He falls to the floor, turning to see something off screen, and screams!

Sam and Dean are enjoying some downtime at a bar. Well, Dean’s enjoying it, but Sam’s busy doing research. Dean wants a bit of shore leave (omg, that’s all he ever wants but the life keeps reeling him back in. DEAN.) He tries helping Sam hook up with one of the women he’s talking to, but Sam is not interested.

So much is said --and not said-- with this exchange. Dean’s trying to make Sam feel better then only way Dean knows how, but it’s the exact opposite of what Sam wants (Just wait Sammy, older brother’s got your back.) He does want to hunt though and he caught a case. Couple, throats slashed in own home. Their dad’s journal(!) notes a pattern in history. Time to check it out. Dean wants a little more time with the ladies at the bar before they head out though. I don’t necessarily miss this part of Dean, but he is one charming motherfucker.

The next morning, while Dean sleeps off the night before, Sam sweeps the couple’s home and comes up with nothing. It’s free of the supernatural and all of the couple’s belongings. They head to the auction house to investigate. (Sidenote, love the tracking shot of the cars, and Baby all muddy and vintage at the end!)

Ah, because I’ve never fully bought the blue-collar vibe we’re supposed to take from Sam and Dean, when it’s highlighted it strikes me more than usual. Dean is out of his element at the auction house. Sam is not. (But Dean is also smart and can read people and read a room.)

They’re wearing their overshirts and Carthartts though and stick out like a sore thumb to Daniel Blake, the auction house owner.

The brothers start to look over all the pieces up for auction, and Sam sees the portrait --and he sees Sarah Blake, the proprietor's daughter, and an intellectual rival that stirs Sam’s heart.

Sarah and Sam make heart eyes. Dean notices said heart eyes. I had heart eyes all over this moment.

Daniel Blake breaks up the little party and tells the brothers to leave. They head to the motel and Jerry Wanek went a little overboard with the decorating this week.

Sam gives Dean a lesson on provenances and how they could use them to track the pieces of art--see if they match with the past. Dean suggests Sam call Sarah to get the information.

Sam and Sarah get that dinner (and Sam’s bang game is STRONG.)

Sam’s wine ordering game? Not so strong. (Um, I know he was studying a lot and I guess he’s just a doofus white college boy so maybe wine country wouldn’t be that interesting to him but he lived in wine country adjacent land for four years. You picked up nothing, Sam Winchester?) Sarah bails him out and orders “a beer.” Lol, fancy place only has one kind probs.

They bond over college and lack of dating, and loss of loved ones (Well, Sam can’t quite talk about it. SAMMY.) Sarah’s speech about losing her mom and going into a safe shell kind of hurt --like, has Sam ever left his shell?

Back at the motel, it’s revealed that Sarah just handed the provenances over to Sam (and I’d like to discuss Dean acting like he doesn’t have a spot on memory and flubbing the word again...Sam’s getting leads and taking control in this case. Do you think Dean’s trying to help him feel better by encouraging him this way?)

Sam finds that the portrait is the link to all the murders. They break into the auction house (and young Dean can scale a fence like a ninja) and salt and burn the portrait.

Easy-peasy. The rest of the episode is just Sam and Sarah making googly eyes at each other. The end.

Oh, wait. NM.

The next morning, Dean realizes that he dropped his wallet at the auction house. They rush over there before it opens. Sarah finds them --and they’re both adorkable dorks. Sam feeds her the line of them leaving town, but Dean steps in an insists they’re sticking around for a bit. Heehee. Also, he found his wallet. Sarah suggests another date. Sam shuts it down. Frowny Face. He also sees the portrait they burned the night before! His “Oh my God!” cracked me up. His panic over the painting is pretty gold, insisting that they don’t sell it and hightailing it out of there to alert Dean of this new development. They decide they need to learn everything about the family in the painting.

To the library!

(Or bookstore or something?) The man helping them dumps a lot of information about the family. It seems the whole family was murdered, bodies cremated.

Meanwhile, Daniel Blake sells the painting anyway.

Sam points out some differences to the painting in a book and the real one. Dean reveals that he’s a very savvy reader when he admits to not reading The DaVinci Code. (Natasha: LOL) The brothers also talk about Sam’s reticence on forming a connection with Sarah. Sam doesn’t see the point --they’re just going to leave anyway. Dean thinks Sarah could be good for Sam. Sam’s evasive eye roll says he knows that to be true as well. Sam Winchester, king of running away from Dealing With It. For once, Dean is earnest and trying to find a way to help Sam. There were some walls broken down this evening, guys.

