《Hollowed Tales of Horror》
Linus
Desperate, Linus struggled in the last throws of his night terrors, gasping he bolted up drenched in sweat. A deep shuddering breath calmed him as he stroked the fringe of his blanket, his precious security blanket had long since faded into bleached out white, and disintegrated into strings. But his first girlfriend had made him a new blanket with the remnants, shed woven the frayed strings back into a smooth sheet of fabric again, moving the most tattered bits to the edges and sewing them onto a heavy quilt, saving it from the ravages of time.
Blood coursed through his ears pounding again as his brain shed the last wisps of today¡¯s nightmare. Lucy¡¯s callous laughter echoed particularly loudly in October. He shook with rage as he remembered all of the poor gourds she had tortured over the years. She¡¯d convinced their parents that it was ¡°therapy¡± and even charged him for the privilege of watching her hacking, slashing, and decimating the defenseless and innocent. His young please still haunted him, ¡°You didn¡¯t say you were going to lobotomize it!¡± as he had been too weak to stop her.
Linus gazed brokenly across his loft, the penthouse level was the 13th floor, a huge open loft with little luxury installed as was his habit. The only thing out of place was the state of the art kitchen and massive selection of free weights, he gave little value to the strict motions isolated by most exercise machines found in gyms nowadays. He¡¯d had to reinforce the floor to this level with poured concrete and rebar just to support his racks of weights. Beneath the windows he had bolted steel racks of dumbbells, the small factory windowpanes were grimy with age but added a nice tint to the light that came in through the wavy glass. Paper thin at the top edges and nearly as thick as his fingernail at the bottom the glass testified to the endurance of the building fighting against water, wind, and sun as time crept slowly between the bricks and into the foundation. Linus gazed absently out across the narrow cracked alley separating the run-down brick factory buildings. The decrepit bricks across the way stood in stark contrast to the glowing edifice he had restored so far of his building. A slight drizzle started pittering against the glass softly as he lifted his first set of weights from their racks. Decades of routine made his sets nearly instinct as he went through the repetitions of his exercise routine, allowing his mind to wander free of its flesh mask joyously even for a scant few minutes.
Sweat finally beaded his brow as he stacked 45 pound weight plates onto the bar for bench pressing, today was his maximum effort day, the day each month where he recorded exactly how much weight he could lift and made sure to add at least a pound, but even an ounce would do, so long as he always increased his max weight each month. He added quickly six 45 lbs plates, two 25 lbs plates, two 15 lbs plates, and two one-pound plates today was his new record 352 pounds. Lucy claimed he would crush himself under all the metal one day with no one there to spot him.
Gritting his teeth he strained against the bar. His elbows shook and it traveled up his arms, the rattle of steel filled the entire floor as he slowly lifted the mass of metal and lowered it to his chest smoothly, he grinned savagely as he fought against gravity for she was a heartless bitch. With a crash he dropped the weights back into their cradle and rolled off the bench panting, he collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for air as his stomach dry heaved glad that he had yet to break his fast Linus struggled to his knees and just breadth in the moist cold air of fall reveling in the burn of his muscles. Climbing finally to his feet he smiled as he staggered over to his fridge to begin mixing his muscle elixir and vitamins; it took a big man to carry a security blanket to football practice, it took a bigger man to laugh at him, Linus had made sure that there wasn''t anyone bigger.
He chugged down his daily allotment of chalky protein powder and carefully swabbed all of his injections sights after his dose of testosterone and human growth hormones before he took his last handful of pills, mostly multivitamins and low dosages of steroids in one gulp with 32 ounces of water. He looked over at his project for the day, bricks stacked carefully fondly reminded him of his first job when he had been 16; construction had saved him after his parents had both gotten sick and quickly died.
¡°Can you lift those bags?¡± Cint had demanded at him when he showed up unwelcome at the job site, Linus glanced over at the 100-pound bags of sand and concrete before nodding glad he was big for his age. At 16 years of football practice with chuck had broadened his shoulders to rival most of the men at the construction site, but he''d never had to move weights for hours at a time. Clint gazed at him levelly waiting for a reply; he was a tough man carved from weathered leather, cracked and dried by years of working in the sun.
¡°Yes, sir,¡± Linas said hating that his voice cracked slightly betraying his age even though his carefully edited birth certificate and driver''s license firmly put him at 18.Clints eyes flared at the sound of his voice and he glanced at his foremen before jerking his head for them to piss off.
¡°Well boy you''re a good liar, but how good of a worker are you? What do your parents think of your after-school activities?¡± he demanded his eyes knowing full well what Linus was asking him to risk.
¡°They died this spring, my sister is 18 and just started college, I need to earn something for when she kicks me out once I turn 18,¡± Linus said quietly not meeting Clint¡¯s eyes. The silence stretched before he could finally look up, he expected pity in Clint¡¯s eyes and was sick to death of seeing it in peoples faces. Instead, a steady understanding was all he saw, and a careful scrutiny weighing his few actions and words so far, Linus could feel the pressure of this moment building sure it was some kind of turning point for his life. It was October, the time of change he prayed silently to the great pumpkin for things to shift.
