Wow. Great movie, just for the simple fact that someone was capable of making a film without stupid things jumping out at you like those youtube shockers and things of that nature (we’ve all encountered the maze or color test I’m sure)

This has by far been one of the best paranormal movies I think I have ever seen. It’s no wonder this $25,000.00 budget movie made uber millions! This movie takes you through a view of the other side, which if you’ve never experienced a paranormal event, it gives you a pretty good idea of what types of things you could expect. Footsteps, scratching, knocking,  inhuman breathing through EVP (electronic voice phenomenon). I have heard of people being disappointed in this movie and that is probably due to the fact that they’re so used to having something leap out at you with some wacky film effects and lots of LFE going on.

Paranormal Activity gets a 5/5 in my movie rating book for thrills and suspense. This movie exemplifies how a paranormal thriller should be! Honestly, I did not even want to look at my monitor in full screen because I was completely suspecting some wild looking demonic figure to just pop out in front of the camera to make me have to put on my Depends =P.

The boyfriend however was a serious douche who just made everything worse, to all you kids out there interested in playing with a Ouija board or spirit board, DON’T DO IT! Take it from someone who has had numerous paranormal events in his life and has certain abilities. Pissing off an inhuman is definitely something you do not want to do….The ending was a disappointment to a point, I wish they wouldn’t have shot Katie at the end, I know that’s kinda the point, but still, could have made it longer and shown the after effects and stuff, ah well, I just know what I would’ve liked to have seen ending-wise.

Feel free to leave your comments!

Josh

I am not sure where the recent “water-inspired” themes have come from, but this one might be one of my favorite drawings to date.

Jenny Greenteeth…the first time I saw anything about this fairly obscure folktale was in Alan Lee & Briand Froud’s “faeries.” An amazing book. No shit, I drew every picture in that book over and over it was amazing.

anyway here’s the wikipedia version of Jenny:

Jenny Greenteeth is a figure in English folklore. A river hag, similar to Peg Powler, she would pull children or the elderly into the water and drown them. She was often described as green-skinned, with long hair, and sharp teeth. She is called Jinny Greenteeth in Lancashire, but in Cheshire and Shropshire she is called Ginny Greenteeth, Jeannie Greenteeth, Wicked Jenny, or Peg o’ Nell.

She is likely to have been an invention to frighten children from dangerous waters similar to the Slavic Rusalka, the Kappa in Japanese mythology, or Australia’s Bunyip, but other folklorists have seen her as a memory of sacrificial practices.

This myth stood out to me as particularly haunting because of its obscurity…this was not the Boogey man, Sasquatch or anything else so obvious. It was just…some missing people.

Who…could…have …

been taken by a water demon.

I guess

dont go near the river.

Yay! A Japanese demon!

Kappas are demons that inhabit swamps, marshes, rivers, any fresh body of water, really. They look kinda scaly, might have a turtle shell, and are about the size of a ten year old kid. Some of them have bird beaks or duck bills.

Their skulls are concave on top, and the depression is full of water. This lets them move around on land without drying out. So, if you want to hurt a kappa you see on land, bow politely. The kappa’s innate sense of propriety will force it to return the bow and the water will dump out. It’s not clear if this kills a kappa, but it definitely slows it down.

Apparently there’s another way to get rid of them. Or anyone. See photo.

Try the bowing thing.

The word ‘kappa’ means ‘river child’ and it is possibly the only demon with a sushi roll named after it.

That’s because kappas have two favorite foods: small, fat, luscious children, and cucumbers. Luckily, the kappamaki sushi roll goes for the last one, not the first.

In fact, kappas will do just about anything for a cucumber. They’re not bad folks, really, despite luring (mostly) kids and (sometimes) adults into water where they drown. And despite the fact they then enter that person’s body through their bum, suck out their guts and eat their liver.

Really, they just want to get along. And eat cucumbers if they can’t chow down on a kid.

In fact, kappas can be very helpful to humans. First you’ve got to make friends with them (a cucumber comes in handy here) and get them to agree to do stuff. One of their more sterling traits–besides the bowing thing–is that they always keep their promises, scout’s honor. None of this ‘looking for loopholes’ that’s so common in dealing with demons.

Once you’re friendly with a kappa, it will do all kinds of things for you (probably for cucumbers), like irrigate your crops and teach you how to set broken bones.

Kappamaki

P.S.: “Kappa” is also the Japanese term for rain gear.

Sources

• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kappa_(folklore)
  

A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels and Other Subversive Spirits
by Carol K. Mack, Dinah Mack

I hate going to bed sometimes. I have insomnia so it’s not always a fun place. I do have my nighttime routine that I do, and that helps to wind me down. Other nights though, are worse, much worse. Last night for instance, was a bad night.

I go through periods where I don’t dream, I either have nightmares or I don’t dream at all. That is the phase I am in now. I had one a few weeks ago that made me not want to go back to bed. I was scared to go to sleep. Last night was worse. I tossed and turned for the longest time and was in and out of bed.

I finally got to sleep only to have a nightmare. I don’t want to say what happened in the dream as I don’t care to relive it. It was awful. Totally horrific. I sat up in bed and I was frozen. I finally moved from the bed and came into the office, where what happened in the dream – the reality of it – hit me. I started to cry. I cried for a while. Then I got up, I thought about trying to go back to bed, but I knew I couldn’t. It just wasn’t safe.  I didn’t even want to set foot in that room, let alone go back to sleep in that bed.

I went into the living room and covered up with a blanket and turned on the tv. At about 8 am I went back to the bedroom. The room was light now, any trace of the demon that was this nightmare was gone. I laid in bed and I closed my eyes.  I then realized that I was just putting myself back at risk for another nightmare and I opened my eyes. Suddenly I was back in that nightmare, seeing it, feeling the sensations of it, knowing the horror of it.  I started to cry again. Somehow I finally got back to sleep and was able to sleep for a bit.

One might ask if there was something in my real life that happened to encourage my subconscious to have this dream. That answer is no.  There wasn’t any thing in real life that triggered the last one either.

And so now,  here I am. It’s almost a quarter to 3 am, and I know I should be going to bed, but I can’t. How can I? The thought of making myself vulnerable is such a way is sickening. To be there, in the dark, lying there, it almost feels like by doing so I am sending out an open invitation for another nightmare.  The thought of having another dream that was that bad, or one that is worse,  is too much.

Many are fearful and disturbed by the “paranormal.” In the following blog, Liz, my wife shares a perspective to the supernatural that we all need to hear. May it be as much of a blessing to you as it has been to me…

When I told my family that I was thinking of writing a blog on Paranormal Activity, a couple of my kids said, “You can’t write on “Paranormal Activity.” You haven’t even seen the movie!” I asked them if they were sure that I hadn’t seen P.A. Then I told them that I wasn’t going to waste my time writing about a movie that is staged and fake, but I was going to write about REAL paranormal activity. The word, “paranormal” according to the wiktionary, refers to things that “cannot be explained through scientific methods.” It is supernatural phenomenon—haunted houses, ghosts, vampires, witches, Ouija boards, kabala, demons and even angels, to name a few. It is the alluring topic that has timelessly thrilled the mind—caused us to be “psycho” over Alfred Hitchcock films, made the 1973 movie, “The Exorcist,” a real head-spinner, and now has brewed this low-budget movie, Paranormal Activity, into a Blockbuster hit.

