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Alec scrolled through the online classifieds, scanning the tumult of hyperlinks before him as some random television program droned on from across the room. "No... no... no..." He swiveled his desk chair and leaned back as he let out a sigh of frustration, looking over his unimpressive and uninspired living area.
The TV in question, a remnant from his recently bygone college years, sat on a box of packed kitchenware opposite a pair of old lawn chairs, blaring one of those campy animated shows marketed to adults. Though somewhat lacking in story, it was second only to 90's sitcoms in terms of quality working background noise.
Small and dingy though it was, the place was his. The task of furnishing the one-bed, one-bath "slice of heaven", as he described it, fell to him after his parents laid claim to what few possessions he left behind when he left for school. And so, he searched. Turning around to refresh the page for the 19th time in ten minutes, Alec was unsure he would ever find the right furniture for his new place.
A new advertisement: "Antique Dresser, '30s or '40s. 100$ obo" Alec clicked the link, and was met with detailed pictures of the piece. Looked to about six feet tall, made from solid wood. It had four drawers, each decreasing in height from the bottom up, with a pair of locking cupboards on top. An absolute steal, which made him nervous.
He went to respond, before coming face-to-face with the standard online boilerplate, phrases like "buyers beware" and "no guarantee" emboldened in contrast against the rest of the 1800-word snooze-fest. Basically, it boiled down to this: all items sold as-is. No returns, no refunds, no substitutions.
"No problem." Alec accepted the terms and entered his details into the contact information field. "Ok, I give up. What's wrong with it?" Succinct, with a touch of humour, which might gain him a little favour with the seller. Alec hit send, and returned to his browsing.
It took the seller two hours to respond, ample time for him to secure the purchase of a television stand--or rather, a microwave stand, not that that the TV could tell the difference--and a not-too-shabby loveseat. "The left cupboard is locked, and I can't find the key. Otherwise fine. My mother left us a year ago, and I can't stand to look at it anymore." An explanation that Alec found to be to his satisfaction.
The pair exchanged numbers and agreed to a 10a.m. Delivery. Alec shut off his computer and went to bed. Sprawling out on the mattress laying on his bedroom floor, he made a mental note: "Buy a bed."
Alec rose out of a dead sleep to a pounding on his front door. The room was still dark, the soft glow of the moon unable to pierce the overcast sky above his roof. He sighed and climbed out of "bed." Leaving his room and heading for the door, he passed by the mirror hanging on the wall of the front hall, in which he stopped for a moment to examine himself. He looked like hell, though any midnight caller should expect to be disappointed in that regard.
Peaking through the peephole, he saw the culprit: a woman, looking to be in her mid-forties. Her hair was as black as the bruises dotting what skin was not covered by her white, blood-spattered jacket. Clearly, she had been in some kind of accident.
"Oh my god! Hang on!" Alec fumbled with the door chain and the deadbolt as the woman continued banging on the door "Just a sec!" Coupled with his hypnagogic state, his hurry only prolonged the process as the adrenaline robbed him of his coordination. The whole ordeal took a confusingly inordinate amount of time, until the locks finally clicked.
"Are you o... kay...?" he found the porch empty. "Ugh... punk kids." He shut the door, fooled by a group of teenagers, a make-up kit and fast feet. He sighed and went to return to his bedroom, stubbing his toe on the lime-green monstrosity that was his sofa. "Damn it!" He hopped around on his one good foot, cursing God with every foul word he knew. "Wait..." Alec blinked and examined the assailant.
This was not the tasteful red leather loveseat he had purchased the night before. For that matter, that particular item wasn't supposed to be collected until late-afternoon that very day. He turned around and looked a his TV, sitting atop what appeared to be a badly damaged segment of a marble counter-top. He would have to call the sellers and demand a refund.
Alec only made it one step towards the curious piece of furniture before freezing in place, robbed of his lucidity in an instant, feeling drawn towards his bedroom. He turned on his heels and slowly walked towards the seductive siren song. As he passed through the threshold, he saw it.
His dresser, unlike the strange and foreign objects in his living room, was exactly as pictured in the advertisement. Six feet tall, solid wood. Four drawers, each decreasing in height from the bottom up, and a pair of locking cupboards on top. It comforted him. He smiled and placed his hand on it, feeling the sleek and shiny finish, which seemed to radiate its own cheerful glow across the dark room.
Then he heard her sweet voice behind him, as beautiful as a the raspy gurgle of a cat being strangled with razor wire. "Alec." He turned around and saw her. Eyes as black as onyx and deep as the Marianas Trench, from which oozed blood as red as a rose. Her malformed teeth glistened like a radiant-cut yellow topaz, locking together like a bear-trap behind her smiling blue lips, which reminded him of the lake he had visited in the summers of his childhood.
She was stunning. The most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, in fact. Alec was absolutely smitten. He couldn't help but lean in to kiss her.
He was still grinning as he felt the woman's crooked teeth sink into the flesh of his neck.
Alec sprung out of a dead sleep to a pounding on his front door. The room was now light, the soft, sparse clouds unable to halt the sun's rays. He reached up to feel his neck, only the find his skin unbroken. The banging continued as he climbed to his feet and headed to the front hall. He stopped to examine himself in the... he didn't own a mirror. He shook his head and chuckled a little before continuing to the door. He looked around his living room: cardboard boxes and lawn chairs, as he had left it.
Satisfied, he looked through the peephole. There was a woman about his age, smiling sweetly at the door, occasionally glancing at her wristwatch. He unlocked the deadbolt and almost reached for the chain that existed exclusively in his dreams. Rolling his eyes at his own confusion, he turned the door lever. "Yes?"
"Alec..." she fumbled with the scrap of paper in her hand, before holding it at eye level "...Erikson? I brought the dresser." Alec leaned to look over the girl's shoulder and saw the black pickup truck. The object in question was in the back, lashed down with five lengths of bungee cord.
"Oh... yeah. Sorry, I must've overslept." He reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Oh no, it's only 9:15. We forgot about traffic when I agreed to 10 o'clock. I tried texting you." Alec pulled his phone out of his pocket "Hay. Got 2 cum early. Goin 2 cottage with bf. That cool?" along with 3 missed calls.
"Oh... sorry, I guess it was set to vibrate. Hang on." He closed the door, donned his shoes, and opened it back up. As the pair walked down the walkway, Alec noticed a man—most likely her boyfriend—untying the cargo from the bed of the truck. The girl went over and planted a kiss on the man's cheek as he was pulling out the built-in ramp.
"Hey, you must be Alex."
"Erm... Alec, and yes."
The man shook his head.
"Oh, sorry dude." He reached out to shake Alec's hand "I'm Chris, and I take it you've met Anna?". Chris gestured towards the item's seller.
"Yeah... so, about the dresser?" Alec did not mean to sound as rude as he did, but between his restless sleep and lack of his morning ritual of coffee and a cigarette, he wasn't much in the mood for pleasantries.
"Right, right." Chris went to the passenger-side door and pulled a large dolly out of the back seat of the four-door cab and carried it back over to the ramp and the tailgate. "Little help?" Alec and Anna climbed into the back of the truck and struggled to lift the chest of drawers onto the device before strapping it in.
"Jesus Christ, this thing must weight 300 pounds!" The closer examination confirmed Alec's estimate of six feet in height, in addition to about four feet in width and two feet in depth.
Chris rolled the dolly down the ramp and towards the house as the other two kept it steady. Getting it through the front door was difficult, to say the least. The bedroom door was another beast entirely. In a short while, however, they had finally positioned it to Alec's liking, against the wall across from the foot of his mattress, at the expense of the couple's desire to beat the cottage traffic.
Alec tried to offer them an extra $50, but they refused. Anna just seemed happy to be rid it. The pair left and Alec filled the kettle and set it on the stove, letting it boil as he went to change his clothes. As he stepped on a creaky floor-board, he heard something stir inside the large piece of furniture, like a billiards ball rolling across a wood floor.
Curious, he turned to face the edifice. Tapping his bare foot on the floor, he began opening all the drawers. They were all empty, of course. Therefore, by process of elimination, he reasoned that the culprit must reside in the left cupboard, which was locked. He resolved to call a lock-smith in a few days, and continued changing.
As he pulled on his t-shirt, however, he heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Running out to investigate, he yowled in pain as he stepped in the boiling water spreading across the linoleum floor. The kettle was on its side on the ground, the last few puffs of steam wisping into the air as it bled its contents freely across the room.