¡°Ok, I''ll pay you cash boy, each day you work, but the first day you don''t show up, don''t bother coming back,¡± Clint said sticking out his hand, Linus shook it wincing at the pressure. After a week he had earned nearly 500$ and hadn''t told a soul about it except Charley of course. Lucy was only home on Tuesdays and Chuck covered for him saying he was there helping with homework.
¡°Well Linus you stuck it out, next week follow Gary he will be showing you what to do with the tonnes of concrete you lugged up those stairs,¡± Clint said as he unloaded the last of a dump truck load of bricks carefully onto pallets. And so it went, learning concrete, tile work, framing, roofing, carpentry, finish carpentry, painting, all under various contractors and subcontractors, until he finally learned electrical and plumbing under Clint¡¯s watchful eye, he absorbed it all like a sponge, especially the contract negotiations Clint would hold while working at the site. As long as he did not stop moving he could collapse into bed and finally sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks.
Silently he picked up his tool belt and began cleaning bricks before mixing plaster for the fireplace he was installing, it was original and had graced the office of whoever had owned the building in the 1850s, nearly five feet across, whole logs could be thrown into it to heat the impressive space of the penthouse suite. Lucy was due any time now for her monthly ¡°visit¡± more like a health and welfare check to assuage her practice of any wrongdoing in his ¡°deteriorating¡± mental state. As though taking a religious vow of silence for a year and working alone to reflect on his life was so outside the norm as to cause concern, he was glad he¡¯d never incorporated his company and started selling its stock like Lucy had told him to. If she''d got her way he would have been removed from the company and replaced with A nice loyal CEO and board of directors to protect their interests of the company no doubt. Ah, the joys of having a psychiatrist as a sister.
Dr. Lucinda Van Pelt, he thought disdainfully ladling mortar onto bricks and tapping them into place around the mantelpiece. Nearly a decade of-of private practice and several clinical studies and she was no closer to her coveted spot among New England¡¯s best and brightest. The Sudden loss of their parents had finally given her full control over his life just like she¡¯d always dreamed of, a hellish two years that still haunted him. But even those two years of unregulated clinical trials as she delved deeper and deeper into Sigmund¡¯s storied and tortured halls, haunted by the pleading of 19th-century men and women desperate for meaning in their lives but meeting only addiction and exploitation as little more than rats in a maze. All for naught, her unregulated techniques had barely help shore up her grades netting her straight C¡¯s. But C¡¯s earn degrees as his Dad had been fond of saying to her after her tantrums about how the teachers had no idea how to deal with her intellect in class as early as the third grade. Lucy had used every cent that their parents had set aside for both their educations; pursuing an ivy league education at Yale. She¡¯d then invested the insurance money that their deaths had generated into starting her own private practice straight out of medical school the ink barely dried on her degree, leaving him nothing but the house they had grown up in. his face stretched into the rictus of a smile as he froze trying to calm himself down.
Absolutely still, he stood frozen, struggling against his rage; pain etched across every fiber of muscle he remained motionless. until finally, the motion lights in his house clicked off plunging him back into the murky gray light, snapping him back to his tasks at hand. He resumed working his thoughts spiraling back into his pain as his body shuddered reflecting his anguish in his muscles. Even their family home she had tried to squander on her career, thankfully his parents will have clearly spelled out that she was obligated to ensure the house was livable and paid for until Linus turned 18. On his birthday he had finally had his first revenge against her tender ministrations, as petty as it was; at exactly 03:03 am he¡¯d changed all of the locks and replaced the doors with steel reinforced fire rated doors. Then he had thoroughly enjoyed hauling all of her personal effects to a storage unit he had rented for her online in her name and dropped her key into the mail with an itemized list of the rest of the family affects left in the house. At 09:00 am he had retained his first lawyer to handle his business affairs and drama Lucy was invariably going to start. By 11:00 am he had withdrawn from high school and taken the high school equivalency examinations he had scheduled weeks before, finally ending his time as an indentured student. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
The sound of tires crunching through his perimeter of gravel around the building broke him from his revere, Lucy¡¯s white mercedes town car was a silver blight on his pristine construction site. He grunted as he went over to the windows to study her as she climbed out of the car scowling up at the rain from under her conservative wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses. He scoffed at the facade so carefully crafted, her dove gray pants suit was perfectly tailored and spoke of wealth or at least the impression of class. He knew for a fact that she could barely affordthe mortgages on her one-floor practice and an excessively well-located condo near central park. Her imported heels were just feminine enough to be impractical and he could see her cursing him as she stumbled in the unfinished driveway and parking area. A wolfish grin spread across his face enjoying her discomfort, he could have paved both stretches of dirt and carefully leveled gravel months ago, but as long as she persisted in her visits he saw no reason to reward her intrusions.
Lucy sighed at the weather that always seemed to cling to Boston¡¯s suburbs hating the humidity and everything that came with it.