In the end, they need Sarah for the painting, so Sam calls her again, and finds out it was already sold.

At the buyer Evelyn’s house, our next victim sits in her chair and reads a book while the creepy family portrait gazes down at her from above the mantle. (Seriously what is it about this painting that makes people hang this IMMEDIATELY in their cozy living spaces?) The father in the painting moves again and a straight razor lifts into the air…

Outside, the Impala and Sarah’s van pull up like a swat team arriving on site. All three sprint into the house and find Evelyn nearly decapitated, still sitting primly in her seat. Sarah manages the presence of mind to notice the painting has changed (the father is now looking forward), even as she’s freaking the fuck out over finding a dead body.

Back at the Winchesters’ motel, Sarah demands answers. Sam lays out the truth for her. The supernatural is real and there’s something in that painting that’s killing every owner it can reach. Sarah takes this remarkably well and insists that she’ll accompany them on their monster hunt, thank you very much.

Can we take a moment to appreciate Dean’s laptop decoration? Dean, you adorable dork.

“Are we going or what?” Sarah demands about their mission to catch a murdering ghost, heading out the door without them.

“Sam,” Dean says (possibly halfway seriously), “marry that girl.”

Back at the latest victim’s house, they check out the painting, comparing it against the photocopy of the original they got from the book shop. (This is like those puzzle pictures I used to read as a child.) There’s a switchblade opened and closed, the father’s head position has changed, and the painting in the background is different. Now the painting behind our ghosty family features the family mausoleum instead of a placid landscape. Armed with this clue, Sam takes Sarah on a whirlwind date featuring not one - but four local cemetery visits!

The find the mausoleum de Merchant and break inside. The mausoleum features the family’s internment plaques for cremation, urns, and a handful of toys encased behind glass. As they examine the toys, an ominous breeze blows through the crypt. Dean notices that there aren’t enough urns on display. The dad’s cremains are missing.

Sam’s epic dream date continues, as he sits outside of a hospital with Sarah while Dean tries to dig up information about what happened to the dad’s body. Sam picks an eyelash from her cheek and implores her to make a wish. It’s...pretty cute, actually. Sarah takes a moment to press for answers from Sam about their relationship status. Sam’s answer: It’s complicated.

“When people are around me they get hurt,” Sam tells her. He doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to her. (Me: thinks about Sarah’s eventual death in season 8 and cries angry tears.)

I love Sarah’s response to Sam’s “stay away from me for your own good” line. “That’s very sweet, and very archaic,” she tells him. “I’m a big girl, Sam. It’s not your job to make decisions for me.” It starts to get emotional between them when TA DA! Interrupting Dean interrupts.

Dean reports that he’s uncovered the location of the dad’s body. They proceed to literally uncover it, digging out his grave and then salting and burning it while Sarah stands around and holds the flashlight.

Sam and Sarah head into the house to check out the painting. The dad is back to normal but now the little girl is completely gone from it. Uh oh. (Holy parallels to The Real Ghostbusters, Batman.) As Sam realizes the razor is also gone from the painting, a small girl’s evil cackling fills the room. The door slams shut.

Dean tries to open the door from the outside while Sam and Sarah scramble to find salt or iron to fend off the ghost. Enter: small creepy girl ghost dragging her dolly and holding a blade. Sam fumbles for an iron fireplace poker and swats the ghost away.

Sarah uses her antique know-how to bring Sam’s attention to the fact that dolls used to be made with the child’s actual hair. Dean races off to the cemetery and tries to break down the pane encasing the little girl’s doll. Meanwhile, Sam’s getting battered by the ghost (and Sarah’s turning her back on a blade-wielding homicidal ghost to try to help him).

At the mausoleum, Dean tries to bash the pane with the butt of his gun and then realizes...oh wait, he has a gun. He shoots, he scores. Dean bashes away the glass, pulls out his most unreliable lighter, and finally lights the doll on fire just as the girl advances on Sarah with her blade.

The doll’s burned. The girl’s back in the painting. And Sam got to fall onto Sarah during the fight and exchange a Moment. Yay? Sam - because he’s Sam - does not take advantage of this opportunity.