So what is it about human beings? On one day, we cling to the security of our three dimensional scientific world of knowledge and accomplishments. On the next, we go see a movie like P.A. and get freaked out about the possibility of encountering unpredictable powers greater than what our five senses can take in. What makes us mortals naturally drawn to the supernatural?

Speaking of being drawn, I couldn’t resist seeing what all the hoopla was about. While the rest of my family was watching a sweet family movie at Hollywood Theatre, I got a little bored and wandered down to where Paranormal Activity was playing. I stood in the entrance way and watched a chunk of it. I thought I was going to see a movie about a creepy, old house, but instead, I was surprised to see that it was filmed in a house that you or I might live in. As a matter of fact, I picked up a few decorating tips from Katie, and thought to myself, “How clever! The paranormal in a normal house!”—for the purpose of putting the haunting thought in our minds that it could possibly happen to you or me.

Wait a minute. Why talk about thoughts? It’s already happened to me…

Awhile back, the paranormal set foot into an apartment that my husband, Steve, and I were renting in Tokyo, Japan. We were missionaries there working with college students and studying the Japanese language at the time. We had just returned home from a four month furlough, and Steve wanted to have a few of his guys over for dinner to catch up on their lives. He asked Yoshi to come a little early, because he wanted to talk with him about the contents of a letter that he had written to us while we were in the United States. In the letter he told Steve that he was having suicidal thoughts and that he had to ask his roommate to take every sharp object out of their apartment as a safety measure.

I was cooking in a little corner we called our “kitchen” and couldn’t help overhearing Yoshi tell Steve that he was okay now and no need to worry. Steve suggested that he pray for Yoshi anyway as another safety measure. Almost immediately, after he started praying, all paranormal activity broke loose. At the mention of the name of Jesus, Yoshi reacted violently. He looked and sounded like a slithering, hissing snake on our small Japanese couch. We were stunned. Our missionary training had not prepared us for something like this.

The paranormal activity that we found ourselves in the middle of didn’t stabilize, but only escalated. During a tense moment of confrontational prayer, Yoshi took out our end table and lamp. The table was chopped in half! Fear gripped us all! We were perplexed, at the very least, as to what we should do next. While Steve kept praying, I got on the phone and called two of our missionary friends to help. Upon entering and seeing the paranormal in our living room, one of these missionaries fell to his knees, almost in tears, and looked more scared than us. Some help. We knew it was going to be a long evening.

After a few long hours of prayer, Steve decided he needed a break. As he walked around asking God what to do, he heard from the Lord, “Get their names.” As Steve commanded the demonic spirits to reveal their identity, the tide turned and eventually all of the demons were cast out of our poor friend, Yoshi. By dawn, he sat peacefully and in his right mind on our couch.

You would have thought that this experience with the paranormal would have been ranked as one of the worst things that could have ever happened to me. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was life-changing. I saw, first hand, the destroying work of demons in Yoshi’s life, which explains some of earth’s woes, and perhaps, some of our personal ones. I witnessed the cowering reaction of demons to the name of Jesus. Being a witness to these things that evening erased any previous doubts about the validity of the paranormal, the Bible, the supremacy of Christ and the power of His cross. Jesus was Yoshi’s Rescuer that night. He continues the offer to be our Rescuer today.

- Liz Holt
http://redhotopic.wordpress.com/

Jerry Stacks, sleeping fretfully in his bedroom, woke up with a start and noticed an odd, moving shadow on his ceiling. It took Jerry a few seconds to appreciate – from within his groggy, sleep heavy head – that the shadows dancing on his ceiling indicated moving lights outside. He shot up out of bed, suddenly invigorated by the realization that he was entertaining trespassers, and dressed himself post haste. He grabbed the shotgun, which rested faithfully by his nightstand, and ran downstairs. Several hundred yards away, a pickup truck’s headlights shone across Jerry’s grazing field and into his bedroom window. “Let’s get out of here” uttered Sam Leonard, his voice trembling with emotion as he looked at the withered shell of Geoffrey Baluster sitting next to him. The truck sped off, ripping up clods of thick, lush grass as it did so, and disappeared into the night’s invisible horizon. The sound of the truck’s engine was nearly inaudible by the time Jerry Stacks stumbled into the cow’s grazing field, shotgun in hand.

“God damn it!” Jerry hollered into the night, his heart racing from his sprint, as he watched the two red break-lights on the back of the truck disappear off in the distance. He took stock of his cows, counting them off one by one, and found them all in good order. “What the hell…” Jerry asked, scratching his head. He took one last look around before deciding to head back to his house. He consoled himself, thinking that, most likely, a bunch of teenagers had come by to do some cow-tipping, but were scared off when they saw him running up. “Job’s never done” he muttered as he walked back to his house, wondering what time it was. As he neared his porch, he saw his daughter’s bedroom light turn on. Jerry, cussing under his breath, entered his darkened house, hoping that Jordana wouldn’t come out to meet him.

“What’s going on, dad?” Jordana asked, sticking her head out of her doorway as Jerry passed by. “Nothing girl, go back to sleep.” Jordana frowned, impatiently hopping on her heels, and pressed him further, “C’mon, dad! You goin’ out to the grazing field with your shotgun at two forty five in the morning, cause of nothin’?” “Damn right, girl – if that’s what I said it was! Now get your butt back in bed. Get some sleep; it’s gonna be a busy day tomorrow.” Jordana obliged her father, pouting to ensure that he was aware of her dissent, and retreated back into her room. She scrunched up her face, mimicking her old man, and repeated his words in a mocking tone. “I heard that” Jerry grumbled from two rooms away.

Jordana plopped down on her bed, feeling decidedly awake, and wondered what she could do to pass the time. She was a pretty, young girl, in spite of her father’s brutish appearance, with long, strawberry blonde hair. Her cheeks were perfectly round, resembling a doll’s, and uniformly covered in tiny orange freckles. Officially it was her birthday, though her father adamantly insisted that it didn’t count until the sun came up. Nevertheless, Jordana was exhilarated by the knowledge that she was no longer fifteen. The illustrious sweet-sixteen soiree was nearly upon her and, as the youngest girl in her class, Jordana felt that the occasion was long overdue. To her surprise, Jordana’s father agreed to host her party at their house. Jerry, though very open about his aversion to a house full of sixteen year old girls, spent the entire previous day setting up, hanging ribbons, balloons, and banners throughout their home.

Ever since Jordana’s mother, Sarah Stacks, died three years ago, life on the Stacks’s farm took a turn for the dreary. Jerry, already predisposed to keeping to himself, withdrew even further into his inner world. Jordana was the primary recipient of Jerry’s embittered outlook on life, constantly receiving his frustration and misplaced anger, but she maintained a cheery attitude despite it all. She was deeply moved by the loss of her mother, but felt calmed by her belief that, in death, her mamma was free. Jordana, all alone in her room, compulsively brushing her hair at three am in the morning, thought lovingly of Sarah and wished her mamma could have seen her all grown up.