¡°God damn it! Linus you Blockhead,¡± she yelled at the building as the persistent drizzle left just enough puddles for her to stumble and stain her handmade Italian shoes she¡¯d gotten on her last lecture tour in Europe. Idiot buying up blocks and blocks of derelict mill buildings, she hated the way the old buildings seemed to capture the scent of poverty. Like sand and catshit with the faint tinge of desperation and alcohol, certain neighborhoods seemed to soak up the smells of those who lived there, it was one of the reasons she never made house calls. This building was the worst one he had acquired, barely within sight of a bus stop which she doubted even ran still, let alone a subway line this far from the city proper. She would never understand what drove the recent clutching at a ridiculous image of the past that had never existed in the first place. The scaffolding that marred the outside of the building just further angered her. She pushed her way through the hanging sheets of plastic she knew that Linus left up just to smudge her clothes, just as he left the gravel to scuff her shoes. She¡¯d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of changing one bit though.
Thankfully the elevator worked smoothly, what a ridiculous opulence to insist on, exterior elevators with their brass framed windows were nothing but testaments to the idiocy that money could generate overwhelming even the most common of senses. His lairs always hovered at the fringes of cities. As soon as the streetlights began to flicker he would snatch up some dilapidated brick monstrosity and gullible investors would flock to it like moths to a flame. He never even enjoyed his profits she thought grinding her teeth as she waited for the brass and glass exterior elevator to carry her aloft to the 12th floor. Last winter he had flown everyone from their old neighborhood to his most recent project as he completed it, it had been on the river in the Bronx. The mayor of her city had come and given him an award for revitalizing an entire neighborhood when all he had done was fix the plumbing and add some new paint before selling out for millions in profits. She hated the 1880¡¯s columns and buttresses the 1880¡¯s littered all over Boston, a stern tsk slipped from between her expertly painted lips as she inhaled sharply at all of the annoying aspects of her visit. Slowly she counted in her head to control herself. Few people got under her skin as Linus could.
She studied the three vacant lots Linus had left around his building, he was letting them run wild, one was slowly being taken over by a homeless camp the other two looked to be nothing but large patches of pumpkin vines. She would bet good money that Linus had sown those pumpkin seeds himself as soon as he began to haunt his job site. He still held a strong fascination with pumpkins, between his security blanket and his nearly sexual interest in the orange gourds he should have been an excellent case to study. He surrounded himself with them wherever he lived for more than a few weeks she wondered if he was even aware he did it, he had claimed he didn''t plant them the last time she had brought the subject up, but he was totally immune to any of her analysis techniques so she had to give up on her analysis. With a chime the elevator stopped one floor below the penthouse suite, the 12th floor was as high as the elevator went to reach the penthouse level you had to run the gauntlet of Linus¡¯s receptionist and past the vacant offices for managing his growing corporation. The empty receptionist desk was bigger than her entire office, like a desert island of polished cherry burl it floated in the polished black and white streaked marble and seemed to glare at her intrusion suspiciously as her heels clicked loudly off the walls. She stalked down the hall to the far stairwell, each antique light blinked to life as the motion detectors sensed her and turned on, a seamless blend of vintage style and modern convenience she had to admit.
Her lip curled remembering the large ridiculous Van Pelt above the receptionist¡¯s desk with its idiotically inspired pumpkin-shaped ¡°A¡± further highlighting his obsession with Halloween and the Great Pumpkin.
¡°Linus! Where are you-you blockhead? Idiot brother never easy to find in this mess.¡± she muttered peering around the penthouse, how could someone as big as her little brother hide in this open concept warehouse-like space? The dim industrial lighting barely banished the gloom into the corners. The faint scrape of metal on brick drew her over to the huge grand fireplace in the middle of the space, aside from the protruding walls for his bathroom the fireplace was the only other wall that divided the floor plan in half, his bedroom was visible through the crackling flames of the fire. Such an odd set up for a fireplace she wondered again at the mind that designed such a living space. Linus was crouched by the bricks of the mantle, a large wheelbarrow full of mortar sat behind him as he carefully set bricks into the chimney section finally finishing up the backsplash.
¡°There you are little brother, big sister just stopped by to ensure you are still breathing.¡± Linus snorted at the concern in her voice.
¡°You know I think this vow of silence has gone quite far enough, it¡¯s getting ridiculous after almost a year. If you had incorporated as I told you too you could have had a CEO to run things while you pursued your foolishness. Instead of draining all of your resources into this place without a scent of profit for the entire year.¡± Lucy recited her arguments to fill his silence, only the sound of his trowel scraping excess mortar answered her. Sighing she went to check his cupboards and fridge, unknown bottles of injectables labeled mostly in Russian and mandarin where most of the contents of both. The kitchen was spotless, more bottles of pills marched in perfect lines beside a top of the line blender with enough blades in it to pulverize a brick into a smoothy. The steady scraping of metal and brick stopped as she completed her rounds.
¡°As spartan as ever, I see.¡± Lucy peered closely at a bottle trying to decipher the Cyrillic script on the side. Carefully Linus took the bottle of creatine that Lucy was about to pick up and inspect more closely and moved it out of her reach. She had never bothered to learn any other languages so the writing may as well have been in ancient Greek for her; he¡¯d picked up four languages so far just from the people who had worked for him over the years, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, and Latin, which had been his high school language focus. A decision he had never regretted as the fundamentals of Latin let him at least struggle his way through most romance languages that were written anyway. His research into the mythos of Halloween would have been impossible without a base of latin for his research.
