Category: Science Fiction


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~ “The Fall of Light” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?blog_id=327765&cid=10

“Another monster boom sounded just around the corner on ‘Walnut Lane.’ The instant flash and boom on the street took out another building. A twin house on the odd numbered side of the street was suddenly and instantaneously gone. Loud noises under the street and greenish glowing lights appeared as the crowds rushed for their homes!”

 

~’When The Light Fell Down’~

 

“What the fuck was that?”

“I dunno…it’s pretty damned dark out there.”

“Shit man, a big ass bump like that had to be felt for a few blocks around!”

“…Feel anything else?”

“Nah…it was probably some big ass truck or something.”

Aw right, turn the radio up, the Halloween shows are about to start.” The doorbell rang. It was
one of those chime-like doorbell ringers. It had a firm but soft tone.

“Damn kids – pain in the ass…where’s the candy?”

“Ho Dude! Listen! It’s Orson Welles! It’s one of his old radio shows – hurry up! Get me a cassette tape, quick!”

Rushing through the house with a cassette tape in hand, Russell fell over the ottoman sitting near the dining room threshold between there and the kitchen. He managed to get the tape into the recording machine just as the announcer introduced Orson Welles’ Halloween play.

Andre picked up his hot cup of java and prepared to drop a bit of whiskey in it. From the corner of his right eye he thought he’d seen a flash of light. He was reassured by another flash of falling light. This one more prominent that the other. The first one seemed to be a little ways down the road – over on ‘Haines Street.’ The second one seemed to fall a bit closer. It fell with an Earth-shattering boom…right smack in the middle of ‘High Street’ and ‘Baynton Street.’ The neighbors were all running around the corner to see what they thought was a terrible car crash. It wasn’t. It was the apartment building which sat on the northwest corner. The building was gone. What took its place was a monstrous sized gaping hole. The hole almost appeared bottomless at first. Then the rush of creek water sprouted from below. Rumor has it that the majority of this ‘Germantown’ area stood over bedrock and heavily flowing creek-water. The water was much deeper than the basements of houses built above.

Andre and Russell ran out of the house on East Walnut Lane. They ran along with many other neighbors, turning the corner at ‘Baynton St.’ They were all joined with other neighbors who came running in from other directions. Not one of them could believe what their eyes beheld. Inside of the gaping hole of approximately 80 ft. deep with a circumference twice that size, rested the engine of an airplane…a ‘747’ class or such.

Someone from the crowd of on-lookers shouted in a panicked voice…”Look At That!”

All heads and eyes turned to see. We all looked up into the night-time sky only to see the smoking, burning jet-liner; the owner of the mechanism residing within the pit that fell from the darkness. Its cabin lights were all aglow as were the flames licking along its fuselage on the port side wing where once an engine was attached.

The nose-diving air-bus assured all who witnessed the impending and tragic doom of all who sat within. However, to the chagrin of its pursuer, the unexpected skillful and heroic effort on the part of the vehicle’s pilots, in escaping a perilous end. Turning and spinning out of a death defying nose-dive, the airplane banked leftward up into the moonless starfilled sky. A Greenish-blue-white light skirted along the edge of the airplane’s tail section. The great and powerfull all consuming brilliance of the strange light lit up the nighttime sky, nearly blinding all who gazed upon it.

From the corner of our eyes, another startling shimer grabbed everyone’s attention. Within a milimeter of a second, the brightened sky returned to its natural state. That same glance captured another burst of greenish-blue-white light eminating from ground to air. This burst of light proved fatal indeed. This powerbeam of light completely engulfed the airbus. It first appeared as if the airplane was surrounded, encircled within the greenish-blue-white ball of light when suddenly, without an explosion or booming sound, the vehicle simply dissapeared in a flash. The aftermath was a puff of smoke and dust trapped within the light trail which fell back onto the plane’s pursuer indeed… The only sound or noise, if you will; it made, was a crackling-lightning-like streak as it flashed about. The deadly light fell back. It’s trail returning to the owner; back to the eye-beam 0f glassened-multi-paned-plastic-like lenses that sat inside a metalic-like globe. This globe was attached at the middle, to a life-like pole that moved not unlike an ‘Ostrich’ or ‘Giraffe’s’ looping rubber-like neck. It was monstrously elongated and yet flexible. The long neck was attached to what appeared to be a floating nuclear sub-marine with the same plastic-looking, glass-like lenses embedded in both ends of the floating vessell.

“Did I say floating?”

“Oh hell yeah I did!”

“I’m talking into the microphone of the same tape recorder in which I kept my old ‘Orson Welles’ tape. I recorded the “War of the Worlds” on this recorder and was going to make another copy with this blank the inside. Since I recorded the show years back, I thought with today’s technology, the broadcast would be upgraded, hence, another copy of the halloween show via the radio. Besides, it was plain ole fun just sittin around the radio with a bunch of hot dogs, sausages, pop-corn, soda, a few brews, a belt of booze to top it all off, and your “homeys” to show off for of course. If we had a little weed, that would work too.

Yo, my name is ‘Russell Creed,’ and my homey is ‘Andre (Stevie) Stevens.’ The halloween show was just about to start when all hell broke loose!

We were just hangin out at my brother’s house, me and Dre., some call him ‘Stevie.’ ‘G’ was out of town for a few and asked me to look in on the crib to make sure everything’s okay. He didn’t know I was with my boys’ when I stopped in to chill-out. That’s when all this shit started… I’d like to be the one who tells you all about what’s happenin…but I think the narrator/interpreter can do a better job. I say this because I don’t think we’re going to survive this invasion. And it ain’t a damned thing me, you, or the damned government can do about it.

Dre., was it something you wanted to add?”

“Damn Man, for some weirdly odd reason, I thought of my diner left to get cold on the kitchen table… I forgot that I was hungry! The dark night had become brighter than the brightest day. It was white-hot, light without heat…but yet, it was hot!”

The enormous shadowy cylinder was fully exposed at the dusk of brilliant light. It stomped and stormed its massive metalic yet glass or plastic-like smooth frame into full view.

The horrifying vessell certainly did float. The military people have determined that these machines were utilizing some sort of magnetic repulsion or anti-gravity devices in order to move along without tracks or wheels…they certainly were not flying.

At this point, we could see only one of them. There were actually three. When it became possible to completely see these murderers…killers of innocence; the thing which first became visible was that of the heart-stopping variety. A shinning, shimmering, clanking, clunking, cluttering, abhorition of metalic horror came clumbering up ‘Walnut Lane’ from ‘Germantown Avenue.’ We could all see this from ‘Baynton St.’ The monster machine stood as tall as ‘Billy Penn’ atop City-Hall in ‘Philly’s Downtown’ area, hat and all!

The top of this alien monster machine appeared to be that of a walking military helicopter without the blades that make it fly. It had a very large basket-like attachment located on its undercarriage. This thing stood and walked upon three crab or spider-like legs. Three tentacles or limbs with six pincer-like grabbers or fingers pertruded. One could easily guess at what they were being used for.

The sidewalk began to crackle and break. The separation caused by the split right down the center of Baynton Street encouraged the crowds to disperse and run for shelter and home. The safety of their families was of extreme paramount.

Another monster boom sounded just around the corner on ‘Walnut Lane.’ The instant flash and boom on the street took out another building. A twin house on the odd numbered side of the street was suddenly and instantaneously gone. Loud noises under the street and greenish glowing lights appeared as the crowds rushed for their homes. The booming became regular. They exploded all around the neighborhood. Parked cars became airborne flying objects of mass destruction. They flew back to Earth as two ton bombs of metal and shrapnel, crushing other cars and several people in the meshing mess. Jet planes flew overhead as police sirens screamed all around. The police cars did not stop in to check on the people, they were fleeing the area enmass.

Immediatly upon seeing the alien machines, to the horror and sadness of all; a father and his three children ran down ‘Germantown Avenue.’ They vanished as one of the flying multi-toned trash collection trucks descended upon them. Overhead clouds formed and caused the night-time blackness to take on the appearance of a day-time sky… The booming thunder, thumping-metal-grinding walking machines, flashing-burning white to blue-green rays, and falling lights burned to ashes anyone and anything it touched…

The towering walking machine was flanked by the three smaller floating ones. Two were positioned to its left-rear, the other its right, while the third served as point. They all moved in a way which complimented one another. They moved almost in a uniformed manner. The movement was a difined and planned march. It played out as if it had been a tried and true manuever.

All four monsters came into full view. Buildings, our homes seemed to disintegrate right before our very eyes as they moved over the dusty rubble toward us.

>

“You have been asking for water for the last hour,” he said.

For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I daresay he found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water-soaked trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale-blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me.

“This must be the beginning of the end,” he said, interrupting me. “The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord!” When the men shall call upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them – hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!”

I began to understand the position. I ceased my labored reasoning, struggled to my feet, and standing over him, laid my hand on his shoulder.
“Be a man!” said I, “You are scared out your wits! What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.”
For a time he sat in blank silence.
“But how can we escape?” he asked, suddenly. “They are invulnerable, they are pitiless.”
“Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other,” I answered. “And the mightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was killed yonder not three hours ago.”
“Killed1” he said, staring about him. “How can God’s ministers be killed?”
“I saw it happen.” I proceeded to tell him. “We have chanced to come in for the thick of it,” said I, “and that is all.”
“What is that flicker in the sky?” he asked abruptly.
I told him it was the heliograph signaling – that it was the sign of human help and effort in the sky.
“We are in the midst of it,” I said, “quiet as it is. That flicker in the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take it, are the Martians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond and Kingston and the trees give cover, Earthworks are being thrown up and guns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this way again.”

And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture.
“Listen!” he said.
From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still. A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in the west the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendor of the sunset.

“We had better follow this path,” I said, “northward.”

Gene Barry was the starring hero from the classic ‘War of The Worlds’ by Herbert George Wells back in the sixties when I was a little boy. The bombs screamed across the big screen at the ‘Lehigh Movie Theatre’ on Lehigh Avenue between twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth Streets in North Philadelphia. My two younger brothers, two of the girls who lived next door on Myrtlewood Street; and me were shuttled off by our mothers that early Saturday evening. The ladies had plans of their own. We were shipped out to the movies. Man what a treat. Albeit we were all scared to death, afraid to leave the theatre on many other monster treated and frightful afternoons. I can remember running home, fearing the crossing of darkened alleyways along the route to the safe haven of the domicile. Vampires, Frankenstein’s Monster, Zombies, and Werewolves threatened to jump out and get us if we doddle and lagged behind.

The story, ‘War of the Worlds’ in the novel format takes the reader on a journey during the turn of the twentieth century in Britain. The Americanized movie version has it placed in Las Angeles with shots and scenes from around the globe.

The visionary Martian vessels were described as in the novel. They glowed the green lights and eerie screwing sounds of a mason jar unscrewing. The laser beam of instantaneous destruction managed to destroy and kill any and every living and non-living thing on the planet and in its path. The shadowy white dusty froth laden forms of human beings lay on the grounds and roadways of the countryside exit trails, hopefully leading to safety, played out in the book did make its ghostly presence on the big screen and in the book as well.

The movie version with Mr. Gene (Bat Masterson) Barry remains a classic; the traverse through the countryside of England uncovers a journey of epic endeavor, adventure, and excitement beyond the movie theatre.
“When Earth comes under siege from extraterrestrial invaders, the best and worst of mankind comes out among those struggling to survive.”

Mr. Wells was born in Bromley, Kent on September 21, 1866. He was called ‘Bertie’ by his family. His father was a shopkeeper who was previously a cricketer. After the business failed, his mother was forced to work as a domestic in the nearby country house of ‘Up-Park.’ She desired to return the family back to the middle-class status it had briefly enjoyed. Wells worked as a schoolteacher and a pharmacist. He also studied biology under Thomas Henry Huxley, a vociferous proponent of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution. This gentleman made an extraordinary impression on him so much so that he returned to teaching completing his course studies and earned his degree. Wells went on with his mastery of the imagination and produced more thought provoking science fiction works in novel format and magazine periodicals as well as a couple of biology textbooks while working for the University Correspondence College.

“Herbert G. Wells published his first novel, The Time Machine to critical and popular acclaim in 1895. He became one of the most prolific writers of his generation. Mr. Wells has explored a vast variety of social, philosophical, and political I thoughts and ideas via the medium of what is described as science fiction.”

What happens when you wake up from a dream, a deeply remembered dream? You then realize that it was simply a dream… Time moves forward into your waking day when suddenly, the day is all that has previously transpired in your dream. Your dream has become your reality. So, which is which, the dream or the perceived reality?

 

…Can Anyone Decide Which Is True Or Which Is Not?

>

 

~”They Came In Three’s”~

 

Albeit, the eye-like beams spit forth a deadly white light of destruction. The lights also appeared to be of a green, red, and blue color; a blend of different colors. No one stopped to wonder why the death-dealing machines shined three of four different yet distinct colors. Everyone simply ran.

We all ran in many different directions…away from the approaching invaders. Petty neighborhood squabbles were long forgotten with this new threat, a threat that brought about an eerie uniting of the people. There was little need to call upon the Black Folks for a meeting. There was little need to call for a rally or a boycott…all we wanted to do now was live…”By Any Means Necessary!”

‘Dre’ and I thought we’d have a chance to get back to the house…no way. The machines were nearing the corner of Baynton Street now. The surviving buildings along the block were engulfed in flames and smoke. Hope for them was an impossibility.

The uphill run on Walnut Lane to Morton Street was always a challenging hike on any given day. However, on this night, it was a push over. The reality was that nothing or no one was going to impeed the progress of life-saving escape. The analogy of people turning into savages rang true as every one seemed to run over any one who could not keep up or get out of the way of the stampeding horde.