After nearly an hour had gone by, Jordana felt sleepy again and, tucking herself in, laid down to rest. She fell into a twilight sleep, dutifully projecting her vision of the coming day onto the screen of her subconscious. While she slept, dreaming sweet-sixteen dreams, her father laid awake in his bed, staring blankly into the dark. His conscience raged, inflicting all of its moral power upon him, but it was too late. Jerry Stacks, determined to escape from his life of failures, had already signed the deal. He recalled, in perfect detail, the feel of the feathery quill in his hand as he scribbled his name on the parchment’s dotted line. The contract, only fully authorized if signed using the signee’s blood, stipulated Jerry’s release from his world of misery. It was a “one-time offer,” and to his own surprise, Jerry took it.

It had all come to pass three years ago. Only a few days after Sarah died, a strange visitor appeared at the Stacks’s farm. Jerry answered the knock at his door, expecting to find another neighbor with a pie in hand, but was surprised to see a short, balding man in a navy blue suit, wearing thick spectacles on his porch. “What uh… what can I do for you?” Jerry asked. “Name’s Wormwood, sir – I’m sorry to hear about your loss. Please don’t think me insensitive, but, in light of everything that’s happened, I was wondering if you had a few moments to discuss a very unique life insurance policy.” Jerry, usually immune to the allure of salesmen pitches, found himself to be intrigued, and invited Mr. Wormwood inside.

Jerry listened attentively as Mr. Wormwood outlined the details of the contract, which, as it unfolded, presented one profoundly tantalizing offer after another. Jerry asked the paradoxically repugnant, yet compelling salesman how one secured such an attractive policy. Mr. Wormwood, his lips delicately curling at the corners, said, “Well, Mr. Stacks, I’m sure you understand that a unique and valuable policy such as this, requires an equally unique and valuable payment.” Jerry balked, considering his possessions, and replied, “But… I haven’t got anything valuable.” Wormwood’s head snapped backward as an abrupt, unsettling laugh escaped his mouth. “Nonsense, Mr. Stacks… Nonsense.”

For three years the weight of Jerry’s conscience bore down upon him, his guilt increasing with every passing day. He often asked himself – as he was doing then, on the eve of his beautiful daughter’s sixteenth birthday – if it had all been a dream. Jerry’s anxiety percolated inside his chest, bubbling with relentless ferocity, as he tried to get through the remaining hours of the night.

That morning, Jordana woke up feeling invigorated. Even with the late-night interruption of her sleep, she felt rested and infused with electric excitement. She jumped out of bed, grabbing her house robe off of her closet handle, and made her way downstairs. The sun was up and, finally, she would be able to gloat and glow all she wanted. She expected her father to grumble, moaning every time she pranced or congratulated herself, but found him in the kitchen cooking pancakes instead. “Good morning, birthday girl” he said when she rounded the bottom of the stairs. Jordana stopped, her jaw hanging open, and said, “Oh-ma-god! Daddy?” Jerry chuckled, blushing a bit, and said, “Well, darling, it’s not every day that you turn sixteen, now is it? Come now, sit down and eat your breakfast.”    

Jordana, still in a state of shock, sat down at the table and ate three, large, golden-brown griddle pancakes, back to back. She washed the plump, moist pancakes down with some freshly squeezed, homemade orange juice, wiping the juice’s frothy foam from her upper lip with her forearm when she was done. She wore a broad, giddy smile, thinking to herself, “This is the best birthday ever – and the fun’s not even begun!” She jumped up, lunged toward her father, who was cheerily washing dishes, and kissed him on his stubbly cheek. Jerry smiled back at Jordana, wishing her a happy birthday, and turned around to face the sink. He heard Jordana skip off to her room upstairs; when she was out of earshot, his smile faded and he burst into tears.

At half past four, after spending the entire morning grooming and primping herself, Jordana let the first of her guests in. Samantha Brightly, a plump, snobbish classmate, entered the Stacks’s house, bearing gifts. Jordana gratefully received Sammy’s offerings, acting as any proper hostess would, and welcomed her into their home. Jordana was abuzz with excitement at being the center of attention, and the woman of the house, no less. She held her mother’s image close in her mind, thinking that her excellent manners would astonish Sarah, if she only knew. Two more girls arrived shortly thereafter: Bobby Anne and Jody – both dropped off by their mothers, who doted and fretted equally, remarking that they’d be back at nine to pick them up, before leaving.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, all the girls had arrived. There were ten total: Sammy, Bobby Anne, Jody, Melissa, Meghan A., Meghan P., Jessica, Tara, Sherry, and, of course, Jordana. Multi-colored streamers hung from the stairwell’s banister; a banner that read “Happy Sweet Sixteen” festooned the entrance to the kitchen, setting up the living room as the would-be stage for the girls’ festivities; balloons – all purple, as per Jordana’s specifications – littered the ceiling; and tables, adorned with snacks and soda, had been brought out from the kitchen. Jordana’s heart throbbed with delight. She had never felt as enamored of her father as she did then.

For several hours the girls contented themselves with chit-chat, talking about boys, and the specifically un-invited girls from their class, whom they collectively shunned. The sounds of their conversations, as heard from the kitchen where Jerry was hiding, were similar to the incomprehensible chirpings that emerge from an aviary. Occasionally Jerry would poke his head into the living room, glancing at the girls who were all similarly clad in pastel colored dresses with puffy skirt bottoms. He looked at the clock mounted on the wall above the sink – almost eight. Jerry, feeling profoundly anxious, bit his knuckle to keep from trembling. He wasn’t sure how he would achieve his goal, but he knew one thing for certain: nobody was taking Jordana.

At exactly eight o’clock, three hearty knocks resounded on the Stacks’s front door. The girls abruptly stopped speaking, simultaneously turning their heads in the direction of the sound. Jerry, still cowering in the kitchen, shook with fright upon hearing the knocks, and instantaneously propelled himself through the living room to answer the door. Jordana had already risen and was reaching for the doorknob when Jerry bolted in front of her. His forehead was glistening with sweat, and a disheveled, unconvincing smile was pasted across his face. “H-Honey… you go have fun with your friends… Let daddy take care of this” he said, swallowing hard. Jordana, appalled by her father’s reaction, stood motionlessly in front of him. The other girls, still sitting in a circle on the floor, looked on in a similar state of dubious disbelief.

Jerry slowly turned around, gathering up all of his bravery, and clasped the door knob with his sweaty hand. Jordana backed up slowly, feeling a sense of dread swell up in her belly. The girls behind her were absolutely silent, wrapped in attention. Jerry took one last second to compose himself, and swung the door open. Anticipating the worst, all the girls let out a collective gasp, but were instantaneously relieved upon finding a small, unassuming man standing on the front porch with his briefcase in hand. Bobby Anne and Meghan P. exchanged bewildered glances, and returned their gaze to the scene unfolding at the front door.

“Good evening Mr. Stacks” said the little man in a delightfully aloof tone. “I believe you were expecting me.” Jerry Stacks, trembling with terror, stuttered his agreement. “Y-Yes… but, I uh… I’ve had a change of heart, Mr. Wormwood.” Jordana, hearing the strange salesman’s name, turned to face her guests and silently mouthed “Wormwood?” “You see,” continued Jerry, “I was in a real bad way, round the time you first visited… My wife had just passed, and…” At those words, Jordana felt a reserve of anger combust inside of her chest. She stomped up to the front door, pushing her father’s arm out of the way to make herself visible to their visitor, and said, “Now see here, Mr. Wormwood,” Jerry grabbed Jordana, trying to remove her from the stranger’s view, but she continued, “It’s my birthday today and we don’t need you coming around, bringing up tragic things and hurtin’ my daddy! So… you best…” Jerry managed to pull her aside and knelt down in front of her, pleading for her silence.