"Fuck." It was an old kettle, and was known to shake rather violently as it boiled. He must've left it too close to the edge of the stove. He hopped to the bathroom on one foot and climbed onto the edge of the tub. Running the water as cold as he could stand, he stuck his foot under the flow, sighing with relief.
It was almost 10 minutes before he dared trying to stand on it. Limping over to the vanity, he pulled the mirror open to reveal what few medical supplies he had. Examining the contents, he decided on a benzocaine spray his parents had bought him after his wisdom teeth extraction. It was designed for teeth, and had expired several years prior, but it was better than nothing. Sitting on the toilet, he spritzed it onto the sole of his left foot.
The initial stinging gave way to a cool tingling sensation after a moment, leaving him relatively pain-free. Pulling out the pair of white socks he had stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, he slowly pulled them onto his feet, taking extra care not to disturb his wound. Leaving the bathroom and heading to the front hall, he reached into the closet behind his shoes for his old work boots and pulled them out.
Gingerly sliding his feet into them, he knotted them tightly and walked into the kitchen, armed with a pair of towels. He tossed them onto the mess, and walked across them to turn off the stove. He decided to let it cool before cleaning it up, as it was almost time to pick up the rest of his furniture.
It'd been four relatively uneventful days since Alec had purchased the brobdingnagian artifact of teak, rosewood, and brass, each book-ended by the same recurring dream. A few minor details changed: sometimes his television would be sitting on a plastic folding TV tray, pointed at a ratty old polka-dot recliner. Other times, it would be one of those large, Madison Avenue style office chairs and his desk from elementary school, and once it was even a bookcase of adult literature and a sex-swing.
However, the core concepts of the dream remained static: a knock at the door, an injured woman, his dresser, and that hideous witch who he found more and more irresistible every night, only to wake up and revile at the memory of her image. It was almost 11pm, nearly time for bed. Alec had given his house a respectable décor with his meager budget, but was always looking for new furnishings.
As he switched over from the classifieds back to what he had been reading before--"101 Things That Go Bump In The Night, and How to Bump Back", a humorously poorly written treatise on dealing with nightmares--he heard a tapping at his door.
He climbed out of his chair and sauntered over to look through the peephole. He saw a middle-aged man, maybe 45 or 50 years of age. He was balding, a few stray strands of grey permeating what otherwise brown hair remained on the back and sides of his head. He bore a concerned expression, stopping occasionally to look back and forth, or over his shoulder, as though he felt he were being followed.
Alec opened the door a crack and stuck his head out. "Yes?"
The man looked somewhat unsure of himself.
"A... Alec... Erikson?" Alec flexed his arm, prepared to close the door at a moment's notice. This man did not sit right with him.
"Speaking." This seemed to encourage the stranger a little.
"Yes... you bought something from my daughter? Anna Jackson?"
Alec nodded and relaxed a little. "Yeah. Why?"
"I... need it back."
Alec felt an unpleasant shiver rise up his spine. "Why?" He could almost feel the twinges of resentment and anxiety creeping across the wrinkles and folds of his brain. It was his property. How dare this man come and try to take it from him?
"I just need it back. I've got a vehicle... a-and a dolly." Were the roles reversed, would the man have given up his own daughter, had Alec said he just needed her?
"I'm sorry, but the answer is no." With that, he slammed the door in his face and locked it. He vaguely heard the weak little man shouting profanities, hitting and kicking the door, but he didn't care. Pushing the power button on the computer monitor as he passed, he walked into his bedroom and flopped on the bed. Before he passed out, he noticed his dresser, and smiled.
Alec rose out of a dead sleep to the sound of his front doorbell ringing. The room was still dark, the soft glow of the sun unable to pierce the canopy of broad-leaf rain forest trees above his roof. He sighed and climbed out of "bed." Leaving his room and heading for the door, he passed by a painting hanging on the wall of his front hall, in which he stopped for a moment to examine himself. He looked like Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh (as the brass plaque on the frame confirmed), though any midday caller should expect to be disappointed in that regard.
As he reached for the door, he noticed Anna sitting on the chair at his desk, reading "101 Ways People Bump Back, and How to Bump Harder", a humorously poorly written treatise on dealing with insolent mortals who try to stop you from achieving your evil goals. She spun around to face him, causing Alec to gag at her hideous figure.
Her voice was as grating and harsh as an angel strumming on a harp or a Beethoven Sonata. "Hey, Mr. Erikson." Her eyes were a disgustingly deep blue, like a constrictor strangling a rabbit, ready to unhinge its jaw and devour it whole. Her skin was rough like a porcelain statuette, perhaps in the form of pair of demons devouring a saint's heart. Her teeth were as straight and white as the line on the back of a skunk, and the putrid scent of her expensive designer perfume fit the bill.
All he could do was run, past the Salvador Dali painting of melting clocks, through the unusually long hallway, and into his room. He fell to his knees in front of the dresser, cowering in its warm aura. His terror only increased as she entered the room shortly after. Anna knelt next to him and caressed his cheek, her touch feeling like a red-hot iron, the scent of his own searing skin filling his nostrils. Somewhere, he heard more ringing. "It's my father."
He was still cowering as he felt her blood-red lips press a kiss against his forehead.
Alec jerked out of a dead sleep to the sound of his phone ringing. He vaguely remembered Anna, who he found so disgusting in his dream. Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone and pushed talk. It was the construction firm at which he had applied a few days before. The person they had hired hadn't been a good fit for the job, and they needed him to come in.
It was a far-cry from his chosen field of philosophy, but he needed the cash, and so agreed to be there in a two hours. He climbed to his feet and headed for the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. After the fiasco that was his first morning at the house, he had always remembered to put it on the back burner, to prevent another spill.
He reached into the cupboard to grab his favourite mug, only to find it missing. He turned around to check the dish rack and leaned his head into the living room to check his desk and coffee table. Nothing. Finally relenting, he grabbed one of the less desirable cups, with a floral pattern on the body and a handle held on only by a few dabs of super-glue.
He added a scoop of instant coffee, or "dirt in a jar" as he called it. If powdered creamer is referred to as "coffee whitener", then rightfully this should be called "water blackener". He carried it over to the couch and sat down, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. Grabbing the remote, he turned the TV on and set it to the morning news. They were reporting on a plane crash in the Pacific Ocean.
Not that Alec cared. His attention was directed at the door, or more specifically, the large crack between the edge of the door and the frame. He set his coffee on the table and bolted up to investigate.
It appeared as though someone had tried (and failed) to break the door open with a pry-bar. Both the lock and the handle were fully intact. "Motherfucker..." he growled. It must've been that man: Anna's father. Clearly, having failed his diplomatic mission the night before, the bastard had tried a more direct approach. Alec would have to worry about security later. He had to get ready for work.
He downed the acrid black liquid in two large gulps and set the cup on the counter with nearly enough force to break it before crushing his cigarette in the ash tray. His anger burned brighter and hotter with every step of the short walk to the bedroom, only to calm as his object of affection entered his field of vision. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, truly the best purchase of his life.
For a moment, he smiled, forgetting about the cruel little man that wanted to separate them. He opened the various drawers, removing his clothes for the day: a pair of boxer-briefs, ratty old work jeans, and a t-shirt. Gingerly closing them, he carried the outfit over to the bathroom and set them on the vanity.
Alec turned around and opened the shower curtain, only to see his mug sitting face down on the floor of the tub. "What the hell?" he felt the rage boil up within him once again. So, someone had been in his house, moving his belongings around, perhaps to drive him insane. The man wanted to make Alec easy prey. A whimpering, gibbering mess when he came to take Alec's beloved piece of furniture from him. Putting the mug on the vanity, he stripped down and climbed into the tub.
It was as ingenious as it was simplistic: forfeit a few dollars of his pay in exchange for as much of the damaged raw materials he could fit in his trunk. The owner of the building he had spent the day demolishing had no use for it, and "the boss"--Gregory O'Shea, as he was known to those who did not depend on his approval to feed their families--would have to spend an arm and a leg, his first born child, and everything up-to-and-including the kitchen sink just the ship it to a recycling plant.
And so, for the measly price of 20 dollars, he loaded up his old Mustang with screws, nails, rebar, brackets, and various other pieces of hardware, before driving home with his plan in mind. He carried the items into his house, one rusty, stinky, and heavy load at a time. He had thought he had brought enough screws for the job, but on his final inventory, he noticed he was a few short. It didn't matter, the job was fool proof, and cut-corners would make very little difference in the end.