Any parked cars along the way were very lucky at getting out. It was highly improbable that the escapees would have had time to pack a bag. The thought occured when I noticed the absence of vehicles on the street that would normally be jockying for a parking spot. Thirst crept into my throat, taking away all the aforementioned thoughts that occupied my mind while running away from certain death. I peered briefly back over my right shoulder. To take a longer look could cause one to miss a step and fall down. A half-a-second was all I needed…it was all that it took to see the horrific, spine tingling, and blood curdling events unfolding behind us. It’s been said that the eye works just like a camera. The eye-lid works the same way as that of a lense shutter on any given image capturing device. It only took a split second to see the multi-colored death ray zapping people…first they freeze in their tracks, then the human body glows to a greenish-blue aura, revealing the skeletinal inner frame of the person being zapped…then the body vanishes; disappears! The proverbial description of “Crabs In a Barrell” was the order of the day. One dared not look back too long. We all kept on running.

We ran until we could run no more. We found ourselves walking briskly along with many people near the intersection of ‘Chew Avenue and Washington Lane.’ We didn’t know many of the folks whom who accompanied us on this newly found trek away from the Walnut Lane area. As everyone seemed to be migrating toward the train station just past Chew Avenue, there were hundreds more running from Upsal Street to our location. If people were attempting to board the SEPTA Trains, how many had money to pay, if they bothered to stop at the station? It had to be well past two in the morning by this time. We didn’t think about time with all this madness going on. But with time to stop and think for a moment, things of importance began to factor in. We had no food. We had no water. We had no transportation or communication. Another thought occured to me…remembering a conversation with the fellas at Gerry’s House, our place of catharsis after a long days work. We argued about what would or could happen if our country ever had to deal with an invasion. Remembering what happened with the “911 Tragedy” and the storms and hurricanes which devistated the southern regions, we all agreed on what would probably happen. If an invading force knocked out communication, transportation, and utility services, a country could fall victim to the invading entity. As I looked around, weighing our circumstances, the reality of our thesis has come to pass.

Some one in the crowd loudly stated that the lot across the street is a city emergency center. From my vantage point in the middle of Washington Lane, I could see the big white city trash collection vehicles parked within. The large lot held several other city vehicles as well. This location is a major City Trash Recycling and Transfer Station. It can accommodate a very large amount of people. The only question is, how can this facility take care of all these people who are in need of food, water, waste disposal, and many other needs. I saw women with young children and babies… The elderly were here along with the sick and injured. What could anyone do to take care of all these folks? The void of darkness was momentarily avoided for some with the use of flashlights, LED lights from the nearby train station, the low luster of the overhead city street-lighting, and the dying cell phones of many who had them; mostly the young.

People were sobbing and crying. The heartbreaking sounds of young children and babies crying really got to me. In the distance, you could hear the rumbling of the machines as they grew near. The white-greenish-blue-yellow-red lights glowed over the tops of trees and buildings along the Washington Lane corridor. Some people began to kneel and pray. Others watched with faces of stone-cold fear, eyes wide open; big like saucers. Many had the look of death on their faces. It’s a look that many meat workers have seen on the faces and in the eyes of the doomed cattle and other livestock caught in the shuttled chute of death. It’s the look, some say, of knowing that it’s your time to die.
Some of the so-called hard-core tough guys refused to show their fear because they were the intimidators of many, they packed weapons. They boasted of the ‘9mm’s, Glocks, and other hand-held weapons. These were the guys who could not afford to show fear or any sign of being a punk, reputation is all that mattered. The truth is, they were as afraid as everyone else. They held no power here. They had no one to sell their dope to…there was no one to intimidate. Their eyes gave them away… The machines got closer and closer…there was no where to go, no where to run…all hope is gone.

In the distance…one could almost hear it. A siren! A police siren! was it the siren of a fire-engine? Who cares…as long as they are coming to help them. The flood-lights of the facility were turned on as well. A city worker who lived nearby had access to the lot. It was he who had turned on the power. The people cheered loudly and joyfully. They rushed into the lot in hopes of gaining access to water and toilet accommodations. The sirens of the distance had arrived. They encountered difficulty in getting into the facility due to the masses of people crowding all over. The police car had to slowly nudge its way into the yard because people simply would not move. The space occupied by the masses was limited. The parked trucks and other vehicles needed to be moved in order for all to fit into the sheltered area. More sirens were heard in the distance. They were headed toward the Washington Lane Transfer Station too.

Along with the arrival of more police, the National Guard managed to get there as well. They were stationed at a nearby base located near Broad Street and Olney Avenue, just down the street from ‘Central High School.’ The trucks were loaded with water, milk, and food. They also stocked supplies for the elderly, sick, nursing mothers, and babies. The people were relieved. They praised their rescuers and thanked God. Seeing all this newly arriving help, the people began to gather themselves while regaining their composure.
The second police car turned into the driveway as the people managed to get out of the way. Then the first truck was able to pass into the waiting yard. The people’s cheering grew louder. The second truck began to turn into the drive when suddenly, it appeared as though the truck had set itself on fire…the ear-defeaning explosion sounded a split-second after the vehicle was alighted. Eerie sounding whistling was heard when the night-time became brightened with the brilliance of the alien invader’s killer ray beams. It seemed as if everything began to explode all around us!
The police could do nothing with this surprise attack. The national guard were helpless as well. The ones who escaped the exploded vehicles ducked for cover like everyone else. The problem is, there was no cover to be had. People, young and old, police, and guardsmen alike, died. They were alighted, alluminated til you could see there skeletal bones, and burned into invisibility.
Three floating vessels descended upon us from what seemed like every direction. The death ray beams screamed as they evaporated dozens upon dozens of innocent and the not so innocent into oblivion. I managed to grab ‘Dre’ just as he was about to go down. The man next to him had been zapped into dust just like the one on the other side of him. Another was zapped just as I pulled ‘Dre’ to me. We once again found ourselves running away from certain death.
screaming and crying people dashed all about. People were being trampled to death while trying to escape the death-dealing machines. Me and Dre got down on our hands and knees and began to crawl away, under and over bodies that had not been zapped but killed by the maddened, frightened crowd of “chickens in a barrel!”
Somehow, we managed to crawl our way back out into the middle of Washington Lane and across the street into the parking lot along side the train station. A train zoomed into the station as people attempted to stop the speeding behemoth of shining shimmering mass of metal. Unfortunately, those that attempted could not bring the track dependent vehicle to a stop. They all died in their folly.
The speeding train not only did not stop, it was burning inside. The vehicle was fully engulfed in flames as the riders inside were heard screaming when it passed. A second train followed inside of fifteen minutes after the aforementioned death-ride. It too was fully engulfed in flames as it sped past us on the platform.

The invading death machines drew closer as we rolled over into the tracks after the burning train has passed. I pushed Dre further down the tracks and under the dark dirty muddy platform. I really didn’t expect him to complain when he started to whine and cuss.

“Shut up fool…I’m trying to save both our lives!”

The death machines zapped all and any that it could find and/or see. One could only assume that the machines had annilhilated everyone due to the eerie quiet that followed the zapping noises. We could hear the familiar clanking, clunking, grinding, and stomping noise as the floating marauders floated off in search of new targets.
Miraculously, some of the people did survive the attack just outside of this station. It seems that everyone in the neigborhood didn’t come out of their homes because they weren’t all destroyed.
The sky-scrapper building tall spider-walking machine was still on location. It did something that we, Dre and I, were not aware of. All who were not killed in the attack of the three floating killer machines, were left behind for the walker-machine to pick up. Skullking along, it had these elongated octopuss-like feeler arms that reached out and grabbed people who were reeling from the attack of the floaters. These feeler-arms reached out and grabbed the stragglers, lifting them up high, and placing them in a basket-like recepticle or retainer. We could see this all happening from the cracks and splits under the train platform. We could see all of the activity on the Washington Lane and Chew Avenue intersection. Unfortunately, there were still a lot of people left to be had by the invaders from I don’t know where.

We could hear the captured people screaming from above. The walker-machine rumbled as it moved, gathering up people who ran in any direction that seemed safe. Dre and I stayed put under the platform. When the walker-machine crashed and crumpled its way over and through the surrounding buildings and gas station, it walked over the train station twice, as though it were looking for us. The platform came crashing down on us. We were pinned under the wood, metal, plastic, and other materials of the construction. Somehow, the machine did not find us. It lumbered on through the woodlands surrounding the Washington Lane vacinity. The group of death dealers appeared to be headed for the Stenton Avenue neighborhoods.

Dre and I managed to free ourselves and crawl out from beneath the destroyed platform rubble. We were more thirsty than before. Our throats felt as it we’d swallowed concrete from all of the dust floating in the air. The dusty surroundings were like that of a bombed out war zone…like New York, the day the planes flew into the ‘Twin Towers.’ We looked like the people on television who all looked like walking zombies, covered in concrete, plaster, and dust from all of the destruction. We had no idea of what we were going to do. Upon gazing all about, we decided to go back across the street and see if we could dig up some water from the bombed out trucks.
Fortunately, we were succesful in attaining some unscathed bottles of water and scattered bits and pieces of food packages. We gorged ourselves on our new found delicacy. With cleared thoughts and a real sense of awareness for danger, we decided to make our way back to Walnut Lane in hopes of recovering something we could use to aid in our survival. Obviously, the new found fortune most certainly would not be enough to sustain us for God knows how long, in this vast wilderness. The first thing we had to do, after eating, is to rest up a bit. There’s no way we were going to get any sleep. Sleep? Where would we, could we, go to get a good nights sleep? Sleep would certainly be an impossibility this horrible night.

The Sun was crossing the horizon when we awoke. I haven’t a clue as to how we managed to sleep through all the carnage surrounding us during the night. Opening my eyes to a new day, it seems as though all this was simply a dream, a strange nightmare of sorts. My vision began to focus. Hell no. It was no fucking dream.
Reaching out to my right, I shook Dre awake. He jumped up in one hell of a fright…”What the fuck is going on Russell? Where in the fuck are we Man? Where in the hell is everybody? Why are we lying under all this nasty shit?” “Ouch, shit!”
After bumping his head, Dre’s memory, the reality of it all, returned and made him understand.

We crawled out from under the debris of the train station, and made our way back towards home. We stood and saw it all, a vast and sprawling nothing. Everything had been laid to waste. As far as the eye could see, there was utter and complete nothingness. There were several dead bodies lying about. They were probably the ones who didn’t get or caught by the dangling octopus tenticles of the walking machines. Off in the distance, we could see a few of the walkers over in the direction of ‘Chelten Avenue.’ When we turned to look northward, in the direction of ‘Mt. Airy,’ we saw two of them walking about and continuing to reap in an unwary soul. The gaze east caught the eerie dust cloud of the ones that blew through here last night. We focused our gaze westward, up to the crest of the hill on Washington Lane, at ‘Musgrave Street.’ We saw only dust clouds from the destruction of homes and other buildings. Automobiles burned under the rubble as well. Gas-mains burned continually. Electric wires sparked and danced in every direction while they lay undaunted upon the blacktop roadways covered in ashe, burning wood, and other exposed building materials.

Dre and I walked up the hill on ‘Belfield Avenue’ past ‘Tulpehocken Street’ to the east side of ‘Walnut Lane.’ Pushing onward, up the hill of the lane, we finally arrived at the top, ‘Morton Street.’ Crossing Morton, the hill descended into the ‘Germantown Avenue’ corridor right after ‘Baynton Steet’ and the unit block of Walnut Lane; home.

 

~”Where Is Everybody?”~

 

Every house on Walnut Lane was demolished. Our place was no exception. However, the house didn’t collapse into the cellar. The windows of the basement suggeste that we could get in via that window or the back door. All of the rubble from the collapsed buildings seemed to fall outward into the street and surroundings, not inward onto themselves.
If we could get in and recover as much of the essentials needed, the better. Food and water was at the top of the list. We could see that there was no way to gain entry into the kitchen because the debris piled directly down onto the concrete foundation of the structure. Making our way around back, to the back door of the basement, we were relieved to find the door and frame still intact. We were able to gain entrance into the basement if nowhere else in the premises.
After our entry, we were absolutley correct in our assumption, we could not reach anywhere else, to our dismay. I remembered the meal we planned on the night of the invasion. It was laid out perfectly. A meal made to order…

Knowing that we could not regain the groceries stocked in the refrigerator. We rumbbled around underneath the destroyed house to see what we could gather. A couple of flashlights were still on the shelf from when we worked on the hotwater heater not long ago. There were also flares and buckets of citronila that could be lit at night…as there would probably be no lighting fixtures about. We could shoot a game of pool, the pool-table was still intact. Most of the things in stored in the basement were useless for our survival in this new found frontier, a new wilderness.

While we walked back to the house, Dre had a suggestion to stop in and see what we could get from the bombed-out corner grocery stores. There were a few of them around the neighborhood. There was a “stop-n-go” at the corner of Washington Lane and Chew, another at Tulpehockon and Morton, at Walnut Lane and Baynton, and many more all around the area to be had.

“Dre, don’t you think that I’d thought about that possibility. What about survivors, Bro.?”

“Russell, man, this is a situation that highly suggests that every man is now out for themselves…no one is going to give a damn about me and you.”

“I hear ya Homes, but don’t you remember what we saw on the way back here?”

There were pockets of people who were either completely missed in the attack and/or those who simply crawled out from under piles of destruction debris because they were unaware of what has happened and are now seeking some type of aid, food, water, shelter, and probably live-saving assistance from a medical professional or hospital. The landscape, upon their re-emergence from the pile of train-station rubble, was completely desimated. Survivors who managed to elude or somehow manage to escape death or capture, wandered all about like the zombies we so often laughed at in movies or on television.
I wondered, would we ever see a movie again or be able to watch television shows from our living-rooms, basements,or bed-rooms?

“Dre, the reality is we’ve got to get the hell out of here…and soon. The walking machines will probably be coming back this way and I for one do not want to be here when they do. What about you?”

“Yeah Bro., let’s get the hell out of here…I’ll carry what little we’re taking with us. It’s a damned shame that we can’t get upstairs to the ‘Frige…’ Damn…all that food going to waste.”

