2021.09.18 03:02 GimmeYourTaquitos Criand never answered but i want to know.
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2021.09.18 03:02 jack64467 Report: Marc Gasol a 'name to watch' for Golden State Warriors
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2021.09.18 03:02 B-Pgh420 Question about the Sniper ????
2021.09.18 03:02 CherryBlossom724 😊
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2021.09.18 03:02 throwawaymasculinity Reddit, you get to pick one instrument, voice, story in your music, what is it?
2021.09.18 03:02 ExaminationWild6826 What’s your favorite classical music?
2021.09.18 03:02 Dependent_Day7100 PRICKED
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2021.09.18 03:02 DxD222 Purple box logo Tee landed in town!!
2021.09.18 03:02 idonthateshinigami fatal 100
2021.09.18 03:02 EmolaBoi Will delete if not allowed, but I filmed my first ever reaction video today for Yellowjacket by Spiritbox. If you don't mind, please give it a check and feel free to critique me. Sorry for the awkwardness in it!
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2021.09.18 03:02 Poorly-Drawn-Beagle The Battyscombe Asylum Case
Swear to God I don't know how I would up working for Tremblien. I used to be what you'd call a ghostbreaker, a skeptic, a professional debunker. Was on TV and everything. America's Most Haunted. Charles Kovacs was a household name- okay, small households. But it turned out there were small towns who didn't like having their only tourist attractions crapped on, and a lot of them had lawyers and some of those lawyers were better than anyone could afford, and the show's heyday was past so the producers didn't think I was worth the trouble. So Most Haunted got gutted and Charlie Kovacs got tossed out on his ass. All the bad press, and, well, some of the drinking, had a lot of networks unwilling to touch me. Even with a decent background in science journalism the best I could do was follow UFO sightings for a crappy tabloid, now that was irony.
In the end, I got taken in by Thaddeus Tremblien, one of the world's most famous paranormal investigators, which was still some rich irony but at least it paid surprisingly better. Clients came to his office complaining about ghosts and witches and all kinds of nonsense, and I got paid to do the legwork. Better than being broke, but ungrateful as it seemed, some cases were just... eesh.
"The house has been in my wife's family for generations," said Mr. Borley, a thin, sweaty, balding man who rocked back and forth as he talked. "And I am quite sure the rumors about it are true. The place is most assuredly haunted."
I took notes diligently (well, sort of) while Tremblien leaned back behind his desk and listened, hands steepled. He always looked to me like Vincent Price retired and put on weight, but he was sharper than he looked and took everything seriously.
Borley ranted on. "Since we began renovations there have been nothing but unexplained accidents, machine failures of the most improbable kind, injuries. And dogs won't go near the place! And, of course, there's the legend-" Aaaand there we go. I tried not to scoff about the 'unexplained' bit. Far as I'm concerned that's a word that means 'easily explained by non-morons'- "the legend of Dr. Battyscombe, who went on a killing spree nearly two centuries ago when the house was briefly converted into an insane asylum. Many on the construction crew swear they've seen a ghostly figure dressed like an old-time doctor- their words, I'm afraid..."
He went on. Tremblien nodded at the right times, I managed not to laugh. In the end we agreed to take the case, a retainer exchanged hands, there was lots of stumbling and thanking as the new client left the office.
Tremblien spoke, in his voice- deep, cultured, good for theater; "And what did you make of our new client's case, Mr. Kovacs?" He pronounced my name the "right" way, the Hungarian way- KoVACH. I didn't, but it didn't really bother me much.
I shrugged. "Most likely Borley wants to cash in on the place's reputation- I dunno, make it a hotel or something- and he hopes if he has someone like us check it out we'll add credibility."
"Mm." He always did that. "Then you discount offhand the possibility that something genuinely supernatural may be at work in the old house."
"It's been nearly a year, boss. You can't possibly be surprised by that."
Tremblien raised his weird, pointy eyebrows and shrugged. "Nonetheless, we have a contract, and as you are the employee, I am sending you to this house to inspect for any possibility of untoward spiritual presence."
"Fine by me," I murmured. Pay's pay, but you gotta earn it.
"And for this job... yes, I believe I shall call Dr. Randi and Mr. Helstrand to accompany you."
"You can just come out and say that you hate me, you know."
Saida Randi was from Columbia University's parapsychology department, which, unbelievably, exists. Somewhere out there you can get a degree in hunting ghosts and sticking electrodes to someone's head while they guess what card you're holding, and apparently that's what Dr. Randi did Adrian Helstrand was Scandinavian about the size of an ox; studied theology and supposedly had whatever qualifications the Catholic Church required to call yourself an exorcist. I couldn't tell if they were both total crackpots or just kayfabing, but the point is talking to them tends to give a bit of a headache.