Lucy blanched as he crossed his impressive arms while looking at her with his flat gray eyes, each of his arms was nearly the size of her thigh and very imposing. He looked down at her without the slightest expression on his face. Deep within his eyes something always seemed to stir when he looked at her as though he was privy to some things that she hid even from herself; no mask she pulled on was able to withstand his solum scrutiny. After a few tense minutes of strained silence Lucy sighed, she was usually able to outlast her client''s silence but never with Linus. His silence spoke more loudly than any judgmental tirade he may have gone on.
¡°Well, I guess I will be seeing you next month, I hope you¡¯re done with the silent treatment by then.¡± She raised her hand to pat his arm as she walked past but he pivoted smoothly on the balls of his feet, disturbingly nimble for such a large man, he flinched away from her attempted intimacy. One long step put him safely out of her grasp, his scowl darkened as he almost lost seven years of careful conscious living.
The human body replaced its skin cells at a constant rate rendering your body completely new every seven years, at least on the outside. Untouched for the better part of a decade had erased the contamination to his virtue that he theorized was to blame for the failures of his summonings over the years. This year would be different though, as Lucy¡¯s heels clicked away he went over to the window to watch her drive away and enjoy the fresh scents brought out by the rain.
He needed to be untouched by any intimacy, or so his research had concluded. Finally free from all contamination in just a few more days he would begin his last preparations for the Great Pumpkin. He marveled that no one else had ever put the pieces together before for the ritual to summon the ancient spirit of change, the embodiment of change through death, the Great Pumpkin was a force of nature few were willing to investigate thoroughly; it was understandable before the discovery of microbiology and the knowledge of cellular division and replacement that no one had realized that you could purify yourself through dedication.
Studying his handiwork, he carefully smoothed the joists of the bricks with his finger before the mortar set. Perfectly blended new and old bricks stacked together supporting each other beautifully. Deliberately Linus pushed four bricks in order and a loud click echoed in his solitude, sliding the unlocked mantle to the right another click sounded as the huge mahogany heart board sunk slightly into place, most would struggle to even move the massive board even if they knew how to unlock it. With a careful twist of the flume dampener, Linus pivoted the entire fireplace to the side revealing a large hallway built into the wall. Silently he ghosted into the space and closed the hidden door behind himself where it blended perfectly into the other bricks. Smoothly he walked into his command center for the building; monitors covered every wall with live feeds of every single room in the building. Each floor had a border of black and white subway tiles matching the art deco moldings, each black tile was an opportunity to put in a small one-way mirror which hid his cameras perfectly in plain sight but where no one would ever look for it.
mad world: Gary Jules
Mad World - Vintage Vaudeville - Style Cover ft. Puddles Pity Party & Haley Reinhart
The sounds of silence: Disturbed
Strawberry Gashes: Jack off Jill
Puttin on the Ritz: Taco
Radioactive: PTX and Lindsey Stirling cover
Heathens: Twenty One Pilots
Seasons in The Sun: Terry Jacks
Sitting at a Bar: Rehab
Inside Out: Eve 6
Paint it Black: Rolling Stones
Chick Habit: April March
Sweet Dreams: Marilyn Manson
Hill-Valley Asylum
Kat had a nose for old bricks and concrete, the unique volitals it exuded when the lime reacted to the acidification of the rains that now flood the countryside. It was a subtle yet unique smell that could never be mistaken for anything else but was so rarely noted that those most often exposed to it would never notice it missing from the bouquet of poverty where it most often lingered. She blew out a ragged breath and shifted her frame pack around settling it more firmly on her curves, it pinched and hung up on her ample assets clearly not designed for anyone with any extra weight to carry comfortably. But she needed a real pack to carry all of her camera gear, Canon equipment was not cheap and certainly not lightweight carbon fiber.
Her hands were cramping from lugging the aluminum waterproof case for her drone, the octocopter had cost as much as her most expensive camera body but was heavy duty enough to mount a full frame camera into as well as having a GoPro HD camera built into the frame for navigating in the air. She took a break on a low stone wall that was topped with rusting wrought iron fencing, the first evidence that her instincts had been right. Setting down her pack and drone case she took a drink from one of her water bottles clipped to the side of the pack. Her gaze lingered fondly on the drone as she caught her breath. Recalling another adventure in the rust belt that had been very rewarding. At an old steel mill with fantastic crumbling brick smokestacks, she had run into another Urban Explorer Bartholomule Walker, Bary never Bart Walker, had been one of her most memorable finds while capturing the beauty of nature reclaiming its domain over abandoned structures.