Once outside, the two close friends pondered over what direction to take in hopes of locating shelter, sustainance, or other people who could help them. Gazing all around, in every direction, they decided to firts go around to the 14th Police District. Maybe there are some cops there that could offer some sort of guidance. However, from where they were standing, one could see as far as Chelten Avenue without the use of binoculars. The 14th District Headquarters was on the way to that particular location. It, the building, was not there. There were no familiar standing structures to be seen at all. The ‘Town Hall’ building was gone as well as all of the buildings that aligned both sides of Germantown Avenue from the 58th, 59th, 60, and 6100 blocks of the avenue once called the “Great Road.” Everything was laid to waste. Nothing but rubble and debris. Russell and I looked at each other and decided to go and take a look anyway, there might be something there that we could use.

We could see dirt and dust being kicked up by some of the residents who survived the attack. You really had to look closely at thier faces in order to recognize any of the poor wretches who wandered aimlessly about. Several of the neighbors, recognizable and not, were crying and carrying the bodies of dead babies. Others wept over thier elderly and other kin-folk who went missing or had been killed. The hardest thing to witness was the children who now had no one to care for them…thier parents gone and no next of kin to look after them. Russell and I had to keep moving.

We combed meticulously through the rubble at the once standing 14th District building and found a few things…one of the most important items was a radio…a “police ban walkie-talkie!”

The bombed out building of the 14th yeilded a few other goodies as well. One of the first things that caught our attention was the fact that, in spite of just about evrey room of the structure was utterly and completely destroyed, the only room that was still intact was the men’s restroom. This room sat right next to the radio central control room just inside of the main reception area of the building.

“Impressive…the shit-house is the only thing standing in this whole heap of shit!” said Dre.

“I hear ya Homes, when was the last time you took a dump?” asked Russell.

“Yesterday before all this crap came about.”

“Well I’m here to tell ya man, I’m heading for the dump-room right now!”

“Russell, you know that your shit probably won’t go anywhere, the toilets most likely will not flow without water pressure.” Dre warned.

The toilet did flush and the water system supplied enough water for them to fill up bottles and three canteens recovered from the basement of thier house. Albeit, the water system was flowing, the piping was busted at several ends of the building. Water flowed freely from the broken and twisted metal tubing that seemed to stick out from everwhere. This would help many of the straglers who happened to cross this way in search of water.

“Okay Bro., lets do this…” Dre said to Russell.

Russell turned on one of the three ‘walkie-talkies’ and got instant results. The damned thing squelched and squacked until they were able to get a clear enough signal. The voices were all screaming at one another. They held warnings and orders as well. Commanders shouted orders to subordinants while reports of continuing attacks and destruction from the floating machines and that of the walkers.
It seemed that the current attacks were taking place in the North-Central areas of the city. Evacuations were under way for all the areas that haven’t yet been invaded. Directions were given for displaced persons to gather at ‘Philadelphia’s City Hall Courtyard, downtown; and those further south, to make thier way to the sports arenas on “Patterson Avenue.”
The voices were heard to say to responding officers to remain calm and to aid in the calming every person contacted, help is on the way.
The voices continued speaking. They were telling responding officers that the National Guard, and othe major military forces were being deployed and are on the way, if they hadn’t arrived already. The voices said for them to remain calm and in control…”Help Is On The Way!”

 

~”All Points Due South”~

 

All around the place, there was nothing but building debris and the occassional strangely shaped ashe. The ashen forms, me and Dre did see before. We didn’t really pay it any real attention because we were quite busy trying to keep our asses from being zapped and or captured. But the reality of it all was that it was time to face the reality… We became alarmingly aware that those forms of strange shaped dust patterns were the remains of human bodies. We’d seen these forms on the streets and roadways, all the way here and throughout this location as well.
The white ashen forms didn’t portray whether being male or female, ordinary citizen or members of the law enforcement community. They were simply yet horribly the remains of the dead, zapped into powdered forms of dust.
We only saw two or three bodies in blue uniforms, peeking through the cracks and crevices of the rubble that entombed them.
Russell and I ventured outside of the fallen building into the area that was once its’ parking lot. We’d hope to recover a vehicle or two that might provide us transportation. As luck would have it, several vehicles were spared the collapse of the building. However, how were we to get them out from all the other wood, brick, and mortar that was spread far and wide inside and outside of this parking lot and the streets beyond from the other buildings?

Death and dead things were everywhere. The helpless zombified victims walked and milled about, clueless as to what it is they are supposed to do. The voices on the walkie-talkie became more clear once we were outside of the implodded structure. The voices of police and military command barked forth instruction for eveyone in the city to converge on the center city area… It reiterated its’ instructions for those in the far south and west of the city to head toward the sports arena areas. We began to tred southward as we listened in on the radio transmissions.

Dre and I attempted to speak to the voices over the hand-held devices.

“Breaker, Breaker! This is a civilian citizen attempting rescue for folks in the north-west region and close point thereabout… Can you read me? …Over!”

Me and Dre waited for a response to out radio request. The damned thing spit and squawked back an answer.

“No citizens are allowed to transmit over police and military radio bans…get off the airway and contact a designated official at once!” barked the voice.

“Well I’ll be damned…did you hear that shit Dre? Do you believe this asshole? Is he fuckin crazy or what?”

I barked sternly into the mic of the radio device.

“Now you listen here you asshole son of a bitch…we are stranded civilians in need of assistance and immediate evacuation…there aren’t any fuckin officials, they’re all fuckin dead! If you’d like to talk to one of them who happens to be a pile of white dust, I’ll hold the God-damned radio to it so that it can hear you – STUPID! …Over!”

The voice replied, “Sorry son, we’re really all fucked up out here…sorry for your situation. As far as we know, sevreral battalions have been deployed throughout the cities on both sides of the river, Philly and Jersey. We haven’t heard a word from anywhere else at present…if you can, I’d advise you and your party to make your way southward toward center city…that’s were there will be supplies, medical aid, and possible evacuation available. We don’t know anything about what’s going on beyong the Mt. Airy and Chestnut Hill Regions. No news has been received from them at this point. Do the best you can to travel…we’ve been informed that all power, communication, and transportation has been halted and/or destroyed by these unidentified invaders. …See ya when you get here, Son. …Over and Out!”

Walking and stepping over the dead and the walking dead, Dre and I had made it as far as ‘Wister Street and Germantown Avenue,’ while listening to the communication and its’ instructions. We’d somehow seemed to have formed a bit of a gathering, a following horde of lost souls. These poor individuals assumed that we knew where to go and how to get there. Yeah, we were making an attempt to follow the instructions of the radio voice, but reluctantly. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up…I suddenly got a sense of the ‘willies.’ Dre could tell that I was feeling a bit uneasy with the trek south and the horde of wayward, wandering followers who have made chosen to make them point guards for the homeless. We continued to lead the way southward, straight down the avenue.

Nearing ‘Hunting Park Avenue,’ just beyond ‘Wayne-Junction Train Station,’ the air was suddenly filled with the scream of fighter jets and Blackhawk Helicopters. They appeared to be converging on the ‘Broad Street and Erie Avenue’ vacinity. We could here sirens in the distance as well. How the cops were getting around was a mystery within itself, we were lead to believe all the roadways throughout the region were covered and blocked with collapsed buildings and other material. Suddenly an alarm sounded. It was like an alarm that we haven’t heard in years… It was one of those civil defense alarms, like the ones we used to hear in grade school…like the ones our parents used to talk about durin a black-out during the war.
We could hear explosions and gunfire in the distance too. A greenish-blue-white haze appeared on the horizon heading south. Visibility wasn’t all that bad when an occassional clearing happened as the wind blew. We could see straight across the hilly region from where we were standing, near what used to be the post office on the south side of Hunting Park Avenue. A rather large Baptist Church used to stand on the other side of the street also.

Hunting Park Avenue at Germantown Avenue was suddenly filled with the sound of warfare. From somewhere over the crest of the hill, one of the floating machines appeared. It seemed to come from right out of the ground…from the bigh hole in the street that used to be occupied by the “Simon Gratz High School!” It was of course, gone. Then another one appeared right behind the first one. It seemed to be riding on its coat-tail, in a tandem sort of fashion. A third one appeared right after the second vessel. It too was floating in tandem as the yellowish-green glow of its center eye; atop the long-necked attachment to a boomeranged-shaped floating body of shiny chromed metal with two greenish-blue death ray beams at either end; began to shoot forth its zapping light-rays. The target was anything moving…anything and anything in sight!

 

~’Farmland, A Skippack Retreat?’~

 

…Washington’s retreat to “Skippack Farms!”

I remember reading about that in a book or story written by a Philadelphia writer originally from “Germantown.” Then I thought of a TV-Show, a series, about a bunch of zombies on the attack for fresh human flesh to eat. And then I thought to myself, why the fuck am I thinking about that shit when my life, our lives are in deep jeopardy in the present? In one of the bags we took from the police station, was a pair of binoculars. I took a closer look towards the Broad and Erie area, to my fright, I gathered up our supplies and grabbed Dre by the arm and shouted, “Come on Man, we’ve got to get the hell out of here…all of you people need to run and run fast…GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE NOW! GO BACK THE OTHER WAY!”

Now I knew why I remembered that television show about the zombies; the call was to make your way to a so-called central zone to be safe and rescued from danger. Bullshit…I wasn’t about to go to one “Hot-LZ” for another because some friendly voice was telling me too. We were turning around and heading back north…to hell with the going south.

The floating machines rose up out of that hole like demons from hell. The first one floated up and its’ yellow-glowing eye attached to an elongated neck scanned the area. The fiendish noise yeilded an echoish sound effect that reverberated throughout the immediate listening area. It actaully had the ability to drive one utterly mad…to a level of pure fright and insanity. The thing floated and scanned. It floated and scanned…and then began firing its’ death rays. The beastly metalic thing fired on any and everything in sight. It didn’t need to see its victims. It seemed to be able to sense their presence within the structures being fired upon. It’s also quite possible that the damned things were firing on the buildings simply because they existed.
As the invader continued its firing, another rose up out that hole from hell, right behind the first one. It too began firing at random. And then, a third joined thier ranks and began firing all about. The three of them were at first floating in tandom. They floated out from behind one another and seemed to touch or join the tips of their vessels, three in a row. Then they changed positions again with one in the lead as the remaining two floated just behind on either flank.

We didn’t wait for them to catch up with us. We ran straight back up Germantown Avenue. While we hustled along, the damned thought occured once again. The story from our local author, regarding “George Washington’s Retreat” from Philly to the “Skippack Farms” area in Montgomery County. The neighborhood was already desimated, so why would the machines want to return to our neck of the woods?
Running and jumping over dead bodies and dusty remains of human beings that have been zapped, we were making good time heading up “The Great Road.” The people who began to follow us to the south, followed us again toward regions north. Behind us, the war was fully engulfed. America’s War Machines were pitted against theirs in what appeared to be hosting a campaign of futile endeavor. They were quite simply getting their bloody asses kicked!
The cannons, tanks, and other fire-power of the local ‘National Guard’ and the cops, were not hitting their targets. The explosives seemed to be exploding all around them…a dome, a blister, a bubble, if you will, appeared at almost every blast or explosion surrounding the floating machines. They simply returned fire at just about every defender in sight. The death rays melted the metal war machines while evaporating all souls inside.
One could hear the battle from miles around. The waging battles ensuing ferociously at these two known locations. Suddenly we could hear more of the reverberating effects of floating machines coming in our direction from the west. In hopes of not being seen by the monsters, we ducked into and under the remains of destroyed buildings and other large objects along the way. The rays were blasted in our direction. We moved quite a bit faster as the mahines seemed to take thier sweet-ole time in chasing us, if that were the case. None of the machines appeared to move at a fast pace. They moved slowly and methodically. They moved as it they didn’t give a damn…arrogantly; as if nothing could hurt them. They moved as if they were invincible.

By the time we reached The Chelten Avenue area, there were dozens of people behind us and all around us as well. The survivors of the first wave of death and destruction were busy scavenging the remains of neighborhood stores and partially standing homes. Many of them didn’t even bother to notice us as we passed. However, when that eerie noise from the machines reached their ears, they froze in fright. More machines were seen traveling west to east on Chelten Avenue. Survivors immediately stopped what they were doing and began to ‘haul-ass’ away from the death-dealing metal assasins. A group of machines were again spotted approaching from east to west along the ‘Armat Street’ corridor. I don’t think one has to be a “rocket-scientist” to figure out that we have been spotted and were being encircled in a vicious snare, a trap!

 

~’Starvation’ – “My Brother’s Keeper”~

 

“It’s not possible that this is happening to us…we the people of the United States of America!” Who is looking out for us? Where oh where are our governmental leaders? Where are they?

Seeing and experiencing this catastrophe, reminded me of footage I’v seen on television broadcasts of people; survivors of earthquakes, twisters, and hurricanes…bombeb-out war zones! Footage of this sort was broadcast on a regualar basis via the news media, PBS, and many information venues.

Veterans often reminded those of us within ear-shot, of the tragedies witnessed and created by participants, voluntary or not, of war campaigns. The conversation often surrounded current events that have befallen us. Hurricanes have desimated the southern regions of the country as well as the surrounding Carribean and Latino Islands.
We’ve found it interesting how the southern regions, damned near simultaneously received disaster funds and relief while the Puerto Rican Islands and those inhabited by people of color, got a “foot-dragging” and explanations of how and why aid couldn’t get to them.

Headlines from newspapers found floating on the wind, along the war-torn streets of ‘Germantown’ as we trod along; was seen to read:

“Donald Trump Refuses to Send More Aid to Puerto Rico, Citing Business Interests”
https://www.yahoo.com/news/donald-trump-refuses-send-more-195456324.html
Chris Riotta, Newsweek

“Donald Trump has made it clear his administration isn’t planning to allow any additional outside aid to get into Puerto Rico in the wake of Hurricane Maria.

Speaking with reporters on Wednesday afternoon, the president cited business interests as the reason for refusing calls from lawmakers and activists to allow international organizations and governments to ship aid to the island.

Trump said he was initially considering whether to implement a temporary waiver of the Jones Act to allow it, but decided against doing so as “a lot of people that work in the shipping industry…don’t want the Jones Act lifted.”

Also called the Merchant Marine Act of 1920, the Jones Act requires all goods shipped between American ports to be on ships built, owned and operated in the United States.

