“Is this the place?” Dr. Destiny asked, sidestepping the roots of a tree and navigating between several shattered tombstones.
The graveyard around them was a very desolate and ancient place. The woods around them carved a path past the cemetery walls and onto the burial grounds, with lone trees growing between the gravestones, which were themselves covered in moss and upturned by burrowing roots.
“Yep, this is it.” her current patient looked at one of the gravestones, it was surprisingly whole, though very time worn.
Dr. Destiny glanced at him, he was surprisingly cheerful for somebody staring at his own grave. You could tell he’s been undead for a very long time.
Her current patient was Gerard Clemens, a former skeleton soldier in the armies of the Enchantress, he was tired of unlife and wished to return to the other side after his summoner’s defeat.
That’s where Dr. Destiny came in. She was the reverse necromancer. Her job was putting undead corpses, zombies, ghouls, vampires, golems and everything else undead back in the ground.
Usually she just performed her surgeries, as she liked to call them, in her family’s old graveyard near her office. Most patients didn’t mind. But Gerald proved very difficult to work with. He had some unfinished business.
“Just so you know, you’re not making this is easy on me, Mr. Clemens.” she explained before moving to the grave next to Gerald’s empty one. The tombstone read Darius Clemens, 1553-1604.
“I’m sorry, doctor. I just need to tie some loose ends before I go back.” he crouched over Darius’ grave. His cracked skeletal face looked downright silly in the jeans and t-shirt she gave him. “He told me he couldn’t stand to be a day without me. That bastard outlived me 20 years. What a dickhead.” he grabbed onto the tombstone with his skeletal fingers. “He kept the name too.”
“If you don’t mind.” Dr. Destiny gestured for him to stay back. She touched her hands to the cold ground, the full moon reflected onto her black-rimmed glasses as she began to chant. Her eyes sparkled neon green and her tattoos began to glow the same color as a wave of energy coursed through her arms and into the ground.
“Darius Clemens, I summon thee. Rise.” she walked back as the ground beneath them began to rumble. Soon, a skeletal hand popped out, and following was the rest of the body.
“Oh hey, is it time for another one of Carey’s halloween parties-” the skeletal man looked up. “Oh…” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Hey, Gerald.”
“Hey, ‘babe’.” Gerald stomped his foot and crossed his arms over his t-shirt.
“You look upset.” Darius crawled out of the dirt. “Is this about the ring? Because I didn’t pawn it, it was grave robbers, I promise.”
Gerald raised his arms, his voice sarcastic. “Not before Gildroy the butcher put his greasy fingers through it I’m sure!”
“Hey, leave him out of this!”
“Oh sorry, I wouldn’t want to get your new husband involved in our post-mortal drama. His soul is only bound to your for eternity.” Gerald spouted sarcastically.
Dr. Destiny raised an eyebrow as the two skeletons started what seemed like a lovers spat several centuries overdue.
“Hey, listen Gerald, you were dead.” Darius was defensive.
“For like a year!” Gerald’s bones clacked angrily. “You didn’t even wait til half-mourning to start cheating on me!”
“I was gonna get back to you once me, Gildroy and the kids all died!”
“Like I’d believe that! You’ve been ignoring my calls since the telephone was invented!”
Dr. Destiny sighed. She sat down on the roots of the ancient tree and stared at her phone, with the list of all the other patients she had to attend.
Photos I took yesterday during my excursion into D.C. on Memorial Day. Sunrise at the United States Marine Corps War Memorial. The Korean War Memorial. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the World War II Memorial and Arlington National Cemetery. It was a very good day of observing and honoring our nation’s fallen warriors.
Part of the British Telecom complex on Friar’s Street, Inverness.
This building is pink. It is, I would guess, inspired by the castle, which is further along the river; It has a round tower, it has horizontal bands and portrait orientation windows, it has chunky protrusions that are vaguely reminiscent of castellations. I guess this is the mid 20thC interpretation of the castle.
Is it Brutalist? Or is it only Brutalist if it’s “béton brut” concrete, and not pink sandstone? -Although I’d wager that’s just cladding or an outer skin, and that at least the top is pink concrete. It’s geometric, repetitive, massive in both size and in looking weighty, and a little bit sculptural with the form, but I am certainly no expert on 20thC architecture and am better at telling my Perpendicular from my Rayonnant and my Doric from Ionic… Anyone who wishes to enlighten me on some more recent architectural history than I am generally familiar with can feel free to educate me; learning things is good!
Something genuinely Gothic is the wall beside it - that dark grey wall encloses Inverness’ oldest cemetery, and the ruins of the Dominican Friary from 1223. That will get its own post, and interestingly has a bridge over it connecting two parts of the BT complex.
“Louis is going with you?”