First he installed the U-brackets into the door-frame, five on each side. He had seen this specific style of barricade at various times during his childhood schooling: a bar goes across the main gate of the castle to stop it from opening. Simple though it was, if it could keep the English out of Orléans, it could keep the feeble old man out of his house, and away from his treasure.
Alec slid five pieces of rebar into the brackets, and tried to pull the door with every fiber and muscle of his being. Realising he was more likely to pull the doorknob (or his own shoulder) from its proper housing than he was to successfully open the door, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, satisfied.
Next, he began work on the windows. His original plan had called for five bars, but he figured three, installed vertically, would be sufficient, first the kitchen window, then the pair of living room windows, and finally the bedroom window. He counted the supplies he had left: six rods, four screws, and about a dozen nails.
He tossed the nails in the trash, having no need for them. Two screws for every bar meant he would be able to block the small bathroom window with two bars. He placed the remaining four bars in the umbrella stand next to the front door, sure he would find some use for them, and headed for the bathroom, his tool-belt clanging and jangling at his waist.
As with the others, he began the long task of drilling holes in the rebar, every-so-often spritzing coolant across the red-hot drill-bit. Next he went to work on the window frame, drilling until he reached the outer brick, before screwing in an anchor.
Finally, he assembled the improvised barricade, screwing the bars into the anchor. He stepped back to admire his work, only to trip and fall into the bathtub, taking the curtain-rod down as he went. It took a moment for the shock of the fall to be replaced with the stabbing pain in his hand. He pulled it back and immediately saw the blood gushing down his palm and across his wrist. He lifted the curtain underneath him to see the half-dozen missing screws, upon which he had impaled himself.
Of course. How could he be so stupid? The damaged door wasn't a failed attempt to get in. It was a successful attempt by a skilled criminal who had the sense to cover his tracks. The evil old man was still in his house. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, struggling to dial 911 through the blood. They said they would be there in 10 minutes, and urged him to stay on the line. But he couldn't do that. His most prized possession was in danger.
Scrambling out of the tub (and nearly breaking several bones in the process), he pulled a roofing hatchet and a ball-peen hammer from his belt, wielding one in each hand. Alec peered his head out the bathroom doorway, checking the hall for his enemy. There wasn't a trace of him. Tip-toeing towards the living room, he looked over the railing separating the living room from the dining room. The bars were in place, the bastard was trapped.
Alec went through the rest of the house, room by room. Deep down, he knew he would be in the bedroom. Then he knew he would be in the closet. Then he knew he would be hiding under the sink. The scumbag was crafty, changing hiding spots every time Alec turned his back to him, but he knew he would find him eventually. In the distance, Alec could hear the sirens approaching.
"I'm sorry Mr. Erikson, but we've swept the house four times. There's no one there." Alec let out the approximate hybrid of a growl and a gasp as the EMT swabbed the freshly sutured cut on his hand with alcohol.
"Well, do it again." Officer Tompkins met Alec's scowl with his own look of frustration.
"Look, we dusted the front door, but the lock is fine. Whoever tried to break in didn't get far. No one was in your house but you. Now you're sure you didn't put those screws there?"
Alec didn't feel like dealing with a charge of "assault on a peace officer", and so, simply nodded for the fourth time. "Well, unless we get a hit on those fingerprints, there's not much more we can do here." Alec was done trying. He just wanted the men to leave so he could be alone with his dresser. Just the thought of it made waves of tranquility wash over him. "Also, that 'security system' violates at least half a dozen by-laws. However, given the circumstances, I'm going to give you thirty days to remove them. I expect to see real security bars on those windows when I drive by next month. Understand?"
Alec nodded again as the man tending to his wound taped the final length of bandage in place. After a short, stern speech about tetanus shots, the streets finally cleared and Alec returned to his house, half expecting a man in a hockey mask to jump out and cleave him in half. He replaced the five lengths of rebar and locked the door. It was 8:30, and he still had time to make dinner and browse around on the computer.
Opening the freezer to view what tasty delights he had in stock, it was hard to decide between the 99 cent microwave pizza that gave him heartburn and the frozen gas-station burritos which gave him the runs. Picking the lesser of two evils, he unwrapped the pizza, put it on a plate, and slid it into the microwave.
As the pizza spun under the dim yellow light, he pulled out his phone and shuffled through his received calls. Anna seemed like a nice enough girl, maybe she could talk some sense into her crazy father. "Hey. Anna Jackson. Leave a message." Alec let out a quiet chuckle at the synchronized beeps of the voice-mail system and his own meal.
"Hey, Anna. It's Alec. I bought the dresser from you? Your dad came by to try and take it back and... um... could you just... talk to him, or something? Thanks." The phone beeped once more as he ended the call. She was a nice girl, she didn't need to hear about her dad trying to break into people's houses.
He removed the pizza from the microwave, barely making it to the counter before burning himself. "Did someone order an ice-cold pizza on a burning-hot plate?" Alec snickered to himself as he went to the computer, hoping to pass the time while he waited for the temperature to drop below "surface of the sun" level.
Alec rose out of a dead sleep to the sound of Cthulhu undulating and gurgling at his front door. The room was still dark, the featureless cosmos spanning unto infinity above his roof, as black and empty as life itself. He sighed and climbed out of "bed." Leaving his room and heading for the door, he passed by the observation window for the ice-rink a couple stories below, in which he stopped for a moment to examine himself. He looked like a nine year-old pee-wee hockey player getting a two-minute penalty for roughing, though any Great Old One should expect to be disappointed in that regard.
Peeking through the peephole, he saw the culprit: a hideous amalgamation of a man and an octopus. Countless tendrils dangled from its chin--if it could even be called that--and its skin was scaly, like a snake or an alligator, yet sleek and squishy, like a squid or a dolphin. The unholy creature moved its eye to the peephole and banged its claws against the door.
It took a moment for Alec to return to reality. He was standing in his living room, inches from the door. His situation, which seemed so real mere seconds earlier, began to fade away as the twin claws of logic and reality tore it to pieces. "Claws..." he leaned forward to look through the peephole.
It was that man again, Anna's father. His worried demeanor from his previous visit seemed gone, replaced with a rage that radiated through the barricaded door and into Alec's soul. "What do you want?" Alec shouted, unwilling to open the door and risk betraying his fortress to the enemy.
"My dresser, you son of a bitch!" Alec supposed the question was rather redundant. "Too bad! It's mine now!"
The man growled and slammed both fists against the door. Alec could hear the muffled huffing and puffing.
"Look... maybe... we got off on the wrong foot. Let's talk, okay?"
His castle was impenetrable. His beloved was safe. What harm could it do? "Okay."
"Alright, Alec. My name's Henry. Henry Jackson. See, that was my wife's dresser. Her father bought it in the 30's. It's sort of... an heirloom."
It would seem innocuous enough, what Alec had brewing in the clever recesses of his mind. An innocent contribution to the conversation or a show of good faith, rather than a trap. "Where... where'd he get it?"
Without missing a beat, Henry said it. The one word that made things what they are today. "London." It wasn't that he was trying to lie to Alec. He just wasn't as attentive to his wife's stories as he should've been. Had he paid her more mind, things could've been different.
"Philly!" cried Alec joyfully. "It was made in Philly!" Stupid old man. Stupid old Henry. He couldn't help but imagine the foolish man being torn to shreds by his verbal landmine. Couldn't help but imagine that pathetic waste of life pulling at the bear trap around his leg. Gullible Henry, squirming in his net.
"Damn it! Fine! Philly. Look, I just need something from the cupboard. I've got the key right here."
Alec leaned against the door and saw the chunk of metal through the lens. It was a tantalizing prospect, to be sure: the mysteries of the dresser revealed. He was almost dumb enough to fall for it. Almost. "Fine. Slide it under the door and I'll get it for you."
Henry gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply, like bellows fanning a forge. "If you just let me in for a minute--"
"Slide it under, or walk away."
The man growled in helpless frustration. What was he to do against Alec's expert fortifications? "This isn't over."
And with that, the man left, driving away in his black pickup truck. Alec had seen a similar vehicle somewhere, but was too tired to fish through his memories. He checked the bars one more time and headed back to sleep.
Alec rose out of a dead sleep to the sound of the commotion on the streets outside of his house. The room was still light, the event horizon of the black hole unable to pierce the thick of the angels and demons battling in the sky above his roof. Bombs exploded, sirens blared and people screamed as Alec tried to get his bearings. He was confused. He couldn't think straight. "What the..." his head pounded in sync with his heartbeat as he lifted himself off his mattress.