The refusal to work with intergovernmental networks eager to supply aid to the devastated island was then echoed by Trump’s Department of Homeland Security. “Based on consultation with other federal agencies,” spokesman David Lapan said Wednesday, “DHS’s current assessment is that there is sufficient numbers of U.S.-flagged vessels to move commodities to Puerto Rico.”

The department did waive the Jones Act to aid Houston and parts of Florida that were ravaged by hurricanes Harvey and Irma. Senator John McCain, who has repeatedly fought to repeal the act, slammed the Department of Homeland Security for failing to extend the same relief efforts to Puerto Rico that it provided to parts of the mainland United States.

“It is unacceptable to force the people of Puerto Rico to pay at least twice as much for food, clean drinking water, supplies and infrastructure due to Jones Act requirements as they work to recover from this disaster,” the Republican McCain wrote in a letter to the department on Tuesday. “Now, more than ever, it is time to realize the devastating effect of this policy and implement a full repeal of this archaic and burdensome Act.”

Proponents of the Jones Act say that without it, the country would be forced to rely on cheaper international ships operated by foreign workers and put American vessels in a more crowded and less efficient shipping environment.

Temporarily waiving the Jones Act for Puerto Rico “would take American first responders out of the loop and replace them with Filipino or Russian or Chinese crews,” Michael Roberts, senior vice president and general counsel at Crowley Maritime Corporation, told The Wall Street Journal Wednesday. “Doing that at a time when many U.S. mariners in this region have had their homes damaged, their lives uprooted and now they need to work, to take that away is not something you want to do.”

Proponents of the Jones Act say that without it, the country would be forced to rely on cheaper international ships operated by foreign workers and put American vessels in a more crowded and less efficient shipping environment.

Temporarily waiving the Jones Act for Puerto Rico “would take American first responders out of the loop and replace them with Filipino or Russian or Chinese crews,” Michael Roberts, senior vice president and general counsel at Crowley Maritime Corporation, told The Wall Street Journal Wednesday. “Doing that at a time when many U.S. mariners in this region have had their homes damaged, their lives uprooted and now they need to work, to take that away is not something you want to do.””

It’s amazing how we can remember things that were taken for granted…it could never happen to me was the order and mind-set of the times. War is the order of the day…’North Korea’ will not back down; ‘Iran’ and ‘Iraq’ are both anxious witeh unexpected anticipation as to what this new regime will do next in upsetting “World Peace” and causing an end to us all via a ‘Nuclear Holocaust!’

People from ‘New Orleans’ were and have continued to suffer homelessness and displacement for more than five or six years after their hurricane disaster. The folks who were damaged by the “911 Attack” are still realing from continued turmoil and false promises from the ‘powers that be.’ And yet, again, “it couldn’t happen to us!”

 

Prologue:

“No one would have believed that in the middle of the (twentieth/twenty-first) century that human affairs are being watched keenly and closely by intelligences’ greater than man.
Yet, across the gulf of space on the planet ‘Mars,’ intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic regarded our ‘Earth’ with envious eyes…slowly and surely drawing their plans against us.
‘Mars’ is more than one hundred and forty million miles fron the ‘Sun‘…and for centuries has been in the last stages of exhaustion.
At night, temperatures drop far below zero even at its’ equator. The inhabitants of this dying planet, looked across space with instruments and intelligence of which we have scarcely dreamed; searching for another world which they could migrate…

They could not go to “Pluto;” outer most of the small planets and so cold, its’ atmosphere lies frozen upon its’ surface. They couldn’t go to “Neptune” or “Uranus,” twin worlds in eternal night and perpetual cold, both surrounded by un-breathable gas and ammonia vapors.

The “Martians” considered “Saturn,” an attractive world with its many moons and beautiful rings of cosmic dust – but its’ temperatures are close to two hundred and seventy degrees below zero and ice lies fifteen thousand miles deep on its’ surface

Their nearest world was giant “Jupiter,” where volcanic-titanic tips of molten lava, laced with hydrogen rises flaming to the top where atmospheric pressure is terrible; thousands of pounds per square inch…they couldn’t go there. Nor could they go to “Mercury,” the nearest planet to the “Sun”…it has no air; the temperature at it equator is that of molten lead.

Of all the worlds that the intelligences on “Mars” could see and study, only our own warm “Earth,” green with vegetation, ripe with water and possessed a kindly atmosphere eloquent of fertility.
It did not occur to ‘Mankind’ that a swift fate might be hanging over us or that from the firmness of ‘black-space’ that we might be scrutinized and studied until the time of our nearest approach to the orbit of “Mars” during the pleasant summer season…”

…AS Narrated By:
~ Sir H. G. Wells, Mr. Orson Welles, Sir Cedric Hardwicke, and Mr. Morgan Freeman ~

 

Thank you for joining the trip…enjoying the read…

 

Til Next Time…

 

‘G’

 

Epilogue (The Ending?):

Next…

Chapter 7: “Desolation”

 

Stay Tuned For The Release Of This Adventure, In Its’ Entirety!

In The Soon To Be Released, In The New Upcoming Volume of “HALLOW III”

 

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‘A Time Of Hallow Too’

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.

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“HALLOW, A State of Being”

The Ides of Change Does Bring The Danger…”Something Wicked This Way Comes!”

SIGNIFICANT!

important; of consequence.

having or expressing a meaning; indicative; suggestive:
a significant wink.

Statistics. of or relating to observations that are unlikely to occur by chance and that therefore indicate a systematic cause.
noun

something significant; a sign.

>

The Thriller:
A suspenseful, sensational story or film, a person or thing that thrills; an exciting, suspenseful play or story, especially a mystery story; a book, film play, etc., depicting crime, mystery, or espionage in an atmosphere of excitement and suspense; a person or thing that thrills.

“You Unlock This Door With A Key of Imagination…But Where Does One Begin and the Other End?

The Mystery:
Anything that is kept secret of remains unexplained or unknown; the mysteries of nature. Any affair, thing, or person that presents features or qualities so obscure as to arouse curiosity or speculation; a novel, short story, play, or film whose plot involves a crime of other event that remains puzzlingly unsettled until the very end; obscure, puzzling, or mysterious quality or character, any truth that is unknowable except by divine revelation.

The Occult:
Of or pertaining to magic, astrology, or any system claiming use or knowledge of secret of supernatural powers of agencies; beyond the range of ordinary knowledge or understanding; mysterious, secret, disclosed or communicated only to the initiated, hidden from view; not apparent on mere inspection but discoverable by experimentation; of a nature not understood as physical qualities dealing with such qualities; experimental occult science; the supernatural or supernatural agencies of occult studies or sciences; of or a characteristic of magical, mystical, or supernatural arts, phenomena, or influences beyond ordinary human understanding.

In and with all the mysticism, magic, science, and imagination of You; the ID, the Ego, and the Super-Ego; Hallow brings to bear…that often ignored and possibly forgotten, yet virtual stroll through your mind and beyond!

“God took dust from the ground, and formed Man, and inserted in him a spirit and a soul. This man was called “Adam,” which in the Hebrew tongue signifies one that is ‘Red,’ because he was formed out of Red Earth (Africa), compounded together; for of that kind is virgin and True Earth!”

The Macabre:
Gruesome and horrifying, ghastly, horrible; pertaining to dealing with or representing death, especially its grimmer or uglier aspect; of or suggestive of the allegorical dance of death; grim, resembling or associated with the dense macabre from old French danse; the macabre dance of death, probably from macabe relating to the Maccabees, who were associated with death because of the doctrines and prayers for the dead.

“They say there is no sin in killing a beast, only in killing a man…but where does one begin and the other end – Why is it the so-called educated do not acquire the good sense of knowing better?”

The Horror:
An overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightful, shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear; to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in horror; anything that causes such a feeling; killing, looting, and other horrors of war. “The Horror…The Horror!”

>

Sagacity: Sagacious!
keen and perceptive, having or showing discernment in judgement.

>

Redolent/Redolence!

having a pleasant smell; fragrant

(postpositive; foll by of or with) having the odour or smell (of); scented (with): a room redolent of country flowers

>

Portentous: Self-Important!

of momentous or ominous significance; miraculous, amazing, or awe-inspiring; prodigious; self-important or pompous

>

Era: Time!

a period of time marked by distinctive character, events, etc.:
The use of steam for power marked the beginning of an era.

the period of time to which anything belongs or is to be assigned:
She was born in the era of hansoms and gaslight.

a system of chronologic notation reckoned from a given date:
The era of the Romans was based upon the time the city of Rome was founded.

a point of time from which succeeding years are numbered, as at the beginning of a system of chronology:
Caesar died many years before our era.

a date or an event forming the beginning of any distinctive period:
The year 1492 marks an era in world history.

>

Epoch: a particular period of time!

a particular period of time marked by distinctive features, events, etc.:
The treaty ushered in an epoch of peace and good will.

the beginning of a distinctive period in the history of anything:
The splitting of the atom marked an epoch in scientific discovery.

a point of time distinguished by a particular event or state of affairs; a memorable date:
His coming of age was an epoch in his life.

Vision: Perception!

the act or power of sensing with the eyes; sight.

the act or power of anticipating that which will or may come to be:
prophetic vision; the vision of an entrepreneur.

an experience in which a personage, thing, or event appears vividly or credibly to the mind, although not actually present, often under the influence of a divine or other agency:
a heavenly messenger appearing in a vision.

“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the ‘Wolfsbane’ blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright.”

 

…Are WE LIVING IN DANGEROUS TIMES?

 

“…This Is Truly A Time Of Hallow!”

 

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‘HALLOW’

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‘HALLOWEEN HORRORS and FRIGHT STORIES for 2016’

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?blog_id=299011&cid=10

“Underfoot”
The pounding noise would not stop. I had to find a way to make it stop. Don’t you understand? It had to stop. It began to pound loudly. It was too loud…very loud! Do you not hear it? It’s driving me mad, mad I tell you. Through the crack in the floor the orb peered out.
http://thetattletaleunderfoot.blogspot.com/

“Howl Of An angel”
Watching, listening, and remembering all of the things that actually matter in this aging process. One would have you believe that aging is an honor, while on the other hand, a burden on society – the burden being money. How are we going to feed and care for the elderly? Do we do a bamboozling act on them by implementing the “Logan’s Run” theory?
http://howlofanangel.blogspot.com/

“HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED!”
“Demon’s Throat”
“I remember this familiar feeling, for about the third time in three months; of falling – falling down. The falling only came to an end for one reason – maybe two. The point is…I was able to grab onto something in order to break my fall. The primary reason is coming to a complete and utter dead end stop – at the bottom of the stairway, which began at the second floor landing. It didn’t necessarily matter to what position your body was in when this complete and utter stop completed the descent. Albeit, stair-steps and bottom of the stairway landings come into play, the stop is at the bottom of the stairs.”
http://demonsthroathallow.blogspot.com/
Me and Walter had five kids, ya know.”
(Read the Unabridged, Uncensored Version)
http://koobug.com/GregoryVB_Author?p2992

“When There’s No More Room In Hell”
My name is Salestian Michaels. I’m currently employed by the ‘Philadelphia Sunny Globe Newspaper Organization and International News Network.’ I was born and raised in South Philly, the heart and soul of ‘Mafiosi Life.’ Angel Brondidi and Nick the Needle ran it all when they weren’t at odds with one another.
I was there when Captain Willis Samuel and National Forestry Service Ranger Commander Gerald Glenn confronted and eradicated the monster beast in the park. I didn’t like Glenn very much, although I admired him. He was damn good at what he did. It was his woman that I liked…loved and wanted.
http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/

“The Pendulum of Hades”
Fate was issuing from the lips of the black-robed men. What an expression of firmness and immovable resolution? My lord, the grotesqueness! The faces blazed with stern contempt of human nature. Fate continued, in his view, issuance from their lips. He saw them writhe with deadly locution. I shuddered to think what the man saw. The idea of delirious horror…
Can you imagine the thought of him seeing angelical form? Some of the forms having heads of flaming spectres haunted his very soul. He had hopes of receiving help. He thought of sweet rest – in the grave. What peace there must be…in the grave? The thought came to him gently.
Silence, stillness, and darkness would contain such peace.
http://thependulumofhades.blogspot.com/

“Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh”
By complete and utter observation, this opportunity allows the portrayal of the higher powers of the reflective intellect. Men and women of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an (apparently) unaccountable delight in their special analytical abilities; which a proficiency implies the capacity for success in all important understanding where mind versus mind.
“This Evening, Extra Ordinary Murders Have Been Discovered!”
The newspaper’s report stated inhabitants, at about 3a.m., of the ‘Quarter St. Roch,’ were aroused from their beds by blood-curdling screams and shrieks from the upper floors. On the fourth floor of the Rue Morgue, therein resided Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye. They were the sole occupants of the flat, not mention, the entire building.
The thick oozing gore dripped from the razor’s blade tip, down to the carpeted floor. The small puddle of crimson colored fluid began to grow into a larger pool, indicating it hasn’t been dripping very long.
http://boweryofthecrimsonfrockandflesh.blogspot.com/

‘Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh’ Part Two: “The Wedding Party”
“They were lured with grapes, champagne, and laudanum. And then they were all euthanized.” The inspector spoke in trance-like sentences. “They were transported and dumped.”
The inspector began interviewing professional men. He spoke with doctors, dentists, taxidermists, veterinarians, surgeons, barbers, and butchers to the disapproval, chagrin, and dismay of Scotland Yard High Officials.
http://parttwotheweddingparty.blogspot.com/

‘Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh’
‘Isle Manhattan’
“The Changeling – Loup Garou”
Part Three:
‘A Significant Era of Perceptive Aroma and Vision’
“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the ‘Wolfsbane’ blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright.”
http://blackhistory.com/content/286940/a-significant-era-of-perceptive-aroma-and-vision

“ALL HALLOWS NIGHT” – SHORT STORY IRONY
They believed that they saw the Forrest moving! “There is Movement In The Wood!” Suddenly, the tower guards spotted a showing of arms and war power.
The battle bell rang!
The king of Hell was a giant among giants. The owner of the Souls of Sinners, Supreme Ruler of the Damned, displayed three faces. In each mouth of one of the faces showed teeth anointed in blood; blood so thick and ample, it dripped of foam.
http://gboulwareallhallowsnight.blogspot.com/