Taking a deep breath Kat stripped out of her last layer of defense and propriety in the dusty kiln where red hot metal had cooled long ago into rusting icicles. Naked she stepped carefully through the red-tinged dust making each footprint clear and defined carefully composing the image she had glaring so brightly in her mind. She had always had the impulses to show the contrast between her feminine paleness and the hard sharp edges of urban decay. The classes that had helped guide her nubile photographic talents, just budding after a rough half decade of high school would not have approved of her nudity in such places. Partly due to the insurance risk it would have undoubtedly represented and scandalized at her refusal to feel out of place because of her soft curves in a field that was designed only for the hard angles of perfectly sculpted models. This was her first shoot on her own carrying all of her own gear with no one around to contradict her artistic vision.
Kat struggled to keep the smile at her freedom off of her face as she posed, arms up triumphantly, nearly touching the spears of frozen metal hanging like crooked teeth on the perfectly round edge of the tipped over metal bucket that once held manmade magma. She created tension by not actually touching the rusted and weathered metal. She admired the ingenious method of moving molten steel as her camera clicked steadily away, set up to fire every three seconds as she moved around her scene. Her final shot she had planned she wanted to have some dirt on her hands and legs from the elbows down and knees down so she grabbed a few handfuls of old soot and smeared them liberally blackening her skin dramatically before resting her weight on one foot and barely any weight on her other foot toes pointed and placed directly behind the other, stretching as tall as her 5¡¯2¡± frame would allow she grabbed one of the hanging metal stalactites hard enough to make what muscles she had in her forearm flex and delicately ran her other hand down her flexed arm while looking back over her shoulder provocatively at her camera bending her body into as much of an S shape as she could manage to add extra contrast between the hard lines of metal and her soft curves. She shifted slightly after each click of her camera setup and flash of the lights she had so carefully programmed to get the most out of her carefully hard work and toil.
Her only warning was the telltale clatter of ruble against steel and she gasped ducking down cursing she grabbed her loose sundress and held it protectively over herself as someone stumbled down the broken wall she had used earlier to get into the furnace area.
¡°Hello? Is anyone there? I saw the flashes on my drone..¡± he trailed off spotting her camera setup and a glimpse of her extensive tattoos on her thighs and back. She was pleased by the beat red that crept into his face as he quickly turned his head and looked away from her as she pulled her dress hastily over her head. ¡°OH, uh, sorry didn''t mean to see anything there. I¡¯ll, uh, just catch my breast, I mean Breath! And get out of your way,¡± Kat smiled at his awkwardness and gave him a quick once over.
¡°It''s ok, I didn''t know anyone else was out this far,¡± Kat said walking carefully over the stone floor to her small satchel where she stored the small pink 9mm pistol she carried. She smiled slightly putting it on, she liked how the strap went between her large breast, one of her favorite features about herself. He was a cute specimen for an explorer, they were usually rangy, and as rangy men went she was forced to admit, he was an excellent specimen. He ran his hand through his coal-black dust speckled hair nervously as he turned to her. She was not prepared for the absurdly bright blue eyes behind his square gold-framed glasses, he had a good face as well. Not classically handsome but strong, and weather beaten just enough to be interesting, his nose was slightly crooked and he had a small sharp cut on his chin that was still healing. In worn khaki cargo pants and a battered star wars T-shirt, he still managed to look dangerous and yet somehow kind.
¡°I didn¡¯t expect to run into a Jaybird out here this far, uh, kinda makes me feel overdressed,¡± he swallowed at the beautiful women who stood so confidently where she had been naked just moments ago. He tried to keep his eyes off her ample deacleage that the strap of her purse like bag was not helping matters at all. Standing in bare feet, toes covered in factory grime she cut an impressive figure in the smoky light filtering into the old foundry, he swallowed cursing his idiot tongue as it wagged like it had a mind of its own as he struggled to find something to say to this dazzling concrete nymph he had stumbled upon.
¡°Jaybird? She asked quirking an eyebrow at his odd choice of words. He blushed even brighter at her look if that was possible.
¡°Yeah, sorry it¡¯s what my Dad always called nudist,¡± he tried to clear his suddenly dry throat at her interested half glare, ¡°I¡¯ll just get out of your hair then¡¡± he trailed off and turned to go cursing himself every inch he turned away from her.
¡°I¡¯m Kat,¡± she said taking her hand off her gun and stretching it out for a handshake. The sun broke through the clouds streaming through the dirty skylights above them just as his face lit up and she vowed to get him out of his comfort zone and into her photoshoot.
Shaking away her reminiscing, she had spent a fun few weeks exploring the midwest with him and he had built her the drone she still used. She liked to picture him out there someplace like Detroit using his machines to get new perspectives and footage with his every growing swarm of drones.
She smiled patting the case and ran a hand over the black and white flock of Jaybirds she had gotten tattooed on the inside of her wrist to commemorate their short torrid time together on the rust belt. Now in the hills of the North East, she missed the sun-blasted heat of the Midwest sometimes. The cloying fog refused to burn off under the weak gray light of the hazy noonday sun. It hung low around her knees clinging to its existence as stubborn as the grass that turned the old cobblestones from the gate into treacherous ankle grabbing gremlins eager to twist an unwary foot.