He walked over to the window and saw the battering ram, over 100 meters long, banging on the adamantine gates of Tartarus. The men and women working the device howled in agony as their fetid overlords cracked their whips against their backs, their chains rattling with each movement. Each impact shook the earth beneath him, the banging resonating through his house.
"It's my father."
He turned, startled to see Anna standing next to him. She didn't possess the horrific features she had in his last dream. She simply looked plain, tired, and afraid. "What?" Alec followed her pointing finger to the demon overlooking the scene. He was teen feet tall and walked on cloven hooves, his serpentine tail swaying back and forth behind him. Henry, to be sure, but not pathetic or old or feeble as Alec had remembered him. No, this was a man of control and strength and power. A god walking the mortal earth.
"He wants to imprison you. You disobeyed him, and now he wants his revenge." Alec was terrified. The demonic voices boomed in his head. They wanted him. They wanted Anna. They wanted the dresser.
"So what now?"
"You set us free, to set yourself free." Alec spun around to see Chris leaning on the wall across from him, arms crossed at his chest, bearing a sad, mournful look. Yet, behind it, there appeared a glimmer of hope.
"What? How?" He wanted this to end, and would do anything to make it happen.
Chris' frown curved upwards ever so slightly as he pointed to Alec's right. He turned to see his dresser, whose burst of holy light nearly blinded him. To its left stood a woman, looking to be in her mid-forties. Her hair was as black as the bruises dotting what skin was not covered by her white, blood-spattered jacket. Clearly, she had been in some kind of accident.
"All you have to do is look, Alec." She placed her bloodied hand to the side of the dresser and gently tapped it.
"The lock..."
She nodded in response and gestured towards Chris. Chris picked up Alec's toolbelt and grabbed the crowbar, tossing it to Alec. It clattered loudly at his feet, and he knelt down to pick it up, eyeing the small door that stood between him and salvation. He was heartbroken to damage his love, but what choice did he have? If it loved him as much as he loved it, it would understand. He wedged the claw into the small gap between the cupboard door and the frame as tears streamed down his face.
"It's the only way, Al--" Anna's encouraging words were cut short as the ram delivered its killing blow, shattering the large gate and its many bars. The shouting of slaves and the footsteps of titans echoed deafeningly across the earth.
Realising his window of opportunity was closing, he growled and leaned into the tool, fracturing and splintering the wood with a barely audible crack as the door swung open. He reached inside and pulled out the object interred therein: a skull. Not just any skull, but the skull of St. Benedict, protector against evil.
He heard the throaty growl in the doorway and turned with a clever smirk on his face. No demon could stand against him, now. There stood Henry Luciferus, Lord of the Burning Hell Fire, grinning with blood-lust as he held the two-tine spear in his hand. Alec let out a soft, growing chuckle. Poor Henry. Foolish, pathetic old man. Twice in one night, he had walked into Alec's trap.
"Demon, I rebuke you!" he shouted and held up the skull, still cackling madly.
Henry hissed and growled, steam and smoke rising from his body as the holy protector's gaze burned him alive. "I'm... taking you... with me!" The ailing creature hurled his weapon at his adversary.
Alec was still laughing as the two points sunk into the flesh of his torso.
Thompkins held the trigger of his stun-gun tight as Alec convulsed on the floor before him. The skull rolled out of his hand and rattled against the baseboard, dropping teeth in its path. He could hardly believe it, having been in that house four times the night before, all the while only meters away from the partial remains of Sarah Jackson, Anna's mother.
The officer and his partner had been sent to investigate an anonymous tip while another patrol was checking out the supposed location of two bodies, later identified as Chris and Anna. They had called in the cavalry when no one answered the door, only to knock it down and find a hysterical madman, brandishing a crowbar in one hand and a skull in the other. Two more officers made their way around him and knelt down to make the arrest.
No one enjoyed being part of the "Legal Blunder of the Decade"--as papers called it--save for Kendra Miles, Alec's court-appointed defense. The seemingly open-and-shut case put her small legal practice on the map. Sarah had talked about leaving her cold, distant husband many times, as friends and family would later attest. When she disappeared, they all simply assumed she got away. Simply climbed into her car, put the pedal to the metal, and never looked back.
The tip, combined with DNA testing, proved otherwise. The murder of Anna, Sarah, Chris Buchanan, and Henry--or so everyone assumed--with the defendant found psychotic and hysterical, holding the skull of one of the victims. It was supposed to be one of the simplest cases of the prosecutor's career. In the end, however, it took over three months for Alec to be able to utter the words "not guilty", and less than five minutes for Miles' secretary to find the advertisement online.
Examination of Anna and Alec's exchange revealed that only the previous owner--in this case, Henry Jackson--could have been able to place anything in that cupboard, let alone a skull. Additionally, the fingerprints on Alec's damaged front door were found to match hundreds of prints lifted from the Jackson house. The closed-circuit footage of the supposedly dead Henry gassing up Chris' truck over a thousand miles away was the final nail in the coffin.
Jury deliberation took all of fifteen minutes before they came back and delivered their verdict of innocence. Though his parents and siblings were relieved beyond words, Alec himself couldn't care less. He had made his choice the moment he came to in the back of that cruiser. He was tainted, touched by darkness and evil in all its forms, both human and ethereal. Every day he would see Chris jogging down his street, or Sarah getting waved over by the hand-held metal detector at the courthouse, or Anna looking pityingly at him from the jury bench.
Finally knowing that his innocence had been confirmed to his family—his last gift to them—he said "good night", told them he loved them, went to his old bedroom. They found him hanging from the light-fixture the next morning.
"The supply closet is less than 20 feet away, assholes!" shouted Bianca to no one in particular. She had looked away for scarcely 30 seconds to double-check the inventory form. When she reached for her pen to sign it, however, it was missing. The other officers had lately begun to steal her pens. As though they could convict anyone without a properly organised evidence locker. Regardless of the way everyone else looked down on her, she knew her job was important.
She sighed and stood up, heading into the deep recesses of the labyrinth of shelves and totes. The sign-out sheet in the back would have a writing implement of some kind. As she ventured towards her goal, she passed her favourite item in the whole building: an early 20th century dresser. For no logical reason, it always seemed to calm her when she was having a bad day. She couldn't help but feel hatred every time her eyes drifted towards the damaged cupboard. How someone could damage such a magnificent piece of furniture, she would never understand.
As she turned to walk away, she tripped on a plastic container that someone had carelessly left in the middle of the aisle. She flew forward and landed on a wooden crate covered in a black plastic tarp. She felt sharp objects pierce her stomach and chest. She howled in pain and rolled off. The wounds were shallow, but deep enough to draw blood. "What the hell?" The crate was evidence from a drug bust, used to bring a kilo of marijuana across the border. It was supposed to be empty. She growled and lifted the tarp.
Inside the crate, she found her missing pens.
Credited to Aleister Vickers


text: other resources LootDB · ZAM · Census xml EverQuest 2 Spell Information Ancestral Mettle Mystic A group augmentation that increases the noxious resistance and stamina of the mystic's group. Target Group Concentration 1 Casting 3.0 seconds Recast 10.0 seconds Duration Until Cancelled Range 50.0 meters Level 16 Effects Increases STA of group members (AE) by (X) Increases mitigation of group members (AE) vs noxious damage by (Y) Ancestral Mettle Spell Line IIIIIIIVVVIVII 16304458728292 Retrieved from "http://eq2.wikia.com/wiki/Ancestral_Mettle?oldid=641243" Ad blocker interference detected! Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers Wikia is not accessible if you've made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected. Categories: Spells Mystic Spells Spell needing wheel icon Buff (Spell Type) Add category Cancel Save

subset: commoncrawl


text:
We stayed in #5...it was a great clean room with a fireplace and jacuzzi tub. We were able to walk to town and believe me walking is better than trying to find parking there. The breakfast was great! The service was wonderful. We would stay there again. Only con is people don't seem to realize its a small property so quiet courtesy would have been nice. Some guest were having full loud conversation everyone could hear. Then they would yell across the court to call their family members. Some people are so dumb!!
- Official Description (provided by the hotel):
- Discover the most pet friendly bed and breakfast in Carmel, CA. Our Carmel by the Sea inn features cozy rooms and spacious suites with luxurious surroundings, fireplaces, & 2 person Jacuzzi tubs. Our romantic Carmel, California bed and breakfast is ideally located only steps to amazing shopping, dining, galleries, & the beach. Come see why the Carmel Country Inn stands apart from all other pet friendly Carmel hotels! ... more less
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- Country Inn Carmel


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Should I Have Another? (A Super Bowl Drinking Flowchart)
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text:
Mont Prorel rankings
Difficulty ranking world: 249 (all)
Ranking France: 34 (all)
Ranking Alps : 69(all)
Difficulty score: 168.57 what?