“Cute kid” Mr. Wormwood interjected. “Now, Mr. Stacks, I brought the original, executed contract with me, for exactly this reason. This is a binding document, sir. I’m afraid that you’ve already signed and dated this, so… there’s really nothing I can do.” Jerry, still on his knees, shifted himself to face Mr. Wormwood. He put his hands up to his chest, folding them as if in prayer, and begged Mr. Wormwood for mercy. “Please… Mr. Wormwood, sir… you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know what I was saying back then.” The girls, some of whom had risen to their feet, began to feel afraid. They started whispering to themselves, speculating their hypothesis as to what was going on, and called Jordana back to them. She obliged, staring in disbelief as she walked backward toward the group.

“Please, please, Mr. Wormwood” continued Jerry, “Please, don’t take my daughter.” Jordana’s heart sank as she ingested the meaning of her father’s words. “What?” She snapped, “Daddy? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jerry, ignoring his daughter’s question, continued “I know – I know I said… that, on her sixteenth birthday, you could take her… but I can’t. I can’t let you.” He whipped around, his eyes pleading for forgiveness, and said to Jordana, “Honey, please. You’ve got to believe me. I was shook up.” Mr. Wormwood took his glasses out of his suit’s breast pocket, opened up his briefcase, and began reading a piece of yellowed parchment. Jerry, still addressing Jordana, said, “He promised me release – no more pain, or loss. And… and power. I didn’t know what he was asking! I swear, baby!” Jerry reached his wits end.

The girls had all stood up, banding together in a tighter circle near the kitchen, and started whimpering. Jerry, his expression turning grave, stood up to face Mr. Wormwood. “You can’t have her, God damn it” he said to the effete salesman before him. Mr. Wormwood, having just finished reading the piece of parchment in his hands, said, “Yes… quite. Anyways, Mr. Stacks, I don’t see what you’re going on about. This contract doesn’t concern your daughter.” Jerry’s chin pulled back toward his neck, expressing his shock. “What? What do you mean?” asked Jerry. Mr. Wormwood continued, reading directly from the parchment in his hands, “This contract is for the life, both living and otherwise, of a Mr. Jerry Stacks, to be collected for use, by me, upon the sixteenth birthday of your daughter. But you see, it’s not her that I’m here for.” Jordana, looking at her father’s backside as he stood in the doorway to their house, uttered, practically inaudibly, “Daddy?”

Sammy, Jessica, Tara, and Sherry moved to the forefront of the girls’ huddle, enveloping Jordana in a protective embrace. They could only see the backside of Jerry Stacks, and his broad shoulders occluded the strange salesman from view. Suddenly, the front door shut with a loud slam, causing all of the girls to jump and gasp. After a brief pause, Jordana said, “Daddy? Papa?” and began moving toward him. Sammy and Tara held her arms, and Jordana, intuiting something was very wrong, didn’t resist their restraining grasps. Silence filled the house, compounding the fear that was consuming the girls. Jordana, suddenly realizing that her party was being ruined, felt that an explanation was overdue and shook off the girls’ hands. She took a few steps forward, placed her arms akimbo, and said, “Daddy, what was that all ab…”  

Jordana abruptly stopped speaking when the sound of fluid splashing against the hardwood floor entered her ears. At first, Jordana thought that someone spilled a soda bottle behind her, and whipped around reflexively. However, when she turned her head toward the snack table, she saw nine sets of eyes looking past her, each pair embodying immeasurable fear. Slowly, Jordana turned her head back around, praying that there was an explanation for the horrified countenances of her friends, and, to her dismay… there was. At Jerry’s feet, a puddle of oil-black fluid spread out on the floor, presumably having been ejected from his mouth. Jordana heard him grumbling, as if something were caught in his throat. She was about to ask her father if he was alright, but discovered first hand that he was far, far from alright.

The creature inhabiting Jerry Stacks turned around with inhuman speed, grabbing Jordana’s neck with its clammy, sweaty hands. Though outwardly it resembled her father, Jordana recognized nothing of Jerry in its face. Black, imprisoned orbs replaced the familiar, sad, brown eyes Jerry once had. Its skin was pallid and bestrewn with an excess of veins, which bulged and throbbed, pumping the venomous black ooze through the creature’s body. Jordana gasped for air, reflexively putting her hands on the creature’s forearms, and stared wide-eyed into its lifeless black throat as it screamed in her face.

Suddenly released from the creature’s grip, Jordana fell to the floor, drawing her breath in as deeply as she could. She looked up in between gasps and discovered that Sammy had rushed the beast, breaking the bowl of cheese doodles on the ghoulish creature’s head. Its hands shot up, instinctively covering the black-ooze-spewing wound that it just received. Sammy grabbed Jordana while the creature was distracted and the two of them scampered backward, rejoining the cluster of screaming girls. The beast joggled his head, shaking off the daze that the fiesta-ware bowl delivered, and produced a hateful, gargling scream. The girls let out a series of shrieks and cries, desperately holding on to each other, as they shuffled their feet, moving as one toward the kitchen.

Black liquid flicked out of the creature’s mouth, landing on his chin and chest. Driven by an insatiable blood lust, the beast stumbled headlong after them into the kitchen. A frying pan smashed into the door frame as he passed through it. His eyes, blackened by the same bilious substance that coursed through his veins, darted to the spot on the wall where the pan hit. He returned his gaze to the girls, finding instead a barrage of kitchenware flying toward his face. Several pots came close to hitting the demon, who flinched and grunted in response, until finally Melissa lobbed another frying pan through the air, catching him squarely on the side of his face.

The beast stumbled, groping with its hands for support, and found the counter-top’s ledge. A symphony of stifled cries rang out from the group of young women as they watched the hideous abomination regain its footing. Bobby Anne, clutching a rolling pin, reluctantly approached the dazed demon. She lifted the rolling pin over her head and brought it crashing down on the creature’s hand, which he was using to keep himself up. He yelped, staggering backward, and fell to the ground. The girls, overcome with excitement, hopped up and down, hugging each other. They shrieked and laughed, giddy with insanity, until they saw the creature rise to his feet, defying all the known laws of gravity. With his body completely straight, the beast rose up to a standing position, his hands stretching out on either side of him.

The girls screamed in unison, generating a blood curdling sound, and scurried to find more objects to throw at the creature. Finding nothing substantial to fling, they tried to dart out of the kitchen through the rear, which would have led them around the staircase, and back into the living room. Jody and Meghan A. tried to make a run for it, but the creature cut them off, effectively blocking both exits. The girls huddled together, squeezing each other as hard as they could, and feared the worst. Just then, a baseball bat appeared between the demon’s legs on the floor beneath him. He continued to scream at the girls, savoring their horrified reactions, unaware of the Louisville Slugger flying upward into his crotch.