Getting out her first camera she had a macro lens on it 80mm F:2.4 Canon with an optical doubler on it, a spur of the moment purchase while looking at the German cut crystal lens filters one day. It made the whole setup weigh a good three pounds but she could make a poster size print from Lincoln''s profile on a penny with it, definitely worth every cup of Raman she had to eat to pay for it. The lichen and moss clinging to the uneven path looked like tiny fairy villages when magnified by her camera. Dr. Seuss like trees and mushrooms growing in defiance of gravity and reason. Neon red bulbous growths like something out of a science fiction movie, delicate coral pinks on impossibly slender trunks next to emerald green moss. A beautiful world in miniature where a ladybug trundled like a plow horse, and most simply crushed underfoot without a thought.
She stood back up her knees protesting the heavy load of equipment, but she smiled at the strain. She knew that most of the lithe yoga types her height wouldn''t even be able to carry her pack let alone the rest of her camera gear. Suck it! Bunch of kale eating sheeple racing towards the cliff of their mid-30s like it was the end of their world. She hung the Macro off its place on her belt, far enough to the side so that it wouldn¡¯t bang against her as she walked, but be ready for use in a matter of seconds.
The trees along the sloping curve of the asylum driveway had all overgrown the path, twisted limbs grasping each other overhead. Now twisted by years of storms blowing in off the nearby coast. They stood proudly gnarled and aged beautifully without the strict hand and unforgiving razors of gardeners constricting their freedom. Kat looked up as she entered the dappled shade that fought back the encroaching grass, leaving a beautiful sweeping carpet of moss, lying as thick as shag carpeting underfoot. The coolness of the early June day in New England closed in quickly once she entered the shade, the soft moss silenced her footsteps completely, the trees ate up the click and clack of her gear coating everything in a blanket of smooth silence. Her breath fogged slightly in the darkness under the trees the moisture coalescing on her eyelashes framing the path whimsically. Pausing to take a few shots of the shifting shadows and fog, she smiled at into the darkness between the trees.
Carefully she took a lense cover Bary had crafted for her, it was made out of strings of gauze draped on a metal shade. It collected the moisture and added bright glinting pearls to her raw photos without the aid of software the strings were so thin they disappeared once she focused on her subjects making the droplets seem to hover in mid-air. She only really used it on her small 35mm film camera she always carried in her pocket out of respect for the effort he had gone to for her art. After a few more minutes of enjoying the cool air under the trees, she caught her breath at the looming figure of the main building as it came out of the misty air seeming to exhale the moisture that hung into the air.
Instead of a hill like such places typically chosen for their resting places, this asylum sat in the depression between two large hills in its own secluded valley. The landscape had been flattened and the trees stripped back leaving a desolate, hostile strip of overgrown grass around the foundations. Sweeping stone steps curved out around the circle at the end of the drive. Like a grand staircase set in mortar to stand the test of centuries, ancient cast iron lamps designed to hold oil lights still graced each end of the stairs like metal newel posts.
It was breathtaking, just like the local expert at the consignment shop in the small town had said it would be, she was glad that she always asked around before heading out to such places. Just in case google earth hadn¡¯t updated in a few years and a building had been demolished or burned down. Walking up to the blackened corpses of such senseless destruction was always heartbreaking. She loved turn of the century buildings that hadn''t even had electricity run to them asides from steam-powered generators with huge boilers that aged more gracefully than most ballet dancers.
She slung her gear off her shoulders and leaned it against the last tree carefully and checked the sun once again out of habit, 3 hours till the golden hour. Her neighbor had been a veteran from world war 2, Korea and Vietnam, Richard, or to the kids in the neighborhood Tricky Dick. He had always had a coin on hand to pull out of any unsuspecting ear and he could tell what time it was just by glancing at the sky, it had always seemed like magic to her. She had pestered him until he had taught her to track the sun''s path with her hands and measured hours by finger widths the sun was above the horizon no matter where she went it always worked within 15 minutes of what her phone said. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Kat set up her tripod and set out her collapsible solar panel to charge her spare batteries, it would work even in the dim light of the overcast skies to charge her lights or camera batteries as needed. Sighing in the warm breeze that pushed back the chill under the trees Kat sat down to enjoy the shifting light while she waited for the lighting to become dramatic and perfect to do such a building justice. Leaning against her back, the lullaby of the whispering blades of dry grass caressed her ears until her eyelids fluttered and she drifted off in a light doze her daily alarm for golden hour safely programmed into her ever vigilant phone.
Kat¡¯s eyes flew open at a cheerful caw echoing out well before her alarm rang out to break the hush that had fallen over the fields and outbuildings as twilight began to build. She could feel the pressure increasing as the atmosphere shifted towards night. This was her favorite moment of the day when the shadows first began to stretch and the light took on a slight tint that softened edges and built dramatically until finally slipping into darkness.
¡°Yes!¡± she whispered out excitedly under her breath, sleeping or sitting still always made you blend into the background so that the birds and animals ignored your presences after a time. The Ravens were coming home to roost, she had made a study of the Corvids in college the genus that included crows magpies and ravens. They were territorial and family-centric living in large extended family groups and generations roosting together in the same area. They flew out each day, commuting to food sources and only returning as darkness camouflaged them from the prying eyes of predators. Kat loved the intelligent iridescent flyers, they were only black to those who didn''t bother to see them in the light. A group of ravens was called a congress or unkindness as she recalled; it depended on their behavior at the moment. they could also be referred to as constables or a conspiracy again dictated by their observed behavior at the moment. She always called them constables as they were quick to police any hawks or raptors out of their areas with careful, coordinated harassment.