Mont Prorel ratings
(rate it)
The Mont Prorel is situated in Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur. This climb belongs to the Alps .
Starting from Briancon,
the Mont Prorel ascent is 10.24 km long. Over this distance, you climb 1123 heightmeters.
The average percentage thus is 10.9 %.
Look for other sides to climb the Mont Prorel.
Find climbs close to the Mont Prorel: within 10 km - within 20 km - within 50 km
Find all climbs and cols in Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur on a map.
Find all climbs in the Alps in France on a map.
No stories submitted yet. Did you climb this mountain?
Did you climb the Mont Prorel? Please send your cycling story, description or comments. You can also send us video's or send us pictures on the Mont Prorel.
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text:
About University : Manipal, today, is a knowledge powerhouse and a brand name in higher education. Over five and half decades ago, one man, Dr Tonse Madhava Anantha Pai, had a vision which ensured that everything he did then, was consigned to posterity, making sure that generation after generation of students enjoy the fruits of his labour till eternity on this lateritic plateau. And the students will, forever, have one name on their lips, that of Manipal.
Contact Details:
Sikkim Manipal University (SMU),
5th Mile, Tadong, Gangtok,
East - Sikkim – 737102.
Tel.: 03592 - 270294 .


text: The fibreglass shell chair by Charles and Ray Eames was first launched in 1948. Still in production today, this light-weight yet heavy duty chair remains true to its original manufacture process. The playful, comfortable and practical design is also customizable. SCP's vibrant collection offers a wide range of side or arm shell colours and chair base options to make the perfect chair.


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Learn more about L.S. COURT LIMITED. Check the company's details for free and view the Companies House information, company documents and list of directors.
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|Tangible Fixed Assets
|£ 158,750
|Current Assets
|£ 27,157
|Tangible Fixed Assets Depreciation
|£ 215,796
|Provisions For Liabilities Charges
|£ 520
|£ 2,097
|Shareholder Funds
|£ 108,058
|Profit Loss Account Reserve
|£ 7,213
|Revaluation Reserve
|£ 100,325
|Called Up Share Capital
|£ 520
|Net Assets Liabilities Including Pension Asset Liability
|£ 108,058
|Total Assets Less Current Liabilities
|£ 138,578
|Net Current Assets Liabilities
|£ 20,172
|Creditors Due Within One Year
|£ 47,329
|Cash Bank In Hand
|£ 60
|Stocks Inventory
|£ 25,000
|Share Capital Allotted Called Up Paid
|£ 520
|Number Shares Allotted
|£ 520
|Tangible Fixed Assets Cost Or Valuation
|£ 369,606
|Tangible Fixed Assets Depreciation Charged In Period
|£ 4,940
|Creditors Due After One Year
|£ 30,000
Information about the Private Limited Company L.S. COURT LIMITED has been prepared for information purposes only. It is not intended to be nor does it constitute legal advice. This is public information provided by the official company register.


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We Are Experts In Electronics Restoration Consulting
The consultants of 247 IT & Electronics Restoration have many years of experience in helping claims adjusters and business owners reach an understanding of the loss at hand regarding the electronics in a building.
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See entire review
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Box spring: 12
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|20 x 26
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Customer Reviews


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40% off [SGR RARE-02] Rare Strictly Groove #02 (12" limited edition) – 12" limited edition, label by Visti
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Daughters & Sons Rovereto, Italy
In 2003 Luca Fronza became the Red Bull Homegroove official DJ and its the top of a career which began in '94. In 2002 founded the worldwide famous DJ/producers duo Pimp Wax with Will White from Propellerheads (1998 Gold Award and a track into Matrix's soundtrack). As 5th Suite has two albums in assets, three with the solo project Maggico and the debut album as Daughters & Sons. ... more
Streaming and Download help


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We are glad you are considering becoming part of the diverse community at Trinity Christian College! A Trinity education is a life changing experience that will challenge you academically, enrich you spiritually, and equip you for your future career and calling.
Students Showcase Work at OPUS: Photogallery
A bagpiper, Sinterklaas, and the Trinity Troll paraded around campus on Tuesday, April 24, to begin OPUS, an academic celebration for all departments sponsored by Trinity's Academic Initiative.
The event, which celebrates academic gifts in all fields of study, featured several afternoon sessions during which students showcased class projects, Interim experiences, choir performances, and more.
"For me, OPUS was amazing," said Christina Clair '14 of Chicago, who performed her first-prize winning poetry interpretation with a poem she wrote herself. "It was truly a blessing to share with the campus and to let them know how God changed me."
In addition to the oral interpretation contest, awards were given for music, art, and writing submissions.
New to this year's OPUS celebration was an ice sculptor. The sculptor spent the day carving a Trinity Troll along with an OPUS sculpture, which both served as decorations for the evening's picnic dinner.
The event also featured a beanbag tournament, improv group, and a praise and worship time in the event tent.
"OPUS was spectacular this year," said Joshua Knol '14 of Crown Point, Indiana, chair of Academic Initiative. "The committee put a ton of work into pulling it all together, and it definitely showed."
OPUS award winners—Click here for the complete list.
Tuition Remission Winners
$100 Winners—Jessica Burns '13, Christina Clair '14
$150 Winners—Vivienne Handumon '12, Shannon Smith '12
$250 Winners—Bill Kamp '12, Kelsey Mattson '12
$400 Winner—Amber VanderLey '12
$500 Winner—Benjamin DeYoung '14
OPUS 2012 Committee Members
Dr. Dick Cole, Chairperson
Dr. Clay Carlson
Dr. Mauricio Nava D.
Professor Rebecca Harkema '05
Dr. Mackenzi Huyser '97
Dr. Mark Jones, Chairperson
Professor Pete Post '74
Dr. Patti Powell
Dr. Laurel Quinn
Dr. John Sebestyen
Professor Maureen Sweeney
Joshua Knol '14, Chair of Academic Initiative
Jonathan Engbers '14
Cassandra Martinez '15
Keli Ooms '13
Allison Wier '13
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Trinity is ensuring that veterans who are eligible for the Post 9/11 GI Bill can attend the College tuition-free, while...
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text:
Photo Pack : Wakeup!
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text:
Currently unavailable: for regular students
Degree: Ancient History (Bachelors) - Manchester University
About Me:
Hello there, I'm Jason Leader. I study Ancient History at The University of Manchester, and I am currently in my second year. I attained 4 A's at A Level, including History and English Language.
Teaching has always been a passion of mine, and I have been involved in many different types of tutoring. I have taught in schools for experiance, holding classes in English Language at GCSE level. I even coached my school basketball team in my own time.
History has always been of great interest for me. This is what motivated me to take History further in my education. I specialise in Ancient History, particularly Greek and Roman history, but I am open to learning new things. That is one of the best things about History as a subject, there is always something new to learn, as history is written every day.
The Sessions:
I would love the oppurtunity to help others in my subject, and hopefully allow them to enjoy History as much as I do. History does not have to be a boring subject if taught right, and I aim to make History as exciting as I possibly can.
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I look forward to hearing from you!
|English Language
|A Level
|£20 /hr
|Extended Project Qualification
|A Level
|£20 /hr
|A Level
|£20 /hr
|English Language
|£18 /hr
|£18 /hr
|Media Studies
|£18 /hr
|English Language
|Media Studies
|Extended Project
CRB/DBS Standard
CRB/DBS Enhanced
Nadia (Student) May 6 2016
Natalia (Parent) October 20 2015
Natalia (Parent) October 19 2015
Sonya (Parent) May 26 2015
In history you have no doubt come across, and had to use primary sources. Primary sources offer a wealth of information, but they do have their limitations. There are a number of reasons why you cannot take the words of a primary source on face value:
1. Reason: Why is the historian writing what they are writing? What style of writing is it? Fiction, non-fiction? Prose, poetry?
2. Social: Where in society did the writer belong? Was he a low lying peasant or was he a rich beurocrat? This can link to how he perceives the society he is writing about, be it a top-down or bottum-up view.
3. Political: A lot of history is about politics. Depending of what side of the political spectrum, be it right wing or left wing, could influence their writing, and thus what you are reading. Be cautious of this.
4. Economic: This links with the aforementioned point of society. Where they are in society affects how they would interpret it.