The creatures’ taunts abruptly stopped and the girls, shocked by the sudden unexplained act, were silenced as well. He fell to the floor without the slightest degree of dignity, revealing the small frame of Jordana Stacks behind him. Jordana managed to sneak out of the kitchen during the commotion, and grabbed the bat that her father hid by the door after rounding the stairwell. “C’mon!” she cried to her companions. The girls, each one shrieking in nearly the same high pitched tone, quickly trampled over top of the stunned creature.

Sherry was the second to last girl to traipse over the creature. She decided to wear her heels to the party, thinking that there were so few opportunities to do so, and consequently delivered an acute, stabbing pain to the small of the creature’s back, which snapped him out of his stupor. Yelling furiously and dispatching black spittle from his mouth, the beast reached out with his clammy hand and grabbed Sherry’s ankle. She screamed, signaling to the other girls ahead of her that she was in trouble. The group of girls in the living room returned to assist Sherry, kicking and slapping the monster’s legs. Tara, the last girl in the kitchen, eyed the rolling pin and grabbed it up. The beast, unprepared for its first encounter with humanity, received a thorough beating on both ends, and finally, released Sherry’s ankle.

 Tara quickly joined the rest of the girls and together they ran through the living room toward the front door of the house. The demon, although having a rough start with his mission to destroy humanity, was endowed with a vast repertoire of abilities. Frustrated and weary, the creature decided enough was enough. Just as Jordana, leading her group of friends, managed to open the front door, the creature found the incantation he was looking for and recited it under his breath. Jordana stumbled out onto the porch, screaming, “C’mon! Let’s go… we’ve got to get to the car!” She leapt off the porch and turned around. She saw into the house, glimpsing the huge banner her father hung up for her that read “Happy Sweet Sixteen,” just as the door slammed shut, locking her guests inside. Jordana pounded her fist on the outside of the door, hearing her friends shrieking behind it.

Inside the house, the girls darted to and fro, trying to escape the lunging creature’s grasp. Jessica and Tara backed themselves into a corner and the creature intended to exploit their disadvantage. Its face was dripping with sweat and its black eyes enveloped them in a maleficent stare. They cried out, hugging each other as tight as they could. Both Meghans and Bobby Anne tiptoed up behind the demon, attempting to come to the other girls’ rescue. Bobby Anne knelt down on all fours a few feet behind the beast, and, catching the eyes of the cornered girls, gave them a familiar nod. Immediately apprehending Bobby Anne’s plan, Jessica and Tara rushed the monster and pushed him with all their might. With an expression of surprise, the creature was knocked off balance, staggering backward. He tripped over Bobby Anne as planned, falling to the floor once again. As before, a barrage of household items and small, sixteen year old fists lambasted the demon.

Rummaging through its collective unconscious, the creature found another incantation that it could put to use. A low pitched growl emanated from his throat, expanding in octave to produce a sound hitherto unheard by human ears. The girls all stopped hitting the beast, uniformly falling under the trance like spell of its incantation. The sound slowly degraded into a throaty, self-fulfilled laugh and, once again, the creature rose to its feet. This time, however, his victims would not be able to resist, having become entranced by his magic. He spread his arms apart, feeling each of the life forms in the living room as if he were touching them, and then abruptly clapped his hands together. The girls flew through the living room, crashing into one another in front of the demon, and formed one, big, writhing mass of pastel colored dresses, and pony tails.

 The house was silent, save for the hearty laughter of the creature. Finally, after struggling to gain control of his pets, the beast was in possession of the girls. He broke into a fit of hysterics, cackling as he approached his victims. They quivered in terror, unable to move, or cry out, and believed their deaths were imminent. Just then, a deafening thunder clap rang out inside the living room. The mass of girls, levitating a few inches off of the floor, dropped and regained their freedom of motion. The birthday banner hanging overhead slowly fell off the wall, gliding down toward the floor. It gracefully sailed through the air, alighting on the creatures shoulder like a sash. The girls looked on in disbelief at the ghoulish being that had been tormenting them, wondering what happened.

The creature, venting a thick black steam from his body, fell backward onto the floor. Behind him, on the staircase – wearing a lovely, frilled, purple dress – stood Jordana holding her daddy’s shotgun. She had climbed the porch’s banister after being locked out, remembering that her father always kept the shotgun by his nightstand, and crept in through Jerry’s bedroom window. Her thoughts centered around the notion that her one and only sweet-sixteen birthday-party had been ruined, and nobody, including the demon possessing the body of her father, was going to stop her from exacting revenge.

A ripple of exclamations issued forth from the huddled mass of frightened girls. Jordana descended the rest of the stairs, rounded the balustrade, and walked over to the steaming corpse lying on the floor. She picked up the banner that had fallen on him, draping it across her own shoulder, and cocked the shotgun, saying, “Hell hath no fury like a sixteen year old scorned.”

The girls, realizing that no one would ever believe their account of what happened that night, took matters into their own hands, once again. When the mothers arrived to pick up their daughters at nine as promised, they found the Stacks’s house engulfed in a brilliant blaze. Jordana began crying and explained that, for no conceivable reason, her father came downstairs, threatening all the girls with his shotgun. They resisted, sustaining some bruises and scrapes in the process, but managed to knock Jerry down long enough to get out of the house. The girls all nodded, corroborating Jordana’s story.

When the police showed up, they took everyone’s statements, finding that all the girls shared the same view of how the evening unfolded. According to each one of them, the girls narrowly escaped Mr. Stacks’s rampage, taking refuge outside in the grazing field, and simply waited for their parents to arrive. They watched Mr. Stacks trash his house, and ultimately start the fire that claimed his life. The two officers who responded to the call offered their condolences to Jordana and asked if she had any relatives, or anywhere to stay. Melissa’s mother offered to put Jordana up until things straightened out, and Jordana gratefully accepted.

The firemen dutifully put out the blaze, securing the area for the Sherriff and his team of post-mortem examiners. They surveyed the scene, concluding that Jerry Stacks died of a self inflicted gun shot wound, and burned up in the blaze afterward. As the Sherriff left the still-smoldering house, he passed a beautiful young woman attempting to gain access to the crime scene. One of the Sherriff’s officers blocked her passage, trying to justify his actions with an authoritative tone, but the woman would not be dissuaded. The Sherriff looked her over, wondering what her business with the Stacks’ was, and decided to intervene. “Excuse me miss, I’m Sherriff Brenan. Is there something I can do for you?” he asked. “You can tell your goon to let me in.” she quipped. “Who are you?” asked Sherriff Brenan. The woman sighed, reached into her jacket pocket, and produced an official medical examiner’s badge. “Cynthia Townshend. I’m with the M.E.’s office.”

They are the vultures, sent from the harvester of souls
Born of the flame down below, infernal
Destroy the righteous and the kind
I welcome them to take my life, this night
Come demons, feed upon my soul
Summon the darkness make me whole, evil
I am your instrument of death, the reaper
Horrid blasphemies now take control, becoming more creature than man
Spewing forth from the hell below, possessed by demonic legions
I offer no resistance, the demons now inside
Seduced by the fire, for veil is my….Rock
Drowning beneath the tide of chaos
Tempt and corrupt me to the bone
Savage, infected, a life of darkness
Twisted, unholy, abomination
Slave to the demons
Disciple, horrifying creation
Gorge upon my soul
Become the demon

Welcome to the first blog, I hope that you’ll enjoy whatever I have to say, whether it be about personal news, engineering news or rants and whatnot. I will be updating this as I go along with my career and everything else.