“SHAMAN”
They were not aware of the trouble that was amiss. Emergency vehicles were parked at the spot where the body of Lindsey Irvin lay at the bottom of the twelve hundred ft. drop from the cliff of the Strawberry Mansion roadway and bridge surface.
“The Colored Man was chased and treed in the woods in or near the Robert Faddis Woods near Youngsburg. The Black Man tried to shoot himself in the head, but failed. They took the Black Man to the hospital were his injuries were treated. A gang of white men broke the window in the main hallway, corralled the police officer guarding him and dragged the Black Man from his sick bed to the Sarah Jane Newland Farm just to the right of the road and almost directly opposite the farmhouse. In a grass field about fifty feet from the road, they gathered dried Chestnut Rails and old fencing to build a fire. It took all of three minutes to get the fire up to a height of ten feet or more. They asked him if he had any last words…he didn’t.
http://shamanretold.blogspot.com/

“The Foxy Grandpa, Billy the Poet”
“The folks who understood science agreed that folks oughta stop making so many babies and
the folks who understood morals agreed that society would collapse if people used s*x for
nothing but pleasure.”
“The people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God wants things to be here on Earth – these people have forgiven themselves and their friends for anything and everything. But, they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural s*xuality of common men and women.”
http://thefoxygrandpabillythepoet.blogspot.com/

‘The Rails, Some Hemp, and A Hanging’
The company had its share of ‘shiner’s’ on both sides of the war-torn fences. Their horses bayed and pranced in the cold damp yet dark beginning of the day’s morn. My hanging tribunal was short and to the point. My foolish guilt could not be reversed, albeit, my hatred for these ‘Blue-Coats’ and their Black supporters surpasses my pain and sorrowful agony. I do long for the fragrance and joys of home… My dear sweet ‘Abbey,’ my darling wife and young’uns; my plantation and memories of France cut at my brain.
In France I was broke, poor, and penniless… Here in South Louisiana, I have become rich, powerful, and wholesome. I have more than a hundred acres of land manned by two-hundred and eighty-five of the best young and strong Black livestock in the territory. Four hundred head of cattle graze on my lands. The farmyard houses chickens, geese, ducks, pork, and several dozen head of living horse flesh along with a few dogs and cats. I am a very wealthy man indeed.
http://therailssomehempandahanging.blogspot.com/

The Acrimonious, Gauche, and Incongruous
‘Ajantala’
“Heigh! I’ve never seen a woman give birth to such a terrible baby as this one!” screamed the suffering woman.
And when he took the soap and sponge and washed from himself all the blood and goo away from his body, he wrapped himself in an article of clothing owned by his mother. He then sat upright atop a high stool and looked at the people. He looked into everyone’s eyes with his ungrateful red eyes.
“Ha! I am badly hungry for food. What can I eat now?” He then started to sniff the sweet smell of food which was inside the room nearest his mother’s room.
But when they were about to start to eat the food and drink the kolas, Ajantala unexpectedly jumped up high and pierced one of the people with a sharp iron spike.
But to their horror, when they were about to announce the name which his father, the hunter, wished the old ones to name him, the baby himself announced very loudly and clearly to the masses, “My name is ‘Ajantala,’ the Shrine, the Rock from Heaven, and there is no need to give me another!”
http://theajantala.blogspot.com/

‘THE ULTIMATE IN TERROR – FAIRMOUNT!’
“Amazon”
https://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

HURRY and GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

~BoulwareEnterprises~
http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com
http://boulwareenterprises.com/-_A_Portentous_Epoch_~.html
https://about.me/gregory_boulware

“Amazon”
http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
https://authorcentral.amazon.com/gp/profile
http://www.authorsden.com/gregoryvboulware

And

“Twitter”
https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorBoulwareG
https://twitter.com/hashtag/BoulwareBooks?src=hash

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~ “Valley Green’s Elusive Black Bear” ~ 

By

Gregory V.Boulware, Esq.

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?blog_id=292902&…

KYW NEWS RADIO 1060 AM: 
“Black Bear On The Loose In Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park!” 
May 13, 2016 12:03 PM 
By 
Lynne Adkins 
Filed Under: Bear, Fairmount Park 
http://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/2016/05/13/black-bear-on-the-loose…
PHILADELPHIA (CBS) — There’s a rare, furry visitor in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park. 

Stephen McKenzie ‎@SteveMcKCBS3 
Black Bear got away, still on the loose in Fairmount Park now on the Valley Green rd side of the creek @CBSPhilly 
2:02 PM – 13 May 2016 · Philadelphia, PA, United States 
http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html 

At 12:02 P.M., Friday, May 13th, a Black Bear has been sighted in or around ‘Valley-Green Road’ near the ‘Valley-Green Inn in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park. A fisherman down stream from Valley Green Inn was shocked to see a black bear lumbering through the woods.

Maura McCarthy, Executive Director of Friends of the Wissahicon says it’s not an everyday site and this is a good size animal.

“Bigger than a person is what the fisherman told me, so it looks like it’s either fully mature or almost mature, we’re not sure of the sex whether it’s male or female, we know that it’s probably pursuing food pretty far outside of its food range, but beyond that we don’t know where it’s from.” 
She says bears can be found in this part of the commonwealth, but adds it’s highly unusual for one to be found wandering within city limits.
Lynne Adkins
If you’ve listened to radio in the Delaware Valley, the odds are pretty good that you’ve heard Lynne Adkins. Lynne is a reporter and anchor for KYW Newsradio.

~ ‘FAIRMOUNT’ ~ 
By 
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq. 
http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html 

The Forrest Ranger walked over to the Police Captain and stood right in front of him and quietly requested his attention. The two men walked to another side of the search area for the private conversation. Gerald Glenn has been a Forrest Ranger for more than twenty years. Four of those years, his assignment had been the Northeastern Pennsylvania Region. Ranger Glenn knows everything about everything in the wild, from its greenery to the smallest of animals. Ranger Glenn pointed to something on the ground next to one of the Cherry Blossom trees, a print of something large was present. A few feet away in a southwesterly direction, off the roadway of Strawberry Mansion Drive, another large print was found.

Captain Willice Samuel, of Philadelphia’s Finest, stood looking over the edge of the cliff, peering down onto the East river Drive. The screaming sirens of emergency vehicles filled the normally quiet environment of park life. Speeding past the stopped traffic below, the EMR vehicles made their way up the hill to the spot were the kids were playing. The Strawberry Mansion Bridge was at a standstill as was the East River Drive traffic. Nothing and no one was being allowed to move through the area.

Traffic backed up all over. Ridge Avenue was being over-crowed with the over flow of rush hour traffic. Both river drives, East and West, were backed up into the East Falls area of Midvale Avenue into Henry Avenue. The downtown out bound traffic was a mess. The local news on automobile radios reported the traffic mess as an accident in the park. They were not aware of the trouble that was amiss. Emergency vehicles were parked at the spot were the body of Lindsey Irvin lay at bottom of the twelve hundred ft drop from the cliff of the Strawberry Mansion roadway. The first EMR personnel on the scene could not believe their eyes.

>

Part 1:
‘Strawberry Mansion’ 

The Fairmount Park Rapist became second fiddle to this latest horror in our city’s parkland…where no one is safe! No one in able to control, contain, or prevent the attacks of this killer that stalks the area…save one man who knows the inner workings of the mind of this murderer!

A thunderous roar erupted just as Lindsey placed his hand on the last rock in the cliff, pulling himself up onto the plateau. Dirt and shrubbery flew all around as if a strong wind-gust blasted through signaling a squall in a rainstorm or twister. The boy could not believe his eyes. He nearly fell backward off the ledge of the cliff. But he knew subconsciously, that he had to hang on. It’s about a twelve hundred foot drop to the bottom.

Painful fear gripped his heart as he watched the massive tree-trunk sized object strike his cousin and lift him from the ground. Malcolm’s eyes were fixed on Jason and then on his cousin. His eyes screamed at them as if he were saying, “why don’t you guys reach out and grab me?” “Something hit me!” “It hurts!” “I’m falling!” Jason and Lindsey could do nothing as they watched in terror. The flying, broken, and bloodied body of their friend and cousin twisted and turned in the air while falling away from the cliff’s surface and down towards the bottom of the hillside. The angry and piercing eyes of the thing were now upon them.
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/2015/01/15/fairmount-the-series-p…

Part 2:
“Smith Playground In North Philly” 

The angry piercing eyes of the thing were now upon them…Malcolm screamed. He was dreaming. His sleep was continually interrupted with nightmares. His parents considered psychiatric consultation. The constant nightmares caused great concern to Benjamin and Geraldine Xavier. “Will this terrible event never end,” asked Benjamin?
Gerald Glenn, Genailia Francis, and Willice Samuel walked through the patch of rhododendron and azalea bushes to examine the grassy spot near the Strawberry Mansion Bridge.

Ranger Glenn removed the sample of plant leaf and soil from a plastic bag while pointing to the spot he had examined during the initial search around the cherry blossom tree. The paw-print, nearly gone after being exposed for more than ten days, gave Francis and Samuel a fright. Now the captain knew why the ranger had that strange look on his face the day the boys were attacked. “Damn, do they actually grow to be that big”, exclaimed Samuel? Glenn answered, “No”. He also added, “I’ve seen them big…but not this damn big!” 
“This one is huge…gigantic…a monster!” “From the size and length of the print, it’s got to be at least 9 to 10 foot in height and weighing more than 5,000 lbs. 
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/2015/01/26/part-2-of-fairmount-th…

Part 3:
A Sweet Briar License’ 

The news media took the ball and ran with it. The headlines blasted the story of the attack of Czepaky and her children on the front pages of their respective papers.

Television news programs portrayed the mother and her children as their leading news story. Radio news did likewise. And still they did not mention Lindsey Irvin.
A heavy police presence saturated both sides of the Schuylkill River, from the East Falls Bridge to the Art Museum and Eakins Oval. The Marine Unit of The Philadelphia Police Department could not find anything that would indicate the whereabouts of the bear or the body of he suspected dead teenager. The order was given to start a diving search and rescue effect. “We don’t expect to find the boy alive, “ said one team commander to another diving squad commander. “But we do expect to find his body.”

Two divers were set to go into the water. Assistant team members double-checked their gear. They made sure that the underwater radios and flashlights were operating correctly. The divers entered the water under the Girard Avenue Bridge, just down river from the viewing stand and Goose Island, which sat smack in the middle of the river directly across from the viewing stand automobile parking lot.
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/2015/03/02/fairmount-the-series-p…

Part 4:
“A Pillar of Salt” 

Sirens screamed…seemingly from everywhere. The eeriness of the moonlit night chilled the souls of all witnessing the frightening and tragic event. The female driver who was involved in the fender-bender, stood still. When she reached her car, a 2006 Mercedes XE – she stood…shivering. The woman stared with the eyes of a statue, a pillar of salt. Her face stone cold and pale chalky white…just screamed. She wasn’t aware of her scream.

The coroner was already loading the lower half of the dead cop’s body into the van as the two captains arrived on scene. “Damn”, exclaimed Captain Noodles while viewing the bloody scene and what was left of the cop. “One of the witnesses is already at the hospital,” stated a 14th District Sergeant. Captain Samuel asked, “What in the hell kind of animal are we dealing with?” The swat team commander reported to commissioner Talis. “We’ve found a blood trail leading back from the roadway down to the river’s edge. All that we found was a couple of fingers, a pool of blood, very large animal paw-prints, and crushed shrubbery… Nothing else…whatever it was, it’s gone!” 

“It’s a bear…a rather larger than life monster Kodiak bear.” The voice of dread was that of the newly appointed Environmental Protection Agency agent and Governmental National Parks and Wildlife Ranger Gerald Glenn.

It took the mayor all of fifteen minutes to reach the horrific and catastrophic scene. The newspaper, TV, radio, and network news media were already encamped at the site. The mayors’ personal police escort carved a direct access route through the barricades and intrepid news-hawks. She stepped out of the car, surrounded by bodyguards and her immediate staff. Microphones and cameras made an attempt to smother her. She waved her left hand and with a sternful glance…indicating no interviews or statements.
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/2015/12/25/fairmount-part-four-a-…

Part 5:
‘The Myrtlewood Street Funeral’ 

The news media swarmed the event. They surrounded Officer Leonard Kirkpatrick, his wife Evelyn, and his doctor – asking all kinds of questions while shoving microphones recorders and cameras in their faces.

“What was it like to see your partner bitten in half by the beast?” “Why didn’t you shoot the monster when he attacked?” “What did the thing look like, officer?” “Why didn’t the thing eat the other half?” “How come you didn’t get eaten by the beast?” 

The group of Black men crossed the street to where the reporters were congregating. Ramses grabbed one of the reporters, who happened to be a white female. The group of cops stopped their conversation to watch the confrontation. The embittered father demanded a verbal response from the journalist. “WHY WEREN’T YOU PEOPLE ASKING QUESTIONS WHEN MY BOY WAS KILLED?” “WHY IS IT THESE QUESTIONS ARE ADDRESSED AFTER MY SON WAS KILLED BY THIS THING?” “WHY WEREN’T YOU ALL FALLING ALL OVER YOURSELVES WHILE INVESTIGATING MY BOYS KILLING?” Ramses got the attention of all the reporters present. “WAS IT BECAUSE THIS IS THE FUNERAL OF A WHITE NORTHEAST COP AS OPPOSED TO A LITTLE BLACK BOY FROM NORTH PHILLY?” Screamed the distraught teary-eyed father. “I WILL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS…LINDSEY WAS A HUMAN BEING TOO!” Said Ramses.

“The distinction between brown and grizzly bears is geographical. Brown bears that live close to the coast are called brown bears. Browns living inland and in northern lands, such as Denali, are called grizzlies,” Glenn said. “They share the scientific name Ursus arctos.”

Professor Genailia Francis added, “Black bears are smaller than browns and also cover a great deal of the state. Their fur color isn’t always black; it may even appear brown, cinnamon or (rarely) blue.” 