"What... what is that?" I said, trying to stop my head from exploding.
Randi looked confused at the ring of candles and star of circuitry she'd built around some old car batteries. "An electric pentacle, of the sort suggested by Carnacki's guidelines-"
"You can't be serious."
"It works entirely by scientific principle, binding spiritual essence in one place-"
Helstrand was spreading salt everywhere. "I agree with Kovacs. Such is not necessary. Simple salt will stop any evil spirit-"
"I think you've misunderstood the nature of my objection," I said drily.
Helstrand looked hurt. "The salt will work. It has been used in funerary rights across the world as a material symbol of the spirit world. In fact, we all should-"
"Fine, fine," I interrupted. I pulled some Elmer's glue out of my coat pocket and grabbed the nightstick I brought on cases for self-defense, then swiped one of his salt cans from the nearby table. In a second I'd glued an uneven layer of salt particles to the stick. "There, I made a ghost swatter. That ought to work, right?"
Randi looked at me and pursed her lips. "If you insist on treating this matter in so lackadaisical a matter, I'm not sure what your purpose here even is. At least you could stop undermining our methods."
"My purpose here is I'm hired to be here. I don't believe in ghosts but if they did exist you sure as hell couldn't fight them with salt and car batteries."
"We shall see."
Well, that blew my chance of making friends on this assignment. I was usually a lot better about keeping my cool- believe me, I know I'm an asshole, but I try not to show it off. It was something about this old house. Nothing was properly lit, there were a dozen drafts that seemed to come from nowhere, and the doors all seemed oddly slanted off center, not to mention the architectural style was from five hundred years ago and wasn't exactly trendy even then. The whole place was like the Cabin of Dr. Caligari. If Borley was right and it'd been an insane asylum once, I couldn't see it being too easy on the patients.
Randi still wasn't pleased. "Your negative energy threatens to agitate a very unstable environment. Still, Tremblien seems to trust you, and I've always admired his work, so if he vouches for you..." she shrugged.
Helstrand, big and stolid and European, cleared his throat. "Best for us to begin sleep. I take first watch, yes? On recording duty."
Sounded good to me.
I woke up in the middle of a fitful sleep on a lumpy couch and only saw darkness. My heart skipped a few beats before I realized Helstrand was shaking me awake.
"Up. Hurry. Now."
I stumbled to my feet. "What-"
He gestured to a far wall, where Randi was also staring in horror. My eyes adjusted to the half-light. Smeared on it in red shaky letters was a message. WE ARE NOT AT REST HERE.
"I- who did it? You were on watch."
"It was not there before! I swear it-"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The noise came from every direction at once, like something moving very fast was pounding on the walls and floor in every room around us. None of us knew how to react, but that was only the start. With a sighing, windy noise, the room's main door seemed to buckle out like lungs taking in a deep breath. The pounding continued. I realized suddenly that I was ice cold, enough to see my breath. That was when the voices started, low, moaning, haunting voices.
"We walk here alone. We watch in dark. We are not at rest here. Not..." They petered off to a shrill shrieking sound that had all of us clapping hands over our ears. From the look of it, Randi and Helstrand were as freaked as I felt. Every square inch of flesh on my back was crawling like a bug stampede. My world felt like it was falling apart. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.
For the piece de resistance, the ghosts finally showed themselves. Filling the room, greenish, rotting spectres in tattered straightjackets, staring at us with hollow eyes. My two compatriots were well and truly screaming now. The pentacle wasn't doing a thing; nor was the salt. The ghosts were filling the room, drifting about with no regard for the supposed obstacles.
I still don't know what made me do what I did. Too many years of watching TV? Wish I could say I noticed some detail in the heat of the moment and seized on it with typical heroic flair, but looking back on things, honestly I don't think I did. I grabbed my nightstick, the one with salt glued to it. And thrust it forward in a singularly unprofessional way, trying to jab it into a ghost's rotten stomach. I passed right through, naturally.
And smashed into the mirror on the wall, revealing the secret room behind it. The guy in the black leotard, standing behind the now-battered projector, looked very awkward. His "ghosts" didn't look too great either, the filaments of light that projected them now unfocused and dizzy. The thumping and moaning was still going on but somehow that didn't seem too big a deal right now.
Randi and Helstrand were still transitioning from "confused" to "enraged", but when it comes to rage, I've got a fast-pass. "ASSHOLE!" I roared, pounding on the guy with the truncheon while he screamed and tried to duck out of the way.
Tremblien was never amused, but I think this was the closest to amused I'd ever seen him.
"So. Borley's brother-in-law-"
"Didn't want Borley and wife to move in. Apparently some crap about thinking there was a treasure somewhere on the premises, and as long as he had free rein he could check the place out discretely. He knew he couldn't keep it legally anyway, so he figured a little fakeout wouldn't be a problem."