There was a great deal more to the question than any casual listener might have supposed. Louis and Armand were the pillars of the New York household at Trinity Gate. Louis and Armand had been together for almost a century long before that.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m taking him back with me as soon as we wake.” I waited.
I stood on the flagstone sidewalk looking at the distant white wall of the old cemetery. It was quiet and beautiful on this Garden District street with its giant black-barked oaks, and the dark silent multistory houses on either side. “I need Louis,” I said.
Lestat - Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis
69: The Batavians, in what is now the Netherlands, revolt under leadership of Gaius Julius Civilis against Roman rule.
1715: The Riot Act came into force in Great Britain, allowing authorities to criminalise gatherings of twelve or more people, and disperse them.
1889: Der Anarchist, a German-language anarchist-communist periodical, makes its first appearance in St. Louis, Missouri.
1902: Lola Iturbe born in Barcelona. She was a prominent anarcho-syndicalist, trade unionist, activist, and journalist during the Second Spanish Republic, and a member of the French Resistance during the Battle of France.
1909: A workers’ revolt in Catalonia leaves over a thousand dead.
1910: Miners who are employed by the Naval Colliery Company at the Ely Pit in the town of Penygraig, Wales are locked out.
1913: Marxist feminist Lesya Ukrainka dies in Surami, Georgia. She translated the Communist Manifesto into Ukrainian.
1917: Frank H. Little, anti-war activist and IWW organiser is lynched in Butte, Montana.
1919: Hungarian Soviet Republic collapses.
1920: Gandhi calls for a period of non-cooperation across India.
1936: Spanish anarchist, author and educator Jose Sanchez Rosa was shot against the walls of the Seville cemetery, along with sixteen others, by Franco’s fascist soldiers. Their bodies were thrown into an unmarked mass grave.
1938: In Hilo, Hawaii, police fire on strikers challenging the Inter-Island Steamship Company for equal wages with other industry workers.
1942: American Federation of Musicians strikes against recording companies over royalty payments.
1944: The Warsaw Uprising begins.
1955: Georgia Board of Education fires all black teachers who are members of the NAACP.
1977: Start of Jiu Valley Miners’ Strike in Romania.
1981: Irish Republican prisoner Kevin Lynch dies after 71 days on hunger strike.
1995: A pier is squatted for the first time in Brighton, England.
1997: 4,500 Steelworkers win guarantee of defined-benefit pensions after 10 month strike at Wheeling-Pittsburgh Steel.
1990: Founding of the United Firefighters Union of Australia.
1996: First Schools for Chiapas begins in Zapatista territory.
2003: The Earth Liberation Front burn down a 206-unit condominium being built in San Diego, causing damage in excess of $50 million.
Summary: Mercy goes out for a walk, a tad nostalgic, when she runs into someone familiar.
The rest is under the cut.
The holidays were always a bittersweet time for Angela
Ziegler. She remembered her family she had lost in Switzerland and the family
she had gained in Overwatch. The family she had found had its ups and its downs
and it certainly wasn’t perfect, but she loved them regardless. Angela was not
related to them by blood and they say blood was thicker than water, but water
Tonight as she walked through the quiet French town by
herself, her boots crunching through the freshly fallen snow, she thought about
both of her families. It was just her and the night, quiet and silent with a
dark grey sky promising more snow. Though it was cold, Angela had always felt rather
warm and cozy on these nights. Perhaps it was her love for the snow and the
cold, or really, those she surrounded herself with.
Since you’ve been gone I see ghosts from the corners of my eyes (and in mirrors). Looking myself in the face is like looking at a cemetery: crumbling walls, kept looking nice but still dead. You still live under my bed and at night you tell me I could’ve done things differently. When it’s time to sleep I climb under the covers and pretend I’m not afraid of the monster in the closet – or of the monster in the mirror. Or of you.
Yesterday was the first day it’d been sunny and not raining for about a half of a week. I was, however, stuck inside working on a project I had to get done in the next few days. At the very least, I was in the good company of my cousin, home from college for the summer, and willingly harboring me in her home so I could have a little fun doing said project. Here I was, putting some stickers on my poster board, when a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Without a second thought, I turned to my cousin and plainly said, “I really want to go ghost hunting.” As soon as I’d said it, she said, “We could.” Confused, I asked her if she meant tonight. The group of people I usually go with is a bunch of young people like myself. With college classes out for summer, and the only thing holding us back the possibility of friends being at work, we threw a message in our group chat, and within minutes had a plan for a ghost hunt.