“Black bears may be seen feeding on salmon at Anan Creek, but they’re common enough in Juneau, Seward and parts of Anchorage to be considered pests. A male bear that’s ready for hibernation may weigh 240 pounds. The scientific name is Ursus americanus,” she said.

“Think about it. This thing on its hind legs could walk up to the average single-story house and could look on the roof at eye level.” There was never a question that the brown bear that a 22-year-old hunter shot to death in October 2001 on Hinchinbrook Island was huge. The grizzly measured 10 feet, 6 inches from nose to tail. Its front claws were 3 to 4 inches long. An Alaska master guide estimated the bear’s weight at up to 1,200 pounds. (The average brown bear weight for Hinchinbrook is less than half that.) One photo shows the hunter holding the bear’s paw as it obscures almost his entire chest. A second photo shows him crouching like a child behind the bear’s massive, bloody head. “It’s over one thousand six hundred pounds . . . 12’6” high at the shoulder,” stated the reporter.

Most of the time, black bears are reluctant to meet people and can be shooed away. Juneau has particular problems with its numerous black bears, however. The city even created a committee to deal with the bears. Hikers in Chugach State Park, Chugach National Forest and Kenai National Wildlife Refuge need to be aware of bear habits and habitat. Bears show up during the salmon runs, usually mixing peacefully with anglers. Look for bear warning signs along the Kenai, Russian and Little Susitna rivers and along many creeks and trails with road access. 

The mayor, appearing perplexed, paradoxed, disconcerted, and unsatisfied wanted to also know how this beast was to be dealt with. She looked directly a Glenn…and then at Talis. Her denoted glare returned to Glenn. “What would you suggest we do about this animal – sir?” Talis moved to respond. Finkles threw up a hand with all five digits to signal a halt to the interruption. “I can stalk and trap this creature with a certain level of assistance,”’ replied the ranger. Without looking for confirmation from the commissioner, Captain Samuel assured the ranger of his support. Captain Noodles barked, “You have no authority to offer anything to this man!” The two captains glared at one another, one was filled with hatred and bitterness toward the other. Captain Samuel looked to his commissioner for support. The commissioner, in his usual divergence and belied acquiescence, gazed vicariously elsewhere. Mayor Finkles deftly replied, “Yeah, but I do!” The mayor beamed a sardonic, dour, and non-faggoted glare at the commissioner and offending captain, well aware of their canted behavior and practices.

“We need to deploy all resources in the capture and removal of this animal…at all cost.” She fiercely replied to the oppositional attitude of Noodles’ baneful disposition.

The cop sneered and steered his gaze towards the commissioner. Talis just stood there. He appeared to be a military type style of attention. The mayor had complete control over the situation. “Let’s hear it, Ranger!” The mayor sat down amongst the commissioners and zookeepers.

“The bear in the park is a monster. I suspect that it is also a product of the surreptitious people within that encampment,” exclaimed the ranger. The ranger vehemently expressed his belief. “I believe that this bear is an experiment that has gone wrong…because it has escaped and is now here with us – eating, living, and hunting.” 
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/2016/02/18/67/ 

The One Page Edition:
gvb1210mine.Wordpress.com – Reads From Bottom To Top.

Filed Under: Bear, Fairmount Park
http://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/2016/05/13/black-bear-on-the-loose…
http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html 

Philadelphia and the surrounding counties hold abundant open spaces, wildlife refuges, bird sanctuaries, and state parks. These treasures provide Philly area residents with seemingly endless opportunities for viewing wildlife. From the mountains to the shore, nature buffs don’t need to travel far from the City of Brotherly Love to enjoy nature.

Til Next Time…

“Amazon” 
http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_e… 

Kodiak, Brown, and Grizzly Bears 
References:
John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge
8601 Lindbergh Blvd.
Philadelphia, PA 19153
(215) 365-3118
www.heinz.fws.gov 
The John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge is a Philadelphia area gem; a veritable mecca of wildlife. Situated near Philly’s airport, this park is the result of an act of Congress, which moved to preserve the 1,200 acres of meadows, woodlands and marsh because it held the last 200 acres of fresh-water marsh in the state of Pennsylvania. With more than 300 bird species – including the bald eagle – making their home in the refuge, it is an excellent spot for birdwatching. Angling is also popular, as there is a wide variety of fish. The marshes and surrounding meadows and woodlands are home to a multitude of animals including turtles, snakes, frogs, muskrat, deer, and fox.

Nockamixon State Park
1542 Mountain View Drive
Quakertown, PA 18951
(215) 529-7300
www.dcnr.state.pa.us 
Located in Quakertown just an hour’s drive from Philadelphia, the 5,286 acres of Nockamixon State Park are home to abundant wildlife. Lake Nockamixon, one of the park’s most enticing features, is fed by three creeks including Tohickon Creek, Three Mile Run and Haycock Run. The waterway is home to a diverse population of fish as well as a number of water fowl, including a variety of migrating ducks and geese. Eagles and hawks can be spotted throughout the park, as can fox, raccoon, rabbit, deer, turkey, and even the occasional black bear.

The Philadelphia Zoo
3400 W. Girard Ave.
Philadelphia, PA 19104
(215) 243-1100
www.philadelphiazoo.org 
For more than 150 years, the Philadelphia Zoo has provided visitors with unique opportunities to view and learn about wildlife from all over the world. Today, this Philly institution continues to connect people with wildlife through interactive exhibits that educate and foster appreciation for the diverse wildlife population that lives there. In addition to viewing and interacting with displays, the nation’s first zoo leads the community as an example for conservation and environmental sustainability. In addition to exploring the zoo on one’s own, membership, classes, camps and special events provide myriad opportunities for visitors to see and interact with the wildlife on display.
http://boulwareenterprises.com/-_A_Portentous_Epoch_~.html 
http://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/2016/05/13/black-bear-on-the-loose…

 

imgs. of Bears:
https://www.google.com/search?q=image+of+bears&sa=X&espv=2&…

“Amazon” 
http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_e… 
Photo Coutesy of: 
errebeekeeper.wordpress.com 

~ ‘The E-Store for Books by Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.’ ~ 
http://boulwareenterprises.com/-_A_Portentous_Epoch_~.html 
http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profiles/blogs/the-e-store-for-b… 

 

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Def.Ref.:

Fagot:
non-faggoted

A bundle of sticks, twigs, or branches bound together and used as fuel, a fascine, a torch, etc.
http://www.dictionary.com/browse/fagot?s=t

~ “BLOODLUST” ~

‘Revolution, Chews, the Order of Dracul, Kelpians and Rosicrucians’

image001

By

Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.

 

~ “The Battle of Germantown” occurred at the Cliveden Manor. “It was also the country home of Pa. Chief Justice Benjamin Chew. On October 4, 1777, a British regiment occupied Cliveden and defended it from full assaults by the Colonials. Over 70 soldiers died on these grounds. Although it was an American defeat, Washington’s bold strategy helped to win French aid for the cause of independence.” – “The First Protest Against Slavery was here in 1688, at the home of Tunes Kunders, an eloquent protest was written by a group of German Quakers. Signed by Pastorius and three others, it preceded by 92 years Pennsylvania’s passage of the nation’s first state abolition law.” ~

 

What began as a summer retreat, to a colonial landmark, became the site of a viciously nasty war, “The Battle of Germantown.’ Many have wondered if this was an accident in history.

 

Cliveden Manor is a story of a colonial family, the servants, and its slaves.

 

Before William Penn and the Mayflower, the Native Americans lived on the land now known as the United States of America. Here in the northwest, the Philadelphia-Germantown area is where the Quakers settled to farm and establish businesses. They were mostly of German descent, hence the name Germantown.

This area was also a haven for runaway slaves. “The Underground Railroad” ran through this region of the country as well. There existed a number of “Safe-Houses” for escaped African-American Slaves (not known then as African Americans) such as, The Mennonite Meeting House and the Johnson House. The route to freedom for Black people often led to Canada, although a number of African descendants decided to settle in Germantown where they felt safe from persecution.

 

During Rosenkreuz’s lifetime, the Order was said to consist of no more than eight members, each a doctor and a sworn bachelor. Each member undertook an oath to heal the sick without payment, to maintain a secret fellowship, and to find a replacement for himself before he died. Three such generations had supposedly passed between c.1500 and c.1600, a time when scientific, philosophical and religious freedom had grown so that the public might benefit from the Rosicrucians’ knowledge, so that they were now seeking good men.

The Fama Fraternitatis presented the legend of a German doctor and mystic philosopher referred to as “Frater C.R.C.” (It’s identified later in a third manifesto as Christian Rosenkreuz, or “Rose-cross”). The year 1378 is presented as being the birth year of “Our Christian Father”, and it is stated that he lived 106 years. After studying in the Middle East under various masters, possibly adhering to Sufism, he was unable to spread the knowledge he had acquired to any prominent European figures. Instead, he gathered a small circle of friends/disciples and founded the Rosicrucian Order (this can be deduced to have occurred around 1407).

Rosicrucianism is a philosophical secret society said to have been founded in late medieval Germany by Christian Rosenkreuz. It holds a doctrine or theology “built on esoteric truths of the ancient past”, which “concealed from the average man, provide insight into nature, the physical universe and the spiritual realm.” Rosicrucianism is symbolized by the Rosy Cross or Rose Cross.

Between 1607 and 1616, two anonymous manifestos were published, first in Germany and later throughout Europe. These were the Fama Fraternitatis RC (The Fame of the Brotherhood of RC) and the Confessio Fraternitatis (The Confession of the Brotherhood of RC). The influence of these documents, presenting a “most laudable Order” of mystic-philosopher-doctors and promoting a “Universal Reformation of Mankind”, gave rise to an enthusiasm called by its historian Dame Frances Yates the “Rosicrucian Enlightenment”.

Rosicrucian manifestos opposed Roman Catholicism and its preference for dogma over empiricism, similar to texts authored by the Protestant Reformer Martin Luther. They traced their philosophy and science to the Moors, asserting that it had been kept secret for 120 years until the intellectual climate might receive it.

Early seventeenth-century occult philosophers such as Michael Maier, Robert Fludd and Thomas Vaughan interested themselves in the Rosicrucian world view. According to historian David Stevenson it was also influential to Freemasonry as it was emerging in Scotland. In later centuries, many esoteric societies have claimed to derive their doctrines, in whole or in part, from the original Rosicrucians. Several modern societies have been formed for the study of Rosicrucianism and allied subjects.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosicrucianism

 

My name is Salestian Michaels. I’m currently employed by the ‘Philadelphia Sunny Globe Newspaper Organization and International News Network.’ I was born and raised in South Philly, the heart and soul of ‘Mafiosi Life.’ Angel Brondidi and Nick the Needle ran it all when they weren’t at odds with one another.

I was there when Captain Willis Samuel and National Forestry Service Ranger Commander Gerald Glenn confronted and eradicated the monster beast in the park. I didn’t like Glenn very much, although I admired him. He was damn good at what he did. It was his woman that I liked…loved and wanted.

 

Yeah, she was something else. Genailia put the whammy on me at the zoo. She definitely whipped my ass in that booth. But man, just to get the opportunity to be near her, to feel her voluptuously warm and supple body and that magnificent ass close to mine…was worth it. I guess I really shouldn’t have grinded on her ass though. I thought she might like it. I was wrong. I’m still searching for a way to apologize. They’re somewhere up in the Yukon or Alaska nowadays. I do hope that she gets back this way.

 

I wasn’t happy with the hospital bills either.

 

The ‘Dungeon Queen’ case hasn’t come to trial yet. And the Fairmount Park Rapist case was never solved – it’s still wide open, soon to become a cold case.

http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/

 

There’s been some talk around town and throughout the buildings downtown of something else. Rather than the beast, although that story will remain on many lips for a long, long, time; another frightful occurrence screams for resolve. Apparently, ‘The Wissahickon Kelpius Society’ is being looked at. There appears to be some sort of mystery surrounding missing kids and some dark robed monks…of course I had to twist a few wrists and ring a couple of ears in order to get the case. Albeit, my curiosity abounds with the want of knowledge about these characters and the missing kids, I wanted to be paid for the research and story as well.

 

Paying close attention to the ‘scuttle-butt,’ gossip, and rumors about, I remember hearing something about an occultist and his group back in history class. It was something about George Washington and a mystic back in the 16th or 17th century. It was during, I think, the French-American and British war of the colonies. The old mansions in Germantown reflect upon the general’s visit along with the French leader, Lafayette.

The mansions along ‘The Great Road’ held a complete and authenticated history of events from back then.

What I do know up to this point is what has been said, stored, and recorded:

 

~ “The Battle of Germantown” occurred at the Cliveden Manor. “It was also the country home of Pa. Chief Justice Benjamin Chew. On October 4, 1777, a British regiment occupied Cliveden and defended it from full assaults by the Colonials. Over 70 soldiers died on these grounds. Although it was an American defeat, Washington’s bold strategy helped to win French aid for the cause of independence.” – “The First Protest Against Slavery was here in 1688, at the home of Tunes Kunders, an eloquent protest was written by a group of German Quakers. Signed by Pastorius and three others, it preceded by 92 years Pennsylvania’s passage of the nation’s first state abolition law.” ~

 

What began as a summer retreat, to a colonial landmark, became the site of a viciously nasty war, “The Battle of Germantown.” Many have wondered if this was an accident in history.

 

The peak of the “Rosicrucianism furor” was reached when two mysterious posters appeared on the walls of Paris in 1622 within a few days of each other. The first said “We, the Deputies of the Higher College of the Rose-Croix, do make our stay, visibly and invisibly, in this city (currently Philadelphia)”, and the second ended with the words “The thoughts attached to the real desire of the seeker will lead us to him and him to us.”