"And the apparitions. All special effects."
"Yep. Projectors, speakers, a few hydraulic... thumping things. Used some special disappearing ink to write the spooky message. Sick humor. But I'm guessing you knew all this anyway, sir."
Tremblien raised an eyebrow, which he did when he wanted to look innocent. "Pardon?"
"Just intuition. You knew this haunting was a sham from the start. That's why you barely asked Borley about any of it before accepting."
Tremblien shrugged. "I admit, I gave it little serious thought. In the first place, Borley claimed the place was haunted by a Doctor Battsycombe, who supposedly murdered several patients; certainly good traditional circumstances for a haunting. However, some cursory research on my part showed that in point of fact a Dr. Battyscombe had supervised the place when it was a santarium, but he was never so much as implicated in any such crime. There were deaths at the hospital, but caused by a structural flaw which Battyscombe had begged the state for funding to correct, and it happened well after his retirement."
"Didn't ask for a damn history lesson," I said, but I couldn't help smiling. "Doubt if the other two are speaking to me now. They had their hopes set on finding a real ghost this time."
"A shame," was all Tremblien said.
Thaddeus Tremblien sat in his office alone after sending Kovacs home. After a brief silence he coughed.
"We are alone, Doctor," he said, calling out to be heard.
The client, thin, sweaty and balding, came out of adjacent room, passing through the wall as though it had no substance.
"That's done, then," the man who called himself Borley said.
"Quite. With any rumors of ghosts firmly squashed, Mr. Borley's interest in the property will dissipate. Further, you won't be troubled by any treasure hunters. You and your patients will no longer be disturbed, Dr. Battyscombe."
"Right. I'll have your share of the treasure sent over before the week's out, usual way. Can't thank you enough," said the ghost.
"It was my pleasure." said Tremblien.
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2021.09.18 03:02 Ok_Kaleidoscope_8024 DND 240 my new fave obsession
2021.09.18 03:02 futebolstats Sintonia | Netflix anuncia data de estreia da 2ª temporada da série!
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2021.09.18 03:02 diys23 Too late to buy extractor tool(all stores are closed) any way to remove stuck small screw from desktop computer? Already tried rubberband
2021.09.18 03:02 SquiglySquiddy 15 looking to make some friends here
2021.09.18 03:02 mriosdeveloper Oopsie daisy
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2021.09.18 03:02 Aldiot Is this text too long for a forearm-tattoo?
"I refuse to believe I have to keep being cruel just 'cause I'm a coward myself" is what i would like it to say. I want it in bold letters and to keep it as legible as possible, so i wanted to ask if i should think about placing it somewhere else?
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2021.09.18 03:02 Missing_Back How does Flask know what form is?
@app.route("/login", methods=["GET", "POST"]) def login(): if current_user.is_authenticated: return redirect(url_for("index")) form = LoginForm() if form.validate_on_submit(): user = User.query.filter_by(username=form.username.data).first() if user is None or not user.check_password(form.password.data): flask("Invalid username or password") return redirect(url_for("login")) login_user(user, remember=form.remember_me.data) return redirect(url_for("index")) return render_template("login.html", title="Sign In", form=form)
formis created with
form = LoginForm(), but then soon after, there's things like
formwas just created as an instance of
LoginForm, then how does it contain the data entered by the user?
2021.09.18 03:02 thehairyhobo Server Question
Would a 7th Gen Intel 4C/8T with 32gb of DDR and a SSD be sufficient to run an 8k Kinggen map for 4 people? Map has been stripped of most poi's and only has 4 big cities, no towns or villages.
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2021.09.18 03:02 Mr_Snufleupagus Screen popping sound?
Hey recently purchased a z flip 3 from Samsung.com. I noticed when I slide my finger or thumb up from just below the crease I heafeel a pop almost like there is a small bubble under the screen protector.
Anyone had any issues getting a replacement from Samsung? I called and they want me to buy another one and send this one in a for a refund? But if I do that I loose the deal and free ear buds I received... Any suggestions for just getting a replacement?
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2021.09.18 03:02 xaviermading5941 matt being stressed out cinematic universe
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2021.09.18 03:02 Ladymadrox Add my friend please
2021.09.18 03:02 fragile_ego Moments before making an iconic album cover 1960s
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2021.09.18 03:02 thevideogameraptor Best place to find replacement GBA labels? I would like for them to match the rest of my collection, because my labels are terrible.
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2021.09.18 03:02 thecribs100 Alguna película de comedia Argentina estilo American Pie?
Queria saber si hay alguna película de comedia Argentina al estilo "American Pie" digamos que tiene mucho sexo, diversión y las amistades. Nada serio zero violencia, crime o temas serios.
Puedeser de cualquier epoca(me gusta ver películas antiguas como también contemporaneas)
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