Good news in the fact that I will be recording a band full of really cool guys who have a sound similar to Alice in Chains which is one of my all time favorite bands ^_^.

Fan to Flame is their name, check them out and tell them Josh sent you if they ask .

It seems I will have Arlyn studios to myself for a weekend since everyone else will be gone for thanksgiving and we can hopefully record this album in a day! I know these guys can do it as do they. We all share the same views for how this album should sound and what needs to happen in order for that to flourish which is a great thing in the studio world, everyone must have a goal and must be willing to work together to achieve a great product and have a great time creating the product.

Nov 28th and 29th are the scheduled days for our sessions, the plan goes as follows:

28th:

Track all drums, guitars and bass

29th:

Track vocals and do overdubs if necessary

After that is all said and done, I will begin mixing everything and will hope for a great outcome. I will keep you all posted.

P.S. Thanks for viewing .

Josh

Snowboarding is a physical sport, it involves speed concentration, commitment and most of all fun. If you are off boarding this season I cannot recommend strongly enough. Not just because I work at boardshop but because I am a snowboarder. A pair of padded snowboarding shorts is a must have item.

Snowboarders spend their lives on their bums, padded snowboard shorts from brands like pro-tec protection and demon protection a great. They keep your bum warm when your clicking into your bindings at the top of the mountain. Plus if you do catch an edge or have a small tumble they can really help to protect your coxic and hips.

If your new to snowboarding whether your heading off to the dry slope, the snow dome like Xscape or Summit then we recommend that you grab yourself a pair of DaKine Wrist guards. At only £14.99 its much better than two broken ….. Exactly.

Dakine wrist guards and Demon padded shorts and Pro-tec padded shorts are all available from the no1 boardshop.

I went out on the night of Halloween to a house in Winston-Salem that decorates like crazy (it is located at the corner of Watson Ave. and Gaston St.).  I had not been by in a few years, and decided to check it out as well as play around with my D300s a little and push its limits in the dark to see how it performed.  I must say I was happy with the results, but you can be the judge.

All of these were shot at 6400 ISO which is as high as she goes.

This last one was in front of another house down the street. Looks strait out of a horror film.

Well hari ini gue pengen memulai 80 HARI MISI UNTUK GAGAL dalam approach wanita. Segala hal yang gue tau tentang dunia psikologi pria dan wanita semoga dapet gue share di blog ini.

Salam penuh kekuatan,
RomanticDemon a.k.a Rom4n

Bait and Switch
Nightmare & Vision #85

We had waited so long to make love; I was as eager as my groom to consummate our marriage. We were all over each other in the limo to the hotel. My white dress was so voluminous, Robert could barely caress my legs, but I felt all buttery inside, and my lace panties were soaked. Even before the honeymoon suite door closed, I wiggled out of his arms and we were shedding clothes. He finished first and leapt for me. I yelped in surprise and glee falling back on the bed under him.

My gaze travelled down from Robert’s face, and I gasped as my eyes fell upon his privates for the first time. His was the first erect penis I’d ever seen ‘in the flesh’, and part of my gasp was of apprehension at its sheer size. But oh, God, I wanted him. With veil still in place, blouse ripped open, and white stockings still on, I slowly spread my legs and beckoned him to me. He came without hesitation. In one swift motion, Robert moved up and plunged into my virgin sex, tearing through my hymen and burying his penis balls-deep inside me.

I cried out in momentary pain and then drew breath at the sensation of utter fullness. I gasped and gritted my teeth as he pulled nearly completely out and shoved fully back in. Then again, and again. The pain quickly evaporated into bliss as I pleasured the way nature intended for the first time. We kissed deeply as he thrust into me over and over, and I closed my eyes to relish the incredible sensations. I moaned and cried out my love between more guttural sounds. The wedding had been carefully timed. We’d planned on starting a family right away and I had hoped and had prayed to conceive our first child on our wedding bed. We stood the best chance possible tonight.

These thoughts gave me butterflies in my tummy that began to spread all over as I neared orgasm. I was in utter heaven. My body, by instinct, humped up to Robert as he made love to… fucked me. The butterflies enveloped me, and I tingled and arched from head to toe as the storm of climax took over. My inner muscles clamped down and squeezed my groom’s throbbing penis. I cried out, overwhelmed with pleasure. Then I opened my eyes with love and lust and looked up, wanting him to see me in bliss and glory as we made new life.

What I saw turned my next orgasmic scream into a wail of terror.

Red eyes bored into mine from a twisted, sharp face that only vaguely resembled my Robert’s. Two leathery wings sprouted from his back, beating the air savagely as he plowed into my spasming body. I tried to raise my arms to push him away, but his taloned hands pinned my wrists to the bed. I screamed again and again, but horrifyingly, the sounds contained unmistakable pleasure mixed with anguish.

My body was still cumming around the demonic cock! I couldn’t stop myself!

Then, the first hot gush of inhuman semen erupted inside me, and with one final thrust he slammed fully into me, his howl of triumph matching mine of despair. Spurt after spurt of his seed injected deep into my newly opened, fully ripe body, and I knew with terrible certainty I was conceiving (but dear God what?!) at that very moment. And still, my pussy continued to milk and grind into the jetting organ, my body’s pleasure continuing unabated.

My tears of joy-turned-agony stained the wedding bed as the terrible head lowered – as if to kiss me once again. I turned away in fear and shame, still trembling with shocks of pleasure and revulsion. A long, thin tongue flicked across my ear, and a low, hissing voice spoke words I knew were at the same time true and horribly false:

“Your prayers have been answered.”

Mr. Oizo is definitely an Apes With Barrels favorite, ¡yay experimental french electro-house! , and I recently happened upon a remix he did of Doctor L back in 2000 titled ‘Strange Shit Happens (Mr. Oizo Remix)’ which was missing from my essentially complete collection of his music (His remix of Ark’s Punkadelic was only released on Vinyl, and is relatively rare, unfortunately it will probably never surface, and the tracks ‘Pig’, ‘Tnust’, and ‘Half A Square‘ continue to elude internet exposure) I apologize to those of you who have most of these, but I think all of this crazy surrealist Frenchmans remixes deserve to be posted regardless, so here goes, voici, la musique de l’ordinateur>>>

Afara ploua. Toata lumea a intrat in casa si sta invelita bine, cu cate o cana de ceai fierbinte in mana. Altii beau ciocolata calda, in timp ce doar cativa un whiskey bun. Atmosfera de toamna tarzie imi da o stare de melancolie.

Stau in pat cu o durere de burta incredibil de nebuna. Langa mine am cana cu ciocolata calda si rola de hartie igienica. Da, sunt si racita. Astept sa se incarce un film, un horror chiar, ca sa intru cum trebuie in starea impusa de natura prea perfecta a sezonului. Telefonul mort de pe birou sta singur si asteapta sa fie dus la reanimare, dar nu pot. Nu acum. Mai e timp destul.