At last they wrap up the case. Sarah orders her people to burn the painting. Sarah and Sam share an awkward goodbye, made slightly less awkward when Dean stops third wheeling it and heads back to the car. Sarah points out that she made it through her Sam encounter alive so...if Sam wanted to see her sometime, then he should. (Boris: I will NEVER forgive Crowley for killing her.) Sam leaves, wistful looks still turned up to 11 but seconds later knocks on the door again. When Sarah opens it, they smile at each other and kiss.

The Da Vinci Quotes:

So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?

Like a Da Vinci Code deal?

We think that that painting is haunted.

This isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?

What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.

You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.

We’re there, chuckles.

Oh My God!

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ruminativerabbi · 4 years

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The Interconnectedness of Generations

The passing this week of Irving Roth, one of the truly great Holocaust educators, was a loss for his family and his friends, of course. And it was a loss for our entire community. But it was also a loss for the larger world of Holocaust education, one made all the more terrible by the fact that he will not be replaced, by the fact that the countless young people (and countless really is the right word here) he spoke to in every one of the fifty states and all across the world about his personal experiences at Auschwitz and Buchenwald will collectively constitute the final generation of young people to meet actual Shoah survivors and to hear their stories not on videotape or in books but personally from their own mouths. This is how the world works in other contexts as well, of course—when Albert H. Woolson died in the summer of 1956, there were no remaining veterans of the Union Army left among the living for young people, or any people, to hear speak about the Civil War in terms of their personal experience. (The last living veteran of the Confederate Army had died five years earlier, so Woolson was the very last one on either side.) When Peter Mills died in 1972, there were no more individuals alive who had been slaves in the ante-bellum South. And yet, even though all events far enough back in history must have some specific individual who becomes the last living person to have experienced that specific event in person, there is a certain poignancy to that thought when applied to the Shoah because that what the survivors of the Shoah survived was not a tragic accident like the sinking of the Titanic or a natural disaster like the eruption of Krakatoa, but a well-organized, fully-funded, diabolical plot to murder them and every other Jew in occupied Europe. Given that detail, it feels amazing that there were survivors at all and doubly so that some have managed to live to become nonagenarians or even centenarians. But once they are gone from the world, there will be none left who can counter the kind of demented anti-Semite who insists that the Shoah never really happened with the simple sentences that Irving spoke so easily and so gracefully. I was there. I saw this happen. I knew these people. I was in that place. I remember. I personally was an eye-witness.

But even though every event in the far-enough-past past has logically to have a final witness to it, there is also the way the generations interlink and interconnect to consider.

For my first example, I submit the case of Lyon Tyler Jr., who died at age ninety-five last October and whose grandfather, John Tyler, was our tenth president. Elected to the vice-presidency in 1840, Tyler came to the presidency when William Henry Harrison died in office after serving all of thirty-one days. Tyler was an interesting personality in his own right. Like our forty-fifth president, he ended up serving only one term, but unlike President Trump he failed even to win his own party’s nomination for a second term, let alone actually be returned to the White House by the electorate. (The Whigs nominated Henry Clay instead, who lost to Democrat James K. Polk.) Probably, that was all for the best—Tyler not only owned slaves himself and ended up siding with the Confederacy during the Civil War, but he actually ran for office and was duly elected to the Confederate House of Representatives shortly before his death in 1862. But my question was not how an American President born in the eighteenth century—Tyler was born in 1790—could have ended up working actively against the nation he once led, but how a grandson of his could possibly still have been alive in 2020.

The answer, it turns out, isn’t all that amazing. Tyler was married twice and had fifteen children in all, the youngest of whom, a boy named Lyon, was born in 1854 when his father was sixty-three years old. Lyon, who died in 1935, fathered a son in 1925, Lyon Jr. And it was this Lyon Jr., the grandson of a man born in 1790, who died last October at age ninety-five. (Even more amazing is that he wasn’t the sole surviving grandson of our tenth president—Lyon Jr. had a younger brother named Harrison who was born in 1928 and who is still alive.)

So to think that all three of my granddaughters’ lives overlapped with the life of a man whose grandfather occupied the White House in the 1840s—that collapses history just a bit and makes the past seem—if not really part of the present—then at least intertwined with it in a way that makes events from John Tyler’s eighteenth century childhood somehow linked—at least fancifully—with my twenty-first century granddaughters’.