 

The legendary first manifesto, Fama Fraternitatis Rosae Crucis, (1614) inspired the works of Michael Maier (1568–1622) of Germany; Robert Fludd (1574–1637) and Elias Ashmole (1617–1692) of England; Teophilus Schweighardt Constantiens, Gotthardus Arthusius, Julius Sperber, Henricus Madathanus, Gabriel Naudé, Thomas Vaughan and others. In Elias Ashmole’s Theatrum Chimicum britannicum (1650) he defends the Rosicrucians. Some later works impacting Rosicrucianism were the Opus magocabalisticum et theosophicum by George von Welling (1719)–of alchemical and paracelsian inspiration—and the Aureum Vellus order Goldenes Vliess by Hermann Fictuld in 1749.

 

Before William Penn and the Mayflower, the Native Americans lived on the land now known as the United States of America. Here in the northwest, the Philadelphia-Germantown area is where the Quakers settled to farm and establish businesses. They were mostly of German descent, hence the name Germantown.

This area was also a haven for runaway slaves. “The Underground Railroad” ran through this region of the country as well. There existed a number of “Safe-Houses” for escaped African-American Slaves (not known then as African Americans) such as, The Mennonite Meeting House and the Johnson House. The route to freedom for Black people often led to Canada, although a number of African descendants decided to settle in Germantown where they felt safe from persecution.

The great-great grandfather of Chief Justice Benjamin Chew (1772-1810), John Chew arrived in Virginia from England in 1622. The Chew family and the Penn Family were friends and business associates. The protégé of Penn, Benjamin Chew was legal counsel to the Penns’ and eventually family tied by way of marriage of Chew and Penn offspring. The two families also had ties with other prominent families in Pennsylvania and other colonial settlement areas.

 

It took Chief Justice Chew four years to complete construction of the Cliveden (1763-1767). The house was named after a mansion that Chew admired. The Cliveden was specifically designed to become a summer retreat from the home in the city, Philadelphia, six miles away.

 

‘Philadelphia was then the capital of Pennsylvania!’

 

Michael Maier was appointed Pfalzgraf (Count Palatine) by Rudolf II, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Hungary and King of Bohemia. He also was one of the most prominent defenders of the Rosicrucians, clearly transmitting details about the “Brothers of the Rose Cross” in his writings. Maier made the firm statement that the Brothers of R.C. exist to advance inspired arts and sciences, including alchemy. Researchers of Maier’s writings point out that he never claimed to have produced gold, nor did Heinrich Khunrath or any of the other ′Rosicrucianists′. Their writings point toward a symbolic and spiritual alchemy, rather than an operative one. In a combination of direct and veiled styles, these writings conveyed the nine stages of the involutive-evolutive transmutation of the threefold body of the human being, the threefold soul and the threefold spirit, among others esoteric knowledge related to the “Path of Initiation”.

 

In his 1618 pamphlet, Pia et Utilissima Admonitio de Fratribus Rosae Crucis, Henrichus Neuhusius wrote that the Rosicrucians departed for the east due to European instability caused by the start of the Thirty Years’ War. In 1710, Sigmund Richter, founder of the secret society of the Golden and Rosy Cross, also suggested the Rosicrucians had migrated eastward. In the first half of the 20th century, René Guénon, a researcher of the occult, presented this same idea in some of his works. An eminent author of the 19th century, Arthur Edward Waite, presented arguments contradicting this idea. It was in this fertile field of discourse that many Rosicrucian societies arose. They were based on the occult, inspired by the mystery of this “College of Invisibles”. Frater C.R.C. – Christian Rose Cross (symbolical representation)

The literary works of the 16th and 17th centuries were full of enigmatic passages containing references to the Rose Cross.

 

“The Revolutionary War” has many chapter levels throughout for the fight for independence from England. The “Battle of Germantown” was a bitter defeat for the American army. The Chews reportedly were not at the house during the battle.

 

Mr. Chew was in exile during the battle, after an arrest warrant was issued. Even though he lived in America, he was British. His loyalties to America were called to question.

 

The “Mischianza” was held at the Walnut Grove, May 18th, 1778, honoring the farewell of General Sir William Howe. He was scheduled to return to London, England. Two of the Chew girls were escorted by Brits to the Ball. The ‘Mischianza’ was a festive occasion with a mock tournament of medieval knights, their squires, and pages; in jousting events, dancing, colorful fireworks displays, and an elaborate banquet.

 

‘Blair McClenachan’ (owned the mansion thru 1779-1797), lived in Philadelphia during the war, he made most of his fortune by outfitting privateers. This man also had political aspirations. Mr. McClenachan held republican sympathies with France while serving the democratic society in Philadelphia. Like Chew, he also used Cliveden as a summer retreat. While he and his family resided at the Cliveden, McClenachan suffered economic reverses. He sold off all his land investments, Cliveden being the last property to go. However, before that he entertained some prominent individuals during his tenure at Cliveden. The English translator of the “Marquis de Chastellux” was one such visitor; General Washington was another.

 

The war began to change its’ tide in favor of the Americans by late spring, 17178. Mr. Chews’ exile-imprisonment came to an end.

 

The ‘Civil War,’ ‘Slavery,’ ‘The Emancipation Proclamation’ – the ring of freedom for all Black People and People of Color, leaps into mind with a powerful explosion of pride and passion. The painting, “Storming the Chew House,” also promotes a vivid glance of history.

 

This “College of Invisibles,” the idea of such an order, exemplified by the network of astronomers, professors, mathematicians, and natural philosophers in 16th-century Europe promoted by such men as Johannes Kepler, Georg Joachim Rheticus, John Dee and Tycho Brahe, gave rise to the Invisible College. This was the precursor to the Royal Society founded in 1660. It was constituted by a group of scientists who began to hold regular meetings to share and develop knowledge acquired by experimental investigation. Among these were Robert Boyle, who wrote: “the cornerstones of the Invisible (or as they term themselves the Philosophical) College, do now and then honour me with their company…”; John Wilkins and John Wallis, who described those meetings in the following terms: “About the year 1645, while I lived in London (at a time when, by our civil wars, academical studies were much interrupted in both our Universities), … I had the opportunity of being acquainted with divers worthy persons, inquisitive natural philosophy, and other parts of human learning; and particularly of what hath been called the New Philosophy or Experimental Philosophy. We did by agreements, divers of us, meet weekly in London on a certain day and hour, under a certain penalty, and a weekly contribution for the charge of experiments, with certain rules agreed amongst us, to treat and discourse of such affairs.

 

According to Jean Pierre Bayard, two Rosicrucian-inspired Masonic rites emerged toward the end of 18th century, the Rectified Scottish Rite, widespread in Central Europe where there was a strong presence of the “Golden and Rosy Cross”, and the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, first practiced in France, in which the 18th degree is called Knight of the Rose Croix.

 

The change from “operative” to “speculative” Masonry occurred between the end of the 16th and the beginning of the 18th century. Two of the earliest speculative Masons for whom a record of initiation exists were Sir Robert Moray and Elias Ashmole. Robert Vanloo states that earlier 17th century Rosicrucianism had a considerable influence on Anglo-Saxon Masonry. Hans Schick sees in the works of Comenius (1592–1670) the ideal of the newly born English Masonry before the foundation of the Grand Lodge in 1717. Comenius was in England during 1641.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosicrucianism

 

During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, various groups styled themselves Rosicrucian. The diverse groups who link themselves to a “Rosicrucian Tradition” can be divided into three categories: Esoteric Christian Rosicrucian groups, which profess Christ; Masonic Rosicrucian groups such as Societas Rosicruciana; and initiatory groups such as the Golden Dawn and the Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis (AMORC).

 

According to Masonic writers, the Order of the Rose Cross is expounded in a major Christian literary work that molded the subsequent spiritual views of the western civilization, The Divine Comedy (ca. 1308–1321) by Dante Alighieri.

 

‘Philadelphia was then the capital of Pennsylvania!’

 

Philadelphia was a bustling town. Everything came out of and through the city of “Brotherly-Love,” such as, mail, business transactions, shipping, etc.

 

The ‘Yellow Plague’ drove the Chews to reside full-time in the sleepy rural farming community.

 

The Chews were among several wealthy families in the region. Not only was Ben Chew a protégé of Penn, he was a prominent Philadelphia lawyer-jurist and served as a representative of the three lower counties of Delaware, Maryland, and Connecticut. Later, his service led to a political career.

 

With the “Great-Road” (Germantown Avenue), the view of the mansion was majestic. Its’ majestic stance was not obstructed by tall trees and shrubbery, as it stood atop a hill, basically, alone in those days. The year 1777 marked the ‘Battle of Germantown’ between British and American troops. British Commander Colonel Thomas Musgrave, head of the British regiment, quartered in the house of the Chews, while his troops bivouacked behind the orchards of the Cliveden. The house was placed under British protection.

 

General Washington’s troops marched down from the ‘Skippack’ farming area through Chestnut Hill and into Germantown on October 4th, 1777. During the dark early morning, with visibility at a minimum, the fog thickened sky was enhanced by thickening smoke of cannon and musket fire.

 

The ‘Order of The Dracul’…from Romania to Carfax Abbey!

 Dracula.original.image_4.27.16

The name Dracula was the patronym (Drăculea) of the descendants of Vlad II of Wallachia, who took the name “Dracul” after being invested in the Order of the Dragon in 1431. In the Romanian language, the word dracul (Romanian drac “dragon” + -ul “the”) can mean either “the dragon” or, especially in the present day, “the devil”.

 

Bram Stoker’s fictional Dracula attracted popular attention. During his main reign (1456–1462), “Vlad the Impaler” is said to have killed from 40,000 to 100,000 European civilians (political rivals, criminals, and anyone he considered “useless to humanity”), mainly by impaling. The sources depicting these events are records by Saxon settlers in neighbouring Transylvania, who had frequent clashes with Vlad III. Vlad III is revered as a folk hero by Romanians for driving off the invading Ottoman Turks, of which his impaled victims are said to have included as many as 100,000.

 

Vlad the Impaler; Historically, the name “Dracula” is derived from a Chivalric order called the Order of the Dragon, founded by Sigismund of Luxembourg (then king of Hungary) to uphold Christianity and defend the Empire against the Ottoman Turks. Vlad II Dracul, father of Vlad III, was admitted to the order around 1431, after which Vlad II wore the emblem of the order and later, as ruler of Wallachia, his coinage bore the dragon symbol, from which the name “Dracula” is derived. People of Wallachia only knew voievod (king) Vlad III as Vlad Teppes (the Impaler). The name “Dracula” became popular in Romania after publication of Stoker’s book. Contrary to popular belief, the name Dracula does not translate to “son of the devil” in Romanian, which would be “pui de drac”.

 

“Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph!”

~ Bram Stoker~

 

The Order of the Dragon (Latin: Societas Draconistarum, lit. “Society of the Dragonists”) was a monarchical chivalric order for selected nobility, founded in 1408 by Sigismund who was King of Hungary (r. 1387–1437) at the time and later became Holy Roman Emperor (r. 1433–1437). It was fashioned after the military orders of the Crusades, requiring its initiates to defend the cross and fight the enemies of Christianity, in particular the Ottoman Empire.

 

The Order flourished during the first half of the 15th century, primarily in Germany and Italy. After Sigismund’s death in 1437, its importance declined in Western Europe, but after the Fall of Constantinople in 1453, it continued to play a role in Hungary, Croatia, Wallachia and Serbia which bore the brunt of the Ottoman incursions.

 

In 1396, Pope Boniface IX proclaimed a crusade against the Ottomans, and a campaign was organized to recapture the fortress and put a halt to the Ottoman expansion. Sigismund was nominally in charge; however, in the 1396 Battle of Nicopolis the French leader, John of Nevers, commanded the French half of the forces and ignored Sigismund’s entreaties by charging the Turks. About 15,000 crusaders died with only a few leaders, including Sigismund, escaping. Sigismund returned to Hungary in 1401 and, facing a number of revolts, gradually resumed control and re-asserted himself as the King of Hungary. This was achieved by allying himself with the political party of Stibor of Stiboricz, Nicholas II Garay, and Hermann II of Celje, in return for their military support, which enabled him to fight off domestic rivals. Sigismund campaigned against the Croats and Bosnians, which culminated in 1408 with the Battle of Dobor—fought for the possession of Bosnia—and a massacre of noble families.

 

Vlad II (born August 30, 1400), known as Vlad Dracul (English: Vlad the Dragon), was a voivode (English: duke) of Wallachia. He reigned from 1436 to 1442, and again from 1443 to 1447. He was the father of Mircea II, Vlad Călugărul (English: Vlad the Monk), Vlad III Dracula, who became posthumously known by the epithet Țepeș (English: the Impaler), and Radu III the Beautiful.

 

Vlad II received the surname Dracul in 1431, after being inducted into the Order of the Dragon, founded in 1408 by the King Sigismund of Hungary (the later Holy Roman Emperor), as part of a design to gain political favor from the Catholic Church and to aid in protecting Wallachia against the Ottoman Empire.

 

Vlad II Dracul was a member of the House of Drăculești lineage, and son of Mircea “the Old”, Voivoide of Walachia, and was known to have murdered members of the rival princely House of Dănești, a not-so-distant relation to his own father’s House of Basarab, and gained power in Wallachia, upon returning from exile in Transylvania in 1436.

 

The identity of Vlad’s first wife is unknown. His second wife, Princess (Cneajna) Vasilissa of Moldavia, was the eldest daughter of Alexandru cel Bun and paternal aunt of Stephen the Great of Moldavia.

 

Of his legitimate children, Mircea was the eldest, his mother’s identity being unknown. Vlad Călugărul was the product of Vlad and one of his mistresses, a Wallachian noblewoman called Călțuna. Vlad Țepeș and Radu were children of his marriage with Vasilissa of Moldavia.

 

Vlad, having numerous mistresses, also fathered several illegitimate children, including another son named Mircea (the name Mircea being a family favorite due to Vlad’s father, Mircea cel Bătrân, a popular Wallachian voivode).

 

In 1431, Vlad Dracul’s brother Alexandru I Aldea took the throne from Dan II, the latter having held it on and off since 1420. In 1436, following Alexandru I Aldea’s death from illness, Vlad Dracul ascended the throne.