Anuntul unui nou mail ma scoate pentru cateva secunde din starea ce incepe sa puna stapanire asupra mea. Imi place toamna la fel de mult cum imi place si ploaia. Soarele se ascunde prin nori, tunetele fac pe oricine sa tremure un pic, iar fulgerele, cu frumoasele lor forme, incanta privirea mirata sau speriata a multora. Toamna e stapanita de sentimente puternice si diverse, dar nu prea insorite. Melancolie, tristete, apasare, frica, teama si chiar spaima. Pentru cativa in schimb, toamna aduce zambete, fericire, buna-dispozitie. Sunetul stropilor de ploaie, ce se aud cazand pe asfaltul dur sau pe frunze de tei si prin petale vestede de trandafir te fac sa te gandesti. Simti ca vrei sa faci o mie de lucruri si, totusi, e un ceva care nu te lasa. Nu e constiinta ta, ci amorteala ce ti s-a scurs in tot corpul. Brusc, iesi din starea asta, dar nu sti ce e cu tine. Este doar toamna, care ca un demon, te ia de mana si te duce in adancul casei lui din mijlocul padurii, unde vei intra intr-un alfel de lume. O lume din Evul Mediu. Intrand in salon, vezi o masa de stejar, deloc finisata, multe scaune la fel de nefinisate, dar vrei sa te asezi… par confortabile. Dar demonul nu iti da drumul. Intri trasa de el, intr-o noua odaie. E destul de mica si foarte slab luminata. Doar focul din semineu arunca umbre rosiatice pe peretii de un bej murdar. In fata focului nelinistit simti cum cazi, si de data nu te mai tine nimeni de mana. Deschizi cu greu ochii. Esti din nou in casa ta, bine invelita. Cana cu ciocolata a scapat din prinsoarea mainii tale si acum doarme pe podeaua ta intr-o mare de ciocolata… acum adormi si cum intri in vis esti din nou in castelul medieval.

Thisisalloneword is having a bad Christmas Day. He is with friends and they are eating, watching TV and swapping presents. Oh yes, they are also awaiting the inevitable appearance of a massive demon who will come to drag some of them back to the underworld. Someone was trying to keep secret the small amount demon blood that they carried through their veins. Thisisalloneword is waiting and planning both an attack, an escape and a survival strategy for being in hell.
There are small children present and this is the type of thing that can put them off Christmas for life.
But no demon ever shows and thisisalloneword finds himself watching Christmas TV with everyone else. It’s the local news and it’s Chris Coneybeer reporting from some fishing town on the south coast; he’s working on Christmas day, fair play to him, hope he’s getting overtime. Anyway the news story is that a strange canoe shaped speedboat had been seen going really fast along some river/lake and the river/lake had recently that day been bought by corrupt fishermen from China. The boat was actually some sort of fishing boat that had killed all the fish in the whole river/lake within minutes! The waters ran red with fish blood. Local people were very angry.
Chris does his piece to camera which is a bit odd because he stands still but his arms and hands keep motioning from left to right and the camera man follows the movements of his hands so the whole piece is decidedly odd. These corrupt no good people want all the fish right away to sell over the holidays and to hell with the fish stock (no pun intended) after that. Chris then passes over to some sort of expert who proceeds to interrogate two fishermen and ask the opinion of an angry local.
The two fishermen insult the interviewers mother and so he offers to fight them. They except and now we have a live broadcast fight. The interviewer hits one of them with a door and then puts the boot into his head – he soon dispatches them both.
Odd. Most odd.
Thisisalloneword then finds himself in Lymington High Street and the two fishermen are looking for him. They meet on the corner of New St and thisisalloneword duffs them up. But they will be back we more people soon so he starts making his way up the High St towards the church. Four of them attack him now and he punches one a few times and then realises that the man is also somehow a balloon and so he changes tack from hitting to bitting the ’skin’ of his opponent who suddenly deflates and shrinks to the size of a balloon with a slow puncture.
The rest of them chase him and someone who thisisalloneword guesses is on his side, a younger guy with a large afro, to the church. The church is a massive Gothic building with gargoyles and spires and balconies and spikes and in a creepy overgrown graveyard. Thisisalloneword has remembered that he can fly at this point so he nips up to the top of the church awaiting his foes. The afro guy runs inside the church and disappears. Thisisalloneword glides with (and he’s never seen these before) thin wings, down to the end of the graveyard where there is an old shed. He gets caught up in the branches of trees though – damn these wings! – and one of the fishermen finds him…
…as they chase each other around the graveyard they then see a game in progress near the church and they stop fighting and forget all about their differences to watch the game. This involves people throwing a large rock at each others heads – what fun! No-one is angry about being hit by the heavy rock because when hit they forget all about everything and their brains fell no pain. Everyone laughs and agrees to be best friends when they see this fun game and the dozens of happy people playing it…

I wonder why I fight these demons,

when I know that they will win.

I will fall victim to myself -

my nature is to sin.

I’ve lost the path, lost my way.

And it’s a new struggle everyday.

Life should be happy, not like this.

I add one more pain to the long list.

Sometimes I’m certain it will end.

No pages to turn, no hearts to mend.

I’ll be in the shadows, and fade to black.

Give in to myself, never turning back.

Chapter 2.

There, on top of the counter, was my guide and my tempter. My master. At this point, of course, I did not know this. Oh blissful oblivion.

With eyes of red, burning like the very fires of the place he came from, he stared at me. It looked as though someone had ripped of his eyelids, for what was left of them was torn. No words passed through the jaw filled with blackened spikes, nothing but spit and drool. His skin like shells, like a dragon, like an armor, was coloured as if he was naught but the blood running through his veins. He was dressed in a dark-grey cloth covering his head and arms, all the way down to and around his fists, making them look as if they were nothing but stumps; amputated. His feet looked like those of and eagle. Looking fierce as a predator, the claws on his legs frightened me as they were digging their way into the wooden plate he was standing on.
The little torn-up flaps over his eyes blinked once, his eyes rolled around and then refixated themselves on mine.
“I am an angel…” he said in a slow and light-growly voice, letting drool rool down the side of his cheek and hitting his cloth.
“I am…” He took a deep breath, leaned his torso back and screamed ” The on they call the PUPPETTEER!”.
The grey cloth slid of him, revealing his arms. They were like the legs of spiders; long, skinny, black and frightening. Shining, at the edge of his palms where I thought I would find finger, I spotted long claws of steel screaming for me.
“W…What do you want from me?”
The strange creature stepped down from his elevated position and started to slowly walk towards me.
“I want nothing of you…” was as far as he got before he in a spastic movement threw himself down to the ground. Coughing and gasping for air, screaming, as he was laying there. Spitting blood down at the floor for minutes before he finally caught his breath again.
He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his arm before proceeding.
Facing the ground, still on all four he said “Heh…Child, I want nothing more of you than to let me do God’s work”
Raising his arms, shifting his weight back to his feet and standing up, he almost seemed kind of majestic. A combination of respect and fear had struck me.
He stretched out his arms towards me, gathered his claws making them into spears ready to impale me. His feet slowly started walking again, being dragged across the floor towards me. In fear, I took a step back, banging into myself. The door. The damned door! I was cornered
“Don’t be alarmed my dear… Let me cut your strings…”
The Puppetteer was now almost holding around me. My back the wall, his face straight in front of me and steel claws on the sides.
“Don’t…be afraid… What is your name?” He whispered.
“Muh-My name is Tom” I was shivering scared to death of what he meant by ‘Cut my strings’.
“Tom…Why are you Here?” His voice had shifted to a much more soothing sound. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the hideous creature and focus on the sound.
“I came here…I came here looking for my dad.”
“Hurm…Open your eyes dear child.”
“No..”
“No?”
“No..”
“You dare defy me?…You clearly do not know who I am”.
I heard him inhale deeply once more.
“Open them…”
I refused.
“OPEN THEM!!” He screamed.
“Okay! Okay! They’re open!”
Argh, I couldn’t take looking at him. No, instead I looked over his shoulder. I could see the bench, but no longer any wolf. All I could see was the wall, the grey, empty, soulless wall. Had he left me alone with this thing?!
“CHILD! Please, do not make me scream at you once more! Look into my eyes…”
I was too terrified to do anything but comply.
“Heh…You know how they that someone’s eyes is the window into their soul?”
I nodded I response.
“Well… It’s partially right. Though it is more of a door…”
My eyes were fixated onto the big balls of red, burning within his skull. Everything else seemed to fade, all I could see was him. I couldn’t move! My arms, my legs. They were as if petrified!
“Focus…”
It felt like someone had put a restraining jacket on me, like an insane person. the only though in my head was ‘Let me go! Let me go!’. All I could think about was getting out of this state.
“This will be over soon….Relax….”
There! I was free! I could walk again! I snuck out of the Puppetteers grip. Strange, he didn’t even seem to care. I ran over to the reception-desk, jumped over it and turned to look at him when I saw that he was still holding me!…Yet, I was still here. I could see it clearly, it was me: My sweater, my hair, my eyes. I looked down at my hands….Wait, what hands? I couldn’t see anything there! I was outside of my own body…somehow.
My head had fallen on to my right shoulder, as if I had passed out, but I was standing there, in a position as if I was crucified with my hands spread out to the side, seemingly by myself. The Puppetteer raised on of his claws, while never taking his eyes away from my head. With a switch motion, the claws were separated ready to strike. To cut. He put it straight over my left wrist, and he cut.