Our original thought was to travel to a place in Hollis, Gilson Cemetery. This was a place we’d known to be very active, and a place we’ve grown to love. It was only a short drive, and we were a bit low on gas. But, one of our friends suggested we go towards the seacoast area so he could join us. He’s living in Rye temporarily for a summer internship through school, and this gave us a reason to go see him. So, once we all met up and converged into one car, we hit the highway to meet our friend at his place in Rye. It was still sunny out, and we even stopped on route 1 to take some pictures, find some rocks, and watch the sunset. Once the sun was down and the moon came up, we followed route 1 all the way into Portsmouth.
We were headed to Point of Graves, a tiny cemetery I’d investigated before over the years. Though it’s technically inside Prescott Park, with close proximity to downtown Portsmouth as well as a road leading onto Peirce Island, it tends to be quiet. It’s surrounded on three sides by houses, and on the fourth side, the park. Sometimes, you have a car drive by, or someone walk or bike by, but other than that it’s in a part of the city where you can perform your EVP sessions in peace. The occasional cop will drive by, and it even happened to us last night, but we weren’t kicked out, so that’s a plus.
Point of Graves burial ground has a sort of weird origin story. It’s one of the oldest cemeteries in the state of New Hampshire, our seacoast being the first land really explored by settlers. Back in the 1671, Captain John Pickering II decided to prompt the city with an idea for a cemetery. He’d donate a half acre of his land on account that the Pickering family cows could graze the land within the walls of the cemetery. The plans went through, and townspeople in the area were buried there, including a few prominent Portsmouth families. The earliest readable grave marker still standing today belongs to a man named John Hoddy, who was buried there in 1684. But, there are also some graves that are no longer visible, be it age, or from clumsy grazing cows.
Once we arrived, I pulled out the digital voice recorder and started rolling, hoping to maybe catch some EVPs. My friends and I had visited this cemetery once or twice during the day on our seacoast excursions; I absolutely love the American Gothic style carvings on the headstones, and really enjoy showing them off to whoever I can possibly drag to this quaint little cemetery. Now, they head amongst the graves with flashlights on, looking at the stones in the almost-full moonlight. I decided to start our investigation in an area I’d gotten a few K2 meter hits in the past. Years ago, we’d been sitting on the wall closest to the Peirce Island road, the K2 meter on the grass amongst the stones, and we had seen a few blips, the lights going from green to orange a handful of times. Last night, I sat along the wall with my pendulum, trying to channel whoever might be here with us. My friends gathered around as I asked the entity that came through about his name, age, and year of birth. The man we’d talked to was named William, and we went home with enough information to start our search of public record to pin down exactly who we talked to.
After I let the entity rest, my friends were off looking for a readable headstone that matched the channeled description, but to no avail. Silently, I made my way to the corner closest to the Vaughn family plot with just one of my friends who was itching to try out her own pendulum. Here, she channeled another man named Richard, who also gave us a good amount of information about himself for our research. I relayed it to my other friends, and soon they were looking for both William and Richard. Though, we can only hope whoever we did talk to was being truthful. After a while, my friend who was channeling decided to leave this entity to rest, and so we did one last sweep of the cemetery before heading back home.
Point of Graves seems very peaceful, and although it is right on top of houses and a park, and there is some foot traffic, you seem to lose yourself inside the walls. We felt nothing but comfortable here, and ended up wasting more than two hours in the cemetery. There was just enough action that my friend who’d never ghost hunted before found it interesting and intriguing, and we all left feeling satisfied with the night. Now to review the recorders, and go check records for the men we’d talked to who lived hundreds of years ago, before New Hampshire was a state, before the United States were put into existence. We are lucky to live in an area with such a rich history, and lucky to have to experiences we do when we go out hunting for ghosts.
“I didn’t know demons could hot wire cars!” Dean shouted as he punched the gas.
Their most recent desperate attempt to fight Lucifer had resulted in Cas bleeding in the backseat of the Impala while Meg in a souped up Mustang lead a host of demons in pursuit.
One vehicle in the fleet held Lucifer. He knew where the Winchesters were. He could easily pop into their car as they drove, but he didn’t. He wanted to play with them first.
“Drive faster!” Sam yelled. Dean pressed the old car as fast as she could go, but Sam couldn’t shake the blistered face of Lucifer burned into his brain.
Dean jerked the wheel, and they skidded off the rain-soaked highway onto a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it country road. The sudden turn threw off a couple of the demon drivers, Meg included. Not all of the stolen cars matched Baby, and a little distance formed. Maybe twenty more feet. It wasn’t enough and they knew it. The narrow road they were on couldn’t be too long.
“Little help here, Cas!” Dean shouted.
“He’s fading,” said Sam. Cas, pale and sweaty, had used all of his energy keeping them alive leaving none to heal himself.
Suddenly, a pale blue light consumed everything. Dean shielded his eyes. The light grew so bright, Sam couldn’t see his brother sitting next to him. He would have been sure this light was them dying, but Sam doubted approaching Hell would be so beautiful.