Of course, to as keen an observer of the human condition as myself, the eighteenth century doesn’t really feel all that distant. I regularly take my youngest granddaughter for a long walk in Ridgewood, Queens, where she lives, in the course of which we follow a route that takes us around the perimeter of two contiguous cemeteries, one of the which, the Linden Hill Cemetery, has some very, very old Jewish graves in it. And on our walk we regularly pass the grave of the late Mrs. Caroline Welsh, who died at age 90 in 1860—so who was therefore born in 1770, a cool six years before the United States even existed as an independent nation. I think about Mrs. Welsh and the others in her row as we walk by their graves, wondering what the corner of Flushing Avenue and Metropolitan Avenue looked like when she was borne to her final resting place…and what that corner might have looked like, assuming it wasn’t still virgin forestland, in the year of her birth. But I also wonder what Mrs. Walsh would make of us, of me and little Josie, as we pass by on our walk all these centuries after her birth. Would she find us indecipherable? Would she look at my cell phone or at Josie’s super-cool Italian stroller and wonder what planet we came to earth from? Or would she see, not something strange or alien but entirely familiar: a man and a baby going for a week on a shady street just as grandfathers have taken their baby granddaughters out for some fresh air since the beginning of time?

I noted two different video clips on youtube the other week that fed into this line of thinking for me.

The one was a clip from the old television show “I’ve Got a Secret,” which aired in its first iteration for fifteen years starting in 1952. For those too young to remember, I’ll explain that the format was very simple: a panel of celebrities was challenged to ask contestants as many questions as they could squeeze into the time allotted in order to figure out the contestants’ “secret.” Most of the time, the secrets were slightly silly. (The lifeguard at a nudist colony sticks in my mind for some reason.) But the two clips I want to write about now weren’t silly at all.

The first aired in February 1956 and featured one Samuel J. Seymour, who at that point was the sole living soul to have been present in Ford’s Theater when President Lincoln was assassinated almost ninety years earlier. He spoke well and clearly, although he didn’t look too well or too healthy. (He died a mere two months later.) I don’t know if readers will respond the way I did (you can take a look by clicking here), but I had that same sense of the past intruding on the present as I watched: it would have been amazing enough to listen to someone who saw or talked to President Lincoln at all, let alone someone who saw him being shot. And yet our lives overlapped: I was a little boy of three and he was a nonagenarian, but we occupied the planet for a while together. And that brought President Lincoln into my life in a way that I would otherwise have found highly unlikely.

The second, also amazing, featured two older women, Delia and Bertie Harris of Knoxville, Tennessee. (Their episode aired in 1961 when both women were in their mid-seventies. To see the clip, click here.) And their “secret” was that their grandfather, Simon Harris, had been a soldier in the Revolutionary War and was with Washington at Valley Forge. How it was possible was also revealed: Simon’s son (the women’s father) was born in 1818 and he became a father when he was in his seventies. And now his daughters were themselves in their seventies…and that is how two women appeared on American television in the 1960s whose grandfather fought under George Washington. And so Washington himself stepped out of the shadows for the eight-year-old me and took his place in my parents’ living room. At eight, I wouldn’t have known to refer to what I was feeling as suggestive of the interconnectedness of the generations. (I heard that. But I was definitely not that precocious.) In retrospect, though, that is precisely how I felt as I listened to these elderly dames and imagined their grandfather’s ghost flitting past us as we communed with President Washington during their fifteen minutes of fame in TV-land.

Both clips, of course, were meant to entertain rather than to serve as spurs to deeply ruminative thought. But both clips lured me into the same kind of thinking that the story about the death of President Tyler’s grandson inspired: that sense that the past is (pace Faulkner) not only not really gone, it’s not even really past. And that is how I propose we respond to Irving Roth’s death too.

The survivor generation is dwindling. When I came to Shelter Rock, there were literally scores of survivors in our midst. Earlier on, when I was a little boy, our neighborhood was filled to overflowing with survivors. (They were called “refugees” back then before the word “survivor” came into common use.) But we can serve, all of us, as those people’s hooks into future generations. My granddaughters will not know people like Irving personally. But they can know me. And us. And all those who knew these people and listened carefully and can say, slightly derivatively but still meaningfully and sincerely, “I wasn’t there…but I knew a man who was. And this is what he told me, what he saw with his own eyes, what he was an eye-witness to….”

#Irving Roth

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