5. Geography: Where someone was born, or where they have lived, or where they where when they wrote the piece you are reading can have an influence on their interpretation of events. If you are reading a British extract of wartime conditions in World War II, you will only recieve a British perspective, thus making it useless if you wish to include an interpretation from another nations soldiers etc.
6. Bias: Every writer has an opinion and it will always show in their writing. Even if a writer claims to be neutral, it very rarely is.
Source analysis is a big part of history, and becomes a much greater deal if you choose to take your history education further.
Semantics can be seen as the face value of a text, as in what the text, if taken literally, would mean.
Pragmatics however, can be seen as the "hidden meaning" to what a text is saying. Sarcasm is seen as a form of pragmatics.
Lexis can also be a contributing factor as to how something can be interpreted and whether the semantic of pragmatic meaning of a text should be the dominant reading.
P.E.E is a simple way of answering essay questions. P.E.E stands for "Point, Evidence, Explaination". This very easy formula allows you to structure your answer, and therefore making it easier for the examiner to read, and allowing you to access the high marks.
Firstly, you state a point. This can be as abstract or as simple as you want it to be, but it must be proved. Consider this the foundation of your answer, and with any good foundation, it must be strong.
Next comes evidence. This is where you can show off your analytical skills and use the text to prove your point. Find a part of the text that you can apply to your point, and prove it.
Finally, explaination. This wraps up your point and the text itself, and makes it clear and understanding to the examiner marking your paper, that you can prove the point you have made.
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HermesMen's Hermes Red Multicolor Silk Sailboat Print Necktie
Men's necktie. Constructed of silk. Bright red color featuring a multicolor sailor and sailboat print. Design #: 5239. Artist Signature: SA.
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All-Festival Pass – $25
Best price deal! Attend all 3 days of Festival!
Adults – $10 per film block
Children – $2
12 years and under, per film block
Tickets available at www.shastaartscouncil.org
Old City Hall, 1313 Market Street
open Tuesday—Friday, noon—5pm (Fridays, noon—6pm)
Call 530.241.7320
Doors: 6pm; Show: 7:30pm
Preceded by THE PAWN SHOP
King Vidor's The Crowd is one of the greatest achievements of American silent film. We follow the life of an unexceptional man who thinks he can "beat the crowd" with no special gift except his optimism, a theme as relevant today as it was in 1928. Boy meets girl, boy marries girl; happiness and tragedy follow amid the humdrum routine of daily life in the big city. Among its breathtaking moments: the magical lights of Coney Island at night, the roaring grandeur of Niagara Falls and the terrifying enormity of New York City, where people thrive or are swallowed up. It's shown with poetic beauty, startling realism and tremendous emotional impact. Selected for the National Film Registry, 1989.
Short film: On the centennial of its release October 2, 1916, we celebrate one of Charlie Chaplin's cleverest comedies. He plays a pawnbroker's assistant at work in a shop full of stuff. Every object he encounters is transformed for some comedic function, most famously an alarm clock that he autopsies with hammer, chisel and pliers.
Probably Buster Keaton's best film although it's not a straightforward comedy – it's actually an action film, including clever doses of romance and comedy. During the Civil War, Johnny Gray (Keaton) drives a locomotive called the "General." He tries to enlist in the Confederate Army but is turned down because the recruiter feels he'd be more valuable to the South as an engineer than as a soldier. However, both his family and his girl think he's a coward, and they refuse to speak to him until he becomes a soldier. Months pass, and Johnny, sad and alone, is piloting his train when it is stolen from him by Union raiders. His efforts to recover the "General" – and to win back his girl's love – become an unbelievably funny and action-packed series of events. This 1926 film is an epic, impeccably realistic in appearance. While funny, Buster is much more than just a clown: he evokes a lot of sympathy as well, and he genuinely becomes what can only be described as an action hero as well. His timing, whether for a joke or for a tender moment, is flawless. Keaton directed the film and does his own stunts, performing feats that are simultaneously hilarious and dangerous, all of them fantastic, but it's scary to think that any one of these probably could've killed Keaton if something had gone even slightly wrong. Selected for the National Film Registry, 1989.
This superb film from 1920 made a star of Lon Chaney who, without elaborate facial makeup, is extraordinary as Blizzard, king of San Francisco's underworld. He is able to convincingly play the part of someone who has had both legs amputated above the knee. Chaney is totally believable as he moves around on crutches. He shows incredible strength in using only his arms to climb ladders and ropes. Chaney's performance is not merely a physical tour-de-force. His portrayal of the bitter criminal mastermind never descends into caricature. The viewer sympathizes with him even as his violent actions make him repellent. All of this makes for a great vintage macabre film that starts off well and just gets better and better, more and more intense and dramatic, as it goes along. It is hugely enjoyable, exciting and also at times quite shockingly violent for a movie made 96 years ago.
William Beaudine (1892-1970) is remembered today chiefly for his many comedy films, made both in America and Great Britain, and for his extended work on the television series Lassie. He began in 1909 as a property boy at Biograph, and by the 1920's he was directing such silent classics as Little Annie Rooney, Sparrows, Penrod and Sam, and The Canadian (1926), adapted from a play by Somerset Maugham, a most uncharacteristic film for the director.
"We're in the Canadian wheat fields. Robbed of her security by the death of her aunt, Nora Marsh (played by Mona Palma) arrives from London to stay on her brother's farm. Abroad for Nora has meant Paris and the Riviera; she has no notion of frontier life, and doesn't hide her distaste for her raw surroundings. She quickly makes enemies of her brother's wife Gertie (Dale Fuller) and homesteader Frank Taylor (Thomas Meighan), especially after she wipes her knife and fork on her napkin – a faux pas subtly conveyed with surreptitious glances and brief gestures. The clash of wills and what we now call 'lifestyles' leads Nora to seek a desperate solution to get away: marriage to Taylor and a life on his wheat farm. 'You said you needed a wife to cook and sew. Would I do?' The rest of the film studies the strife between these two, married unsuitably, barely civil to each other.
"Beaudine does not resort to imposed drama or glossy style. He sets his camera in close, and says everything through facial expression and gesture. Not for a moment are the performances exaggerated: the actors behave like human beings. I asked Beaudine why he was given such a serious dramatic subject. 'I was a comedy director, essentially. I was getting to the end of my contract with Warners, and they were renting me out to Paramount at $2,500 a week, with nothing for me to do. They sent me back to New York to do a comedy with Richard Dix. On the way back Paramount changed their minds, and since they were stuck with the contract, put me on The Canadian, an entirely different kind of thing from what I'd been doing. I did a fairly good picture, and they were satisfied.' "Did you ever work on a farm in your life?" I asked. 'No.'
He told me he'd never seen the completed film even in the 1920s, due to pressure of work. So when a print was due to be screened at the Los Angeles Museum of Art in February 1970, we tried to persuade him to come. He arrived in a wheelchair shortly before the film was due to start. Would he say a few words? 'Not on your life,' said Beaudine, 'I'll wait till I've seen it.'
The audience applauded during the picture, and they applauded at the end. And only then did Beaudine agree to talk. ' I'm very surprised,' he said. 'Why – I was quite a good director in spots.' The audience gave him a standing ovation. He died a few weeks later." — Kevin Brownlow, 1972
It may be 93 years old but this grand film directed by the great Rex Ingram is a marvel and still holds up today as an outstanding adventure drama. Based on Rafael Sabatini's novel set in pre-Revolutionary France, an orphan named André-Louis Moreau (Ramon Novarro, in the performance that made him a star) becomes an outlaw French revolutionary. André falls in love with Aline de Kercadiou (Alice Terry), but her uncle would like her to marry the Marquis de la Tour d'Azyr (Lewis Stone), an older French nobleman. When de la Tour kills André's friend Philippe de Vilmorin, André wagers a duel. Authorities order Andre's arrest just before the duel, but he flees and takes the identity of Scaramouche, the clown.
Not only is it a rattling good story but also a superb example of silent filmmaking by a true artist. The sets and costumes are fantastic; the film has a rich, painterly style created by Ingram and his ace cinematographer John F. Seitz. The acting is first rate and there are a surprising number of twists and turns in this epic; nothing is ever quite as it seems. Enjoy!