She caught them just as they flew low over the building circling over its tarred roof to catch the updrafts before heading further off into the eastern facing hill, where the sun would wake them up first with its warmth giving rays before the predators woke from their ground-level burrows. The gray skies were a perfect contrast behind their dark plumage as they created a dark halo, circling around the decrepit asylum. Once the last straggler flew off she only had an hour or so of daylight before night set in. grabbing her flashlight and headlamp she got her best camera out of her gear bag and put on an external flash so she could scout out areas for tomorrow''s shoot.
Taking her satchel with the reassuring weight of her sturdy knife and small pistol she set out for the asylum. She stowed her bags under the low bushes at the base of the stairs that had been nearly choked out by weeds, out of sight of casual observers.
Walking up to the front door she admired the hollows in the steps that countless feet had worn into the stones. The right-hand stairs were more worn than the left which always made her smile. Psychologist had noted the average person''s tendency to favor the side of their dominant hand when presented with equal paths to choose from, once she had been made aware of it she had always made sure to favor left-handed turns over right-hand to approach things from a different angle when she could. She made quick notes in her pocket notepad as she went, 22 steps to the door, four floors of windows, 24 windows to each side of the building. A cluster of four smokestacks on the western wing to take advantage of the prevailing easterly breezes used to carry the coal smoke away into the hills. Each window was covered with wrought iron grills each bare as big around as her thumb and the spaces between them barely large enough for her palm to fit through, a terrible fire design that would never pass code enforcement today. The front doors where both steel over wooden cores, the wood had long ago been eaten away by bugs but the riveted straps and hinges had kept the shell of metal in place. At her experimental shove and tug, they barely moved, rarely did the front door yield in such places.
She went down the right-hand stairs, snapping a few shots of the view of the overgrown driveway and lengthening shadows of the trees.once she was at the bottom of the stairs Kat began methodically trying a sharp pull on each of the window grates working her way clockwise around the building. At the east wing side entrance, she tested the chains holding the doors and was rewarded with the mostly wooden door leaning drunkenly on broken hinges. A few kicks and tugs had the last weathered bits of wood around the bottom hinge giving way and the door hung drunkenly on the still sturdy chain that secured it to the window grates framing the door.
She backed up and took a few shots of the broken door with her cell phone for her blog and qued them to upload once she had signal again. She always documented her entry points so she could have proof if she was caught trespassing that the doors had not been properly secured and no signage warned against entry. After all the wind could have made that last board give out it was perfectly plausible that she found it that way. Continuing around the building she kept trying window grates for alternate entry points but so far they had all proven rather well preserved.
She began to notice telltale signs of their individual craftsmanship, small imperfections in the hand-forged rivets and an elegant twist here and there of the square bars. As though the man crafting them couldn''t stand the plain utilitarian purpose for his careful work. As she neared the corner furthest from the door a smile tugged at her lips as she took careful shots of the corners of the window grating, the blacksmith had added a slight tracery of leaves climbing up the outside of the window frame, she immediately liked the unnamed man¡¯s subtle rebellion against his wasted talent on such a stark project. The leaves were twisted so that they didn''t cast a telltale shadow from the ground level and where barely visible without her telephoto lens to bring them into focus. He had probably been able to add a few days onto his bill from this overlooked back corner. Good for him, gouging the rich owners a bit. She thought patting the bars fondly, as she rounded the corner, on this western side she found the remains of a coal shed and the generator building. Looking around carefully she could tell that there had once been some fencing most likely for horses and a three-sided pole barn to shelter them, odd that they didn''t have a full barn with stalls for the animals. But the building had been built late enough that cars had likely come into vogue before it closed its doors in the early 30s according to her research. There was a recessed set of steps leading to a well-preserved metal door thanks to a badly rusted metal overhang that barely covered an ancient light fixture. The rest of the exterior lights had lost their bulbs long ago but this sheltered alcove had saved this one bit of spun glass and carefully crafted wire. Her fingers itched to touch the thinning glass but it would likely crumble at any attempt to pry it from its century-old resting place. She took a series of shots just as the last rays of light came around the building behind it causing the bulb to glow warmly, just as it must have when it had current running through its filaments so long ago. This side of the building was more sheltered from the wind and rain and the door was still solidly bared. The basement door was locked but not chained, a project for her knife tomorrow once the sun came up again.
hurrying back around the front of the building she retrieved her pack with about half an hour of sunlight still above the trees and turned towards the Ravens sheltering grove of pines, always a faithful indicator of a good spot to hole up for the night in her tent. Walking quickly she made her way under the thick canopy of pines a the crest of the hill. The thick boughs gave way to a welcoming bed of soft pine needles undisturbed for decades and kept dry by the thick roof of overlapping branches. Once she was sure her lights wouldn''t be visible to anyone coming up to see the building she set up her camp with the ease of long hours of experience.