An incredibly loud snapping sound filled the room, and echoed in the background. My ears were ringing! But suddenly my arm was free, dangling from my shoulder as it usually does. Hanging over it, going through even the ceiling, I saw a long purple strain. And then he cut straight above my left  knee, and the same thing happened. I could see blue bolts of lightning going through the strings as he cut my body loose one limb at a time. Cutting me loose from what, I did not know.
Then finally he came to my head. A loud snapping sound, my body fell to the ground, and from thereon nothing but darkness….

“Now you are free…”

Robert Jones , http://www.self-catering-breaks.com/news/46121545.html

The largest airport in Thailand is planning to relocate 12 giant “demon statues” in a bid to calm facility employees who believe bad luck is attached to the figures.

Airports of Thailand (AOT) president Serirat Prasutanond said the statues located in the arrival concourse of Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport will be moved to the check-in area at a cost of around US$54,785.

In a statement, Prasutanond said that the facility wants to install the statues in the check-in offer passengers and visitors to the airport a opportunity to appreciate the beauty of the statues.

But the English-language Bangkok Post newspaper reported that, Niran Thiranartsin, the airport’s director, had admitted the move was partly prompted by complaints from airport employees.

The “demon statues” have been blamed by shopkeepers for the problems they have endured at the facility, where supporters of the People’s Alliance of Democracy (PAD) had carried a siege last year and had threatened violence which had paralysed the whole country and has severely damaged its reputation as a calm and peace loving nation.

In a bid to boost morale of people working at the airport, the report said that the guardian spirit statues will be transported from the inner area of the passenger terminal to the check-in zone.

Suvarnabhumi Airport, also known as the (New) Bangkok International Airport, officially opened for domestic flights on 15 September 2006, and subsequently opened for all international commercial flights on 28 September 2006.[3]

The facility is presently the main hub in for Thai Airways International, Bangkok Airways, Orient Thai Airlines, PBair and Thai AirAsia.

The airport is located in the province of Samut Prakan , about 25 km east of downtown Bangkok. King Bhumibol Adulyadej chose the name Suvarnabhumi and refers to the legend of the golden kingdom to have existed somewhere in Southeast Asia.

The airport was designed by Helmut Jahn of Murphy/Jahn Architects, and has the world’s tallest control tower (132.2 m), and it’s third largest single-building airport terminal in the world.

More strange and unusual

Satan called a worldwide convention of demons.
In his opening address he said:

“We can’t keep Christians from going to church.”
“We can’t keep them from reading their Bibles and knowing the truth.”
“We can’t even keep them from forming an intimate relationship with their saviour.”
“Once they gain that connection with Jesus, our power over them is broken.”

“So let them go to their churches; let them have their covered dish dinners, BUT steal their time, so they don’t have time to develop a relationship with Jesus Christ.”

“This is what I want you to do,” said the devil:

“Distract them from gaining hold of their Saviour and maintaining that vital connection throughout their day!”

“How shall we do this?” his demons shouted.

“Keep them busy in the non-essentials of life and invent innumerable schemes to occupy their minds,” he answered.
“Tempt them to spend, spend, spend, and borrow, borrow, borrow.”
“Persuade the wives to go to work for long hours and the husbands to work 6-7 days each week, 10-12 hours a day, so they can afford their empty lifestyles.”
“Keep them from spending time with their children.”

“As their families fragment, soon, their homes will offer no escape from the pressures of work!”

“Over-stimulate their minds so that they cannot hear that still, small voice.”

“Entice them to play the radio or cassette player whenever they drive.”
“To keep the TV, VCR, CDs and their PCs going constantly in their home and see to it that every store and restaurant in the world plays non-biblical music constantly.”

“This will jam their minds and break that union with Christ.”

“Fill the coffee tables with magazines and newspapers.”
“Pound their minds with the news 24 hours a day.”
“Invade their driving moments with billboards.”
“Flood their mailboxes with junk mail, mail order catalogs, sweepstakes, and every kind of newsletter and promotional offering free products, services and false hopes.”
“Keep skinny, beautiful models on the magazines and TV so their husbands will believe that outward beauty is what’s important, and they’ll become dissatisfied with their wives.”
“Keep the wives too tired to love their husbands at night.”
“Give them headaches too!”
“If they don’t give their husbands the love they need, they will begin to look elsewhere.”

“That will fragment their families quickly!”

“Give them Santa Claus to distract them from teaching their children the real meaning of Christmas.”
“Give them an Easter bunny so they won’t talk about his resurrection and power over sin and death.”
“Even in their recreation, let them be excessive.”
“Have them return from their recreation exhausted.”
“Keep them too busy to go out in nature and reflect on God’s creation.
Send them to amusement parks, sporting event s, plays, concerts, and movies instead.”

“Keep them busy, busy, busy!“

“And when they meet for spiritual fellowship, involve them in gossip and small talk so that they leave with troubled consciences.”
“Crowd their lives with so many good causes they have no time to seek power from Jesus.”
“Soon they will be working in their own strength, sacrificing their health and family for the good of the cause.”

“It will work!”
“It will work!”
It was quite a plan!

The demons went eagerly to their assignments causing Christians everywhere to get busier and more rushed, going here and there.
Having little time for their God or their families.
Having no time to tell others about the power of Jesus to change lives.

I guess the question is, has the devil been successful in his schemes?