1916 marked the midpoint of the First World War. The United States was still neutral, confident in isolation. But in the first eight months of the year France, Britain and Germany sustained 2.2 million casualties with the battle of Verdun, which began in February, and the battle of the Somme, which was launched on July 1st. The wartime collapse of the European film industry opened the way for domination of the world screens by American movies, which by 1916 had assumed a visual syntax that largely endures today. The major studio, distribution, and exhibition industry supporting them was also well established in 1916 by such companies as Paramount, Fox, Universal, and Metro. Here is a fascinating program of films from a century ago. The Selig Tribune newsreel issue of March 13th mixes sport and fire items with reports on faraway war events. American adventurer Donald C. Thompson enjoyed access to both sides of the line with his superbly photographed independent actuality Fighting the War. Every show included a comedy, in this case The Floorwalker, first of Charlie Chaplin's great Mutual series. The feature-length film that came to dominate screens only two years earlier is represented by The Return of Draw Egan. William S. Hart, who starred in and directed this excellent western, cast the mold for similar films during the next several decades.
Preceded by The Cameraman's Revenge
One of the last important Russian films completed before the 1917 revolution,
Father Sergius is a handsomely produced drama based upon a novella by Leo Tolstoy. Ivan Mosjoukine portrays a young successful army officer, Prince Kasatsky, who unknowingly falls in love with the Czar's mistress. When he eventually finds out the truth about his fiancée (she wants to marry him to stop the rumors about her affair with the Czar), he is so shocked that he retreats to a monastery to become a monk (and after years Father Sergius). Still he battles with temptations of sexual lust and dreams of how things could have been. Co-directors Yakov Protazanov and Alexandre Volkoff emphasized the high and low points of the character's life, filming in the actual palaces and private clubs described by Tolstoy. The movie has many uncommonly modern characteristics. Besides the daring subject it has a rather strongly developed lead character, good storytelling and cinematography and a script that deals with human emotions without being exploitative or sentimental. It is a prime example of the art film movement of pre-soviet Russia and a timeless story of unfulfilled love. Mosjoukine and Volkoff later enjoyed stellar careers in French cinema of the 1920s; after a period of exile, Protazanov returned to Soviet Russia where he directed major production such as Aelita, Queen of Mars (1924) and Chapayev (1943). The Cameraman's Revenge (1912), also Russian, is a clever stop-motion animated film by Ladislas Starewicz who subsequently emigrated to France where he made beautiful animated fantasies until the 1960s.
Douglas Fairbanks plays both father and son in a delightful sequel to The Mark of Zorro. A tremendous critical and commercial success in 1925 and still a lot of fun, it's rarely shown and almost forgotten today, perhaps because of its terrible title. One reviewer wrote: "Doug has never leaped so high, moved so quickly, or kept in constant motion so long before. The man isn't human, that's what he isn't. He's perpetual youth, a three-ringed circus, the personification of all juvenile heroes, all rolled into one …" For this film, Fairbanks hired expert Snowy Baker to teach him the twenty-foot Australian bull whip. Photoplay magazine opined: "It is guaranteed to drive little boys into frenzies of stunts until they break an arm or a new fad comes along". Fairbanks was indeed a hero to young Marion Morrison, later known as John Wayne. He tried a Fairbanks stunt, jumping out a window clinging to a grapevine. "I ruined a beautiful grape arbor," Wayne told a biographer. Directed by Donald Crisp, with Crisp and Mary Astor.
Preceded by Habeas Corpus
The great Harold Lloyd has a total triumph in 1924's Girl Shy. This film is jam-packed with staggering comedic brilliance, a romantic tale with enough emotional pangs to please Chaplin, and yet an astonishing climactic action sequence that would make Keaton proud. Girl Shy tells the story of Harold Meadows, a bespectacled young apprentice at a tailor shop who stutters uncontrollably at the sight of a beautiful woman, and yet, ironically, fancies himself experienced enough to write a best-selling instructional manual on how to "make love" with the opposite sex. When Harold unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams, a modest beauty from a wealthy family, his views on woman suddenly do a somersault, and it's going to take every ounce of his energy to prevent his newfound sweetheart from marrying a coarse and arrogant bigamist. Harold found his perfect leading lady in Jobyna Ralston, who had just the right amount of prettiness and comic timing. Lloyd, the oddly-neglected genius of 1920s comedy, here justifies his incredible popularity with silent cinema audiences; he was a master of comic timing in everything from set pieces to a spectacular chase across downtown Los Angeles that is beyond the power of mere words to describe. As the Variety critic wrote, "it is a chase that caps anything that has ever been done on the screen."
Habeas Corpus (1928) is a Laurel & Hardy comedy for Hallowe'en. Crazy Professor Padilla needs a corpse to test his theory and sends the boys to get one from the local cemetery. It's not the plot but the deliberate pacing as L&H play off one another — half the film goes by while they're trying to gain entrance over a wall!
Thanks to David Shepard, world-renowned film preservationist, the Festival can boast a real movie theater experience, with films projected off reels, accompanied by the chatter of an old-times movie projector.
Well-known internationally in film circles, Shepard has spent the major part of his career restoring early cinema for DVD and video editions. Recent projects include Abel Gance's "La Roue" (1922), "Chaplin at Keystone" (1914) and C. B. DeMille's 1927 production of "Chicago". The list of other cinema restoration projects completed by Shepard throughout his career is considerable and significant.
Shepard taught cinema for 34 years at the University of Southern California, where he was also director of the Louis B. Mayer Film and Television Study Center; UCLA, where he was honored in 1983 as "the outstanding teacher in performing and integrated arts"; Claremont Men's College; the University of Iowa; and Pennsylvania State University. He has also co-authored or edited more than a dozen books.
Shepard currently lives in northern rural California with eight dogs and works in a handmade log house of his own design. He is also active in community affairs and continues to work nationally with various archives and laboratories to preserve rare films.
In the words of Mike Mashon, Head, Moving Image Section, Motion Picture Broadcasting and Recorded Sound Division, Library of Congress, "David is a giant in the field of film preservation, one of those rare talents who exemplifies the scholar's rigorous research, the archivist's attention to detail, and the fan's unabashed love and enthusiasm for movies."
The experience would not be complete without live accompaniment! Redding's Festival is graced by extraordinary talent of world-class master pianist, Frederick Hodges! Hailed by the press as one of the best ragtime pianists in the world, Frederick Hodges is sought after by today's foremost orchestras, festivals, conductors, and collaborative musicians.
Renowned as a pianist and singer, Frederick Hodges is recognized by audiences around the world for his mastery of diverse repertoire from Liszt to Gershwin. He has established a reputation as a truly versatile artist equally sought after as soloist, singer, and guest soloist with the California Pops Orchestra, and dance band pianist. He has appeared on national television, radio, and in several Hollywood films. He is also a sought-after silent film accompanist for both live performances and on DVD. He performs regularly at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum.
"One of my most cherished musical pleasures is accompanying silent films. My drive for complete authenticity when creating silent films scores is motivated by my deep love, appreciation, and commitment to the artistic and musical culture of the silent film era."
About the Artist: www.frederickhodges.com


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Irish Defence Force Remembrance News
This section covers those Irish soldiers who were killed and whose names are displayed on the Tipperary Remembrance Arch. For the full Irish Defence Force Roll of Honour click here.