Kat took a deep breath sitting beside her small carefully banked fire. Across from her, she had her Camera set up on its tripod, she used her remote to start it recording and with a clap, as her sound marker started recording her end of the day Blog entry.
¡°What''s up everyone? Kat here coming to you from¡ well, the locals just call it the Asylum in the valley; the old guy at the consignment shop actual said they don''t have a name for it. But since it is in a valley up in the hills for this case I¡¯m calling this one the Hill-Valley Asylum.,¡± thunder rumbled in the background at her pronouncement making her jump slightly. She smiled hugely into the camera you couldn''t PAY for perfect sound effects like that. ¡°Looks like I''m going to get rained on, after all, the clouds have been hanging around all day and the temperature dropped before the sunset sending the Ravens home early. You can hear them above me discussing why that crazy lady on the ground is talking to herself,¡± the gentle murmur of the birds and occasional caw echoed down to her muffled by the gentle rain and pine needles.
She had found years ago that thick pine forest where better than most sound rooms for recording audio, the lighting was always tricky but her fire put out plenty of Lumens spreading the Lux well. She also used the white front door of her tent opposite her to bounce some of the light back for better highlights and fill light so she didn¡¯t end up with hard shadows or dark lines when she did her dialogue. She always filmed in black and white so the darkness and light were the most important parts of her scenes. Sighing she settled back into her spot by the fire and ran through her short intro a few more times so she could choose which to queue for upload or do some editing if she needed to.
Kat blew on her food trying to cool it from the edge of her tent, all of her gear was stowed in waterproof bags and wrapped up snug against the weather. she had enough fuel for her fire for another night at least if she chose to stay and food for three days plus her meal bars for the trail, it had been one of her longer hikes to get up to this one.
Glad that it wasn''t a hard rain, she enjoyed weather much more than boring blue skies and wispy white fluffy clouds. Storm clouds were turbulent and never failed to entertain with their roiling path and pound sound systems when they really got going even added in plasma shows. One of her trips to Seattle had been rained out but she had stayed cozy on the top floor of her hotel watching the lightning lash out at the buildings spreading fingers of light to caress anything metal and shiny. Lightning storms always reminded her a bit of magpie in their single-minded search for the highest point in any area and compulsive need to investigate anything metallic and shiny. She smiled as she sipped the last of her Dashi from her bowl of rehydrated miso soup. She had to give it to the Japanese they made the best instant meals; so much better than the salted cardboard most of the granola munchers packed along with them on the trails. No, she had always known that food was meant to be enjoyed not simple fuel like so many tried to believe and tortured themselves with. Finishing the last of her meal she cleaned her camp up and carefully stowed anything that the Ravens could move away in locked cases with small airport baggage combination locks on it. She also had one for the zippers on her tent. The curious little feathered gremlins could get into anything not nailed down, tied, and hidden so she had a lock for her tent and all of her cases as well after her first encounter with a destroyed camp and scattered gear, it was messy but rarely damaged.
She had learned her lesson and now brought a small bag of little bells to bribe them with when she left camp. silver, brass, and bronze each the size of her pinky nail, it was amazing to see that different birds preferred different sounds and colours. Each one was on a simply inch long chain with a spring clip big enough to fit over the tips of most small tree branches. Five or six hung in the branches above her camp was enough to keep them cautious for a day and entertained for another after they investigated and worked out how to get them off the branches.
Kat doused her fire and watched the embers fade as the soft rain trickled down onto the small clearing safely extinguishing the heat. She had never understood people''s fear of the dark, it was like a cloak that you could embrace or suffocate under. But then again she was a mutant, her eye doctors had been astounded to learn that she had nearly 5% more Rods in her eyes that most people did give her much better night vision. They had told her that humans had about four rods to every cone in their eyes, whereas cats had 25 rods per cone; She had 5 rods per cone which explained her oversensitivity to bright lights. The classroom lights had been giving her headaches but a pair of slightly tinted nonprescription glasses had cured her almost instantly.
5% might not seem like a lot but it was enough for her to drive on back roads by starlight if the moon was new, and she didn''t need a flashlight if the moon was up at all. Starlight was such a fickle thing, even the slightest dust or clouds in the air could ruin your shots at night, but the unique tones and extremely subtle dappled effect from those burning star billions of miles away was something to be celebrated on film. She rolled out her sleeping bag and powered down her laptop and all of her gear for the night pulling the batteries that were easiest to reach from her devices to be as economical as possible with their charges. As true darkness set in kat checked her fire again to make sure it was completely out, as she stepped carefully back into her tent in the absolute pitch darkness a stiff breeze shook the branches and a faint yellow glow filtered through the branches. She froze, it was faint and sulfurous an odd mix of yellow and orange that usually meant fire. Cursing she grabbed her waterproof poncho pulling it on over her sports bra and light tank top she slept in and slid her hiking boots back on without socks, not bothering to tie them she grabbed her small GoPro, her satchel and a penlight to speed her path through the trees.