 

Mircea II ascended to the throne in 1442, as Vlad Dracul was in the Ottoman court negotiating for support from the Ottomans in an effort to better defend his rule against John Hunyadi, the voivode of Transylvania. Following the battle of Marosszentimre (Romanian Sântimbru) in 1442, Hunyadi forcefully entered Wallachia and forced Dracul to submit.[2] In 1443, Mircea II was ousted from the throne by an invading army led by Hunyadi, and was forced to flee. Hunyadi placed Basarab II, son to Dan II, on the throne. However, Basarab II held the throne for only a short time, losing it within a year to Vlad Dracul, supported by armies of the Ottoman Empire. Vlad Dracul had made a treaty with the Ottomans insuring that he would give them annual tribute, as well as sending Wallachian boys to them yearly to be trained for service in their armies.

 

Mircea II supported his father, but did not support his politics with the Ottoman Empire. Mircea II led Wallachian forces in a successful campaign against the Ottomans with the full knowledge of his father, but with neither support nor opposition from him. An able military commander, Mircea II successfully recaptured the fortress of Giurgiu in 1445. However, in yet another treaty with the Ottomans, his father allowed the Ottomans to again have control of the fortress in an effort to retain their support of his having the throne, and in an effort to keep his two captive sons safe.

 

In 1443, the new King of Hungary, Ulaszlo I (also King of Poland as Władysław III Warneńczyk), launched the Varna campaign against the Ottoman Empire, under the command of Hunyadi, in an effort to drive the Turks out of Europe. Hunyadi demanded that Vlad II fulfill his oath as a member of the Order of the Dragon and a vassal of Hungary: Vlad was commanded to join the campaign but declined.

 

Pope Eugene IV absolved Dracul of his promise, but demanded that he send his son Mircea II instead (it is likely that Vlad II had originally denied the request in an effort to prevent his sons from being convoked). The Christian army was destroyed in the Battle of Varna; Hunyadi escaped the scene, and was blamed by many, including Mircea II and his father, for the debacle. This marked the start of hostilities between Hunyadi on one side and Vlad Dracul and his eldest son on the other.

 

In December 1447, boyars in league with the Hungarian regent, John Hunyadi, rebelled against Vlad Dracul II and beheaded him in the marshes near Bălteni. Mircea, Dracul’s eldest son and heir, was blinded and buried alive at Târgoviște.

 

“The stranger, blessed to deliver the ‘New World’ to its destiny, is George Washington. The year is 1774. This data is from text discovered in the ‘Library of Congress,’ by an occult historian. His name is George Ballard.

His account is one of many legends inspired by a 17th century monk by the name of ‘Johannes Kelpius of Transylvania.’

He led a mystical and mysterious cult under the guise of religion. The so-called religious order was housed in the woods of Northwest Philadelphia. The meditations commenced and continued undisturbed and unmolested from about 1694 to 1708, Johannes’s death, into and beyond current day society.

Ballard believes the members of the religious order in the Wissahickon-Valley Green woods of Roxborough – Chestnut Hill – Germantown – Mount Airy vicinity and woodland still reside there to this very day. For the past three centuries, Dracula has reigned supreme in tales of darkness and blood-feasting. But the gothic and mysterious romance and blending ooze of hard facts tainted with fanaticism, has indeed planted the seed of intrigue into the minds of historians and imagination of people who believe in the mystical magical powers possessed in Kelpius and his ‘Philosopher’s Stone.’

The stone is an alchemical substance that has the ability to turn lead into gold.

 

Shady dealings and romance was the lore spun of Kelpius. His spiritual teachings were reminiscent of ‘Zen Buddhism.’

Kelpius was reportedly born in or about 1667 in Europe. His home town is currently known as ‘Sighisoara, Romania’ – where religious infighting fueled a protestant reformation. It was a devastating rift in European civilization.

 

Kelpius was reportedly born in or about 1667 in Europe. His home town is currently known as ‘Sighisoara, Romania’ – where religious infighting fueled a protestant reformation. It was a devastating rift in European civilization.

 

Johannes was schooled in Bavaria (Germany) where he earned a doctorate in liberal arts. He became infatuated with a radical form of Lutheranism, deism. The order rejected the church and religious hierarchy. ‘The Society of The Women in the Wilderness, a band of forty or so like-minded followers, of which he came to lead, advocated a direct relationship with God.

Kelpius thought this devoted group that the world would end is the year 1694, when Heaven merges with Earth.

Kelpius believed the catastrophe would begin in the wilderness of Philadelphia. A vessel was chartered for the journey across the Atlantic to the Americas.

 

Sparking the imagination, romantic novelists and poets began to take notice of the monks. Their hermit lifestyle fascinated one particular writer who happened to be a friend of ‘Edgar Allan Poe.’ His name is George Lippard.

Mr. Lippard wrote of the monks. He is quoted as saying “The Wissahickon Valley, outside of Philadelphia City, is a hot-bed of eerie activity.” He wrote and published a string of books accounting for the occult practices of witchcraft, devils, spells, and debauchery.

 

Researching and tracing the truth is what I’m after, not fables, legends, and flowery prose. I seek truth and facts. It appears, thought Sally while sitting behind his desk, the more I dig into this so-called legend, the murkier it seems to become.

When I went to the public library, the records were partly vague. I’ve discovered that hermits tend not to keep copious records if any at all. I’ve successfully been able to dig up third and second hand accounts coupled with a few generations of opaque comments and opinions on the legend by nearby residents and family members.

I knew then that I had to dig a bit deeper. Little did I know this intrepid trip would take my research and investigation to Transylvania, Romania, Africa, Istanbul, Morocco, Italy, and back to the States?

 

One resident of the Roxborough neighborhood who’s residence was near the Ridge Avenue, Port Royal Avenue, and Henry Avenue intersection told me of a man who went walking in the woods; like many who visit the Wissahickon – Valley Green trails. He spoke of how the man stumbled upon a prayer meeting of sorts. He began the tale with a recollection of another individual who transplanted from Europe to the States near or around the same era as Johannes. He didn’t remember his name.

“Like his father and grandfather, this descendent of Attila also remained in seclusion and clandestined shrouds of secrecy and darkness near the ‘Bells Mills Road’ area.

The man, a rather large and tall Black; a Nubian born prince to the best of my knowledge, was hardly seen out in the bright of day.” He continued saying, about thirty years ago, I remember hiking through the park near Hermits Lane in Roxborough when I heard a ghostly singing nearby. There was another man walking not far in front of me. He noticed the bizarre happenings as well.

We heard “Rom mom, rom mom mom.” The chanting chorus resounded over and over again.” The speaking man continued, “It was gloriously creepy.” Following the sounds of singing and chanting, we came upon an equally, if not more, creepy sight. We saw a circle of figures huddled around a large yawning stone portal embedded in the hillside. Immediately, I, we recognized who they were.”

 

“We killed 23,884 Turks without counting those whom we burned in homes or the Turks whose heads were cut by our soldiers. I have killed peasants, men and women, old and young. They lived in Oblucitza and Novoselo, where the Danube flows into the sea. And yes, High up to such places as Samovit and Ghighen as well as up to Rahova, which is located near Chilia, from the lower Danube; thus, your highness, know this, I have broken the peace with Sultan Mehmed II.”

 

The rain fell hard and steady upon the makeshift gallows. The hangman’s noose was fitted snugly around the neck of the valiant warrior. He did not blink or whimper. His tall well-muscled, cut and bloodied frame, stood still…disciplined, proud, and godlike. One could think him frozen.

 

Of noble blood was he, this majestic warrior and usurper. Oh yes, the princely throat was custom fitted; the captured neck had twice before escaped sudden and intended death. The warrior prince, somehow, escaped the axe man’s blade and the finalizing guillotine.

 

In December 1447, boyars in league with the Hungarian regent John Hunyadi rebelled against Vlad II Dracul and killed him in the marshes near Balteni. Mircea, Dracul’s eldest son and heir, was blinded and buried alive at Târgovi. To prevent Wallachia from falling into the Hungarian fold, the Ottomans invaded Wallachia and put young Vlad III on the throne. However, this rule was short-lived as Hunyadi himself now invaded Wallachia and restored his ally Vladislav II, of the Daneti clan, to the throne.

 

Vlad fled to Moldavia, where he lived under the protection of his uncle, Bogdan II. In October 1451, Bogdan was assassinated and Vlad fled to Hungary. Impressed by Vlad’s vast knowledge of the mindset and inner workings of the Ottoman Empire as well as his hatred of the new sultan Mehmed II, Hunyadi reconciled with his former rival and made him his advisor.

 

Vlad considered the boyars the chief cause of the constant strife as well as of the death of his father and brother. To secure his rule, he had many leading nobles killed and gave positions in his council, traditionally belonging to the greatest boyars, to persons of obscure origins, who would be loyal to him alone, and some to foreigners.

For lower offices, Vlad preferred knights and free peasants to boyars. In his aim of fixing up Wallachia, Vlad issued new laws punishing thieves. Vlad treated the boyars with the same harshness, believing them guilty of weakening Wallachia through their personal struggles for power.

 

During his life Vlad wrote his name in Latin documents as Wladislaus Dragwlya, vaivoda partium Transalpinarum (1475). His Romanian patronymic Dragwlya (or Dragkwlya) Dragulea, Dragolea, Draculeais a diminutive of the epithet Dracul “the Dragon” carried by his father Vlad II, who in 1431 was inducted as a member of the Order of the Dragon, a chivalric order founded by Sigismund of Hungary in 1408. Dracul is the Romanian definite form, the -ul being the suffigated definite article (deriving from Latin ille). The noun drac “dragon” itself continues Latin draco. In Modern Romanian, the word drac has adopted the meaning of “devil” (the term for “dragon” now being balaur or dragon).

 

This has led to misinterpretations of Vlad’s epithet as characterizing him as “devilish”. Vlad’s moniker of epe (“Impaler”) identifies his favorite method of execution. It was attached to his name posthumously, in ca.1550.

 

The gloomy rain-filled air went from gray to black in a hurry. The sound of leathery flapping night-wings filed the darkened air. The sound became deafening. The flapping became louder and louder. The fluttering clouded the view of all who could see. There were just too many flailing, flapping, flying wings.

The bronzed warrior son of the nobleman who spit and cursed at God smiled a bedeviling smile. He knew his freedom was a t hand. He would be free to once again drink and spill the blood of the conquered and the ravaged. Oh yes, this bastard half-African descendent was unknown to the sperm-donor father who was infamously despised and feared. The father known to us as “Vlad The Impaler.”

 

‘Vlad Teppes’ victories offer some of the Moorish Villages allowance for momentary relaxation and other physical and mind resting indulgences. A descendent of ‘Attila the Hun,’ Vlad Teppes lost his humanity to false rumors and self-destruction. Vlad held many women in his arms and teeth. His blood lust was only surpassed by the lust within his loins.

 

“Hominis Nocturna!”

 

So what if we existed for real? We haunt your dreams, your movies, your urban legends and your novels. Your children want to be us, emulate us; they dress in their black clothes listen to their melancholy music and wear their precious little fangs. They hang out at clubs and malls pretending to be something that they could not comprehend in a lifetime. Why? Aren’t we supposed to be the essence of evil feeding on living blood, taking lives, the dark spawn of Satan?

 

Would you know us if you met us on a busy street, brushed up against you in a busy store, or sat behind you in a restaurant? I don’t think so. You have spoken to us a hundred times, nodded complacently at us as you passed on a sidewalk, shook our hands at business meetings. You may have even been a lover or a close friend; truth is you know nothing of us. The media has blown us up and misrepresented us for years, we are not all those things you fear, well not all of us at least.

 

In time I hope to educate and place us in a better light, provide you with understanding and with that understanding relax your fears and replace trust. I am known as Ian Christof; Reverend to the vampire church, emissary to the world of the living. Come my sheep let me guide you and keep you safe on this journey to the Darkside…

~  http://miturner70.blogspot.com/2009/10/hominis-nocturna.html ~

 

Dracula.2_4.27.16

~ “The Blood Is The Life!”~

 

 

 

 

 

Til Next Time…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Research, References, and Acknowledgments:

 

“Tepes”

Spawn of The Order Dracul, Gregory V. Boulware, Esq., 7.12.12

 

“When There’s No More Room In Hell”

The Dead Shall Walk The Earth

http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/

 

~ “Demon’s Throat” ~

http://demonsthroathallow.blogspot.com/2011/12/demons-throat.html

https://www.wattpad.com/220154957-demon%27s-throat

http://koobug.com/GregoryVB_Author?p1788

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosicrucianism

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dracula

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_Dragon

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vlad_II_Dracul

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dracula_Untold

 

~ ‘The E-Store for Books by Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.’ ~

http://boulwareenterprises.com/-_A_Portentous_Epoch_~.html

 

 

Tags:

Murder, Children, Missing, Fairmount, Monks, Wissahickon, Creek, Philadelphia, German, Transylvania, Dracul, Teppes, Wizards, Spells, Witches, Warlocks, Ghosts, Sabbat, Coven, Demons, Hermits, Caves, War, Battle, Mettle, Pennsylvania, Germany, Hungary, Moors, Morocco, Africa, Slavery, Mysticism, Occult, Religion, Vlad, BramStoker, MaryShelly, Frankenstein, Dracula, Nasferatu, Nosferatu, Undead, Zombies, Bosnia, Europe, Magic, Magi, Egyptian, Hell, Angels, Messenger, Mystery, Horror, Rosicrucians, TheRoseyCross, Kelpians, TheKelpianSociety, Kelpius, European, Ancestry, WordPress, BlogSpot, Amazon, Hallow

 

 

/*

‘A Significant Era of Perceptive Aroma and Vision’

By

Mr. Gregory V. Boulware

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/286944/a-significant-era-of-perceptive-aroma-and-vision

 

“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the ‘Wolfsbane’ blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright.”

“You unlock this door with a key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension, a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You’re moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas…you’ve just crossed over into the ‘Twilight Zone.'”

~Rod Serling~

 

The steady flow of neighborhood customers keep the old lady pretty busy, by day and by night. Oh, did I mention that she was about eighty-four or eighty-five years of age? That was of course back a few years ago.

Well now, here’s another masterpiece by this superlative writer with this latest addition to a collective assortment of goodies. Hallow II presents a wonderful collection of