Kildare Soldier lays Wreath for Dad who Died in Lebanon
Troops representing the 51st Infantry Group commemorated their fallen comrades at the memorial for Irish Peacekeepers in Tibnin, South Lebanon yesterday.Laying a wreath as part of the moving ceremony was Sgt Martin Tynan whose father Cpl Martin Tynan Snr from Co Kildare tragically died in Lebanon in December 1992. Read more
Kildare News 14 December 2015
Poignant farewell for peacekeeper killed in East Timor
PRIVATE Peadar O Flatharta, the soldier killed in an accidental shooting while on peacekeeping duty in East Timor last week, was laid to rest with full military honours in his native Connemara yesterday. Read more
Irish Independent 24 April 2002
Monument remembers soldier missing for 50 years
Tpr Mullins was just 18 when his armoured car was ambushed by armed mercenaries in Katanga on September 15, 1961.His remains have never been recovered — he is one of just two Irish UN peacekeepers who are still 'missing in action'. Read more
Irish Examiner 16 September 2016
Poignant Letter rekindles Memories of Congo Mission
Sgt Hugh Gaynor of 'A' company, 33rd Battalion, O.N.U.C. Sgt Gaynor was one of the eleven Irish soldiers who were killed during the Niemba Ambush in the Congo in November 1960. Also on display is a letter by Lt Patrick O'Riordan and the Distinguished Service Medal of both of whom lost their lives in the fighting in December 1961.Read more
Irish Independent 25 March 2009
Funeral for Private Andy Wickham
U.N. Veterans, family members and serving members of the defence forces, will be in Barntown on Sunday for the annual Mass and wreath laying for Private Andy Wickham, killed in action in the Congo on 1961. Read more
Wexford People 5 May 2005
Irish UN Soldier Killed in Lebanon
Private William Kedian, 22 from County Mayo became the Irish army's 18th Irish soldier killed in action with the UNIFIL peace-keeping force in South Lebanon shell landed on an outpost near the village of Barashit at the weekend.Read more
Irish Echo Archives 11-17 November 1998
Monument unveiled to soldier who went missing in Lebanon
Pte Caomhán Seoighe from Inis Óirr disappeared in April 1981 while on UN mission. Read more
Irish Times 29 May 2015
How nine Irish peacekeepers died fighting off a Baluba ambush
It was perhaps the biggest outpouring of grief Ireland has ever seen. Half a million people thronged the streets of Dublin for the funerals of eight of the Irish soldiers killed in the Niemba ambush in the Congo in 1960. Read more
Irish Independent 21 July 2013
1916 Centenary News
News concerning the 100th Anniversaries of the 1916 Easter Rising and the Battle of the Somme
The 485 Irish civilians killed in the 1916 Easter Rising shoot outs
As the centenary of the 1916 rebellion is commemorated it seems the 485 civilians murdered during Easter Week as a result of the Rising are forgotten.Read more
irishcentral.com 24 February 2016
Military study made Ned Daly a shrewd tactician
Ned Daly always wanted to be a soldier so when the Irish Volunteers were founded he seized his chance. Read more
Irish Examiner 15 February 2016
Dublin photo exhibition a snapshot of 1916 Rising
A new exhibition in Dublin highlights the key events and locations of 1916 as caught on camera. Read more
Irish Examiner 3 February 1916
1916 Centenary: Hurleys for Salonika letter describes Irish life in the British Army
Sgt John V Mullins, Royal Munster Fusiliers, was typical of the men who answered John Redmond's call for Irishmen to join the ranks. He revealed in a letter to an uncle how men in the British regiments played sport whenever they got a chance."Our fellows are longing for a good hurling match to show them that we are just as good at sport as we are at fighting," he wrote.He asked his uncle to send his letter to the Cork Examiner editor with an appeal for hurleys and sliothars.Read more
Irish examiner 25 January 2016
Ireland prepares to mark Easter Rising centenary amid fears old tensions may resurface
Anniversary could be used to claim that 1916 Irish rebellion is 'unfinished business'.Read more
The Observer 3 January 2016
Battle of the Somme centenary: Preparing to commemorate Ulster soldiers
The Ulster Division had suffered around five thousand casualties with more than two thousand of them killed on the first day. By September by September, the 16th Irish Division, made up of soldiers from the southern counties of Ireland, had suffered nearly 4,500 casualties with 1,200 of them killed. Read more
bbc.com/news 5 January 2016
Irish in World War I Remembrance News
Stand side by side to honour all Ireland's dead of 1916, service told
There is not a village or town in any county in Ireland that did not suffer losses in the first World War, a remembrance service at St Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin was told yesterday.
Read more
Irish Times 8 November, 2015
Decorated First World War soldier buried almost 100 years after he was killed
Sergeant David Harkness Blakey of the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers (R Innis Fus) was today laid to rest with full military honours at a ceremony in France. Read more
Defence in the media , Ministry of Defence blog 8 October 2015
What really happened to Ireland's Great War soldiers after they returned home?
We are in the midst of a fest of commemoration from the Great War to the Rising, but what we remember often defines more how we see ourselves now than what really happened. The ex-servicemen who returned from the Great War were certainly hostages to such fortune. They became the litmus test for the dominant theme defining the new Ireland; its relationship to Great Britain.Read more
Irish Independent 29 August 2015
Irish soldiers who died in WWI are officially commemorated
The annual event, held in St Patrick's Chapel at Westminster Cathedral, was led by Canon Christopher Tuckwell and Colonel David Maitland-Titterton, Chairman of the CIRA.
There wreaths were laid for the fallen of all the Irish regiments of the British army over the years, including those that were disbanded when Ireland gained independence in 1922. Read more
The Irish Post November 11 2014.
HRH The Duke of Kent and Irish President Michael D Higgins unveil memorial cross to Ireland's war dead
The Cross of Sacrifice at Glasnevin is the first to be erected in the Republic of Ireland. It represents an important addition to the cemetery's existing memorials, which honour servicemen who died in the First and Second World Wars
Read more
Commonwealth War Graves Commission 31 July 2014
British Prime Minister and Irish Taoiseach Visit Iconic Commonwealth War Graves Commission Memorials
Welcomed by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission's (CWGC) Vice Chairman, Sir Joe French, the Prime Ministers visited several First World War cemeteries and memorials around Ieper – the Island of Ireland Peace Tower at Messines, the grave of Major William Redmond at Locre, the Menin Gate Memorial, Tyne Cot Cemetery and Memorial and Wytschaete Military Cemetery.
Read more
Commonwealth War Graves Commission 19 December 2013
"Still the battle rages": Dublin mother's WWI diary goes online
Ever wonder what life was like in Ireland during the time of World War I?
The diary gives a fascinating glimpse into life in Ireland in 1916 for one mother whose son has been declared missing in action. Read more
thejournal.ie 2 October 2012
Irish-born soldier to be honoured by US veterans
Until now, the soldier's grave remained unmarked and he never received a military burial.
Edmond Brunnock died from injuries received in a fierce battle at Boureuilles on the French/German border in Feb 1918. He was reburied in Shanrahan Cemetery in Clogheen,Co Tipperary, in the same plot as his father. Read more
Irish Examiner 17 August 2012
Irish in World War II Remembrance News
D-Day: NI veterans receive France's top military honour
The veterans were presented with the Legion D'Honneur (Legion of Honour) award in Lisburn, County Antrim. The recipients are ex-serviceman from the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force (RAF) who played a variety of roles in the Allied operation, which was the biggest seaborne invasion in history. Read more
bbcnews.co.uk 16 February 2016
Irish D-Day veteran receives French honour
A 97-year-old veteran of the D-Day landings has been awarded the highest honour the French government can bestow on a soldier.
The title of Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur was awarded to John (Jack) Mahony at a ceremony in Midleton today. Read more
rte.ie 5 December 2015
John Leslie, one of Ireland's last World War II veterans, given Legion d'Honneur
Ninety-eight year old Sir John Leslie, a cousin of Winston Churchill, toasted the Legion d'Honneur with a glass of Champagne during a ceremony at the French embassy in Dublin.
"I wish to accept this award on behalf of all soldiers from the island of Ireland who fought and died between the two great wars," he said.
Read more
Irish Independent 9 November 2015
Kevin Myers: Irish lives lost in WWII probably exceed the death toll for all domestic political violence in 20th century
281 southern-born Irish soldiers were good enough to be killed in other regiments of the British army by the end of 1940. Read more
Irish Independent 4 November 2009
Irish in Korean War Remembrance News
Special day at St. Mary's Garden of Remembrance
It was the first time in our Irish History that the Minister for Patriots and Veterans Affairs from the Government of the Republic of Korea visited the Republic of Ireland. Read more
Tipperary Star 12 October 2014
Irish soldiers in tragic Korean battle of Happy Valley remembered
>Irish men who fought in the Korean War are commemorated for first time Read more
Irish Times 26 April 2013
Memorial for Irish war heroes erected in South Korea
A MEMORIAL FOR the 159 Irish people who died during the Korean war was unveiled in Seoul today.
The Irish Association of Korea, with the Embassy of Ireland, the Somme Association and the Royal Ulster Rifles Association, organised a remembrance service to honour those who fought between 1950 and 1953. Read more
thejournal.ie 25 April 2013
Korean War Plaque Erected in St Mary's
A plaque was unveiled on Saturday the 2nd of March at St Mary's Memorial Garden in Thurles to mark the death of 130 Irish men and women who died in the Korean War during the period of 1950-1953. Read more
Tipperary Star 14 March 2013
Irish Guards Honoured in Bronze Salvaged from Iraq
The 1st Batallion Irish Guards have just returned from a six month tour in Afghanistan where they suffered three fatalities. Read more
The Telegraph 24 June 2011


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5 Best loop array videos
In this page, we will see 5 Best loop array videos work on simple loop, nested loop, jump statement, 1-D array and 2-D array.
Please watch and subscribe 5 Best loop array videos on YouTube for future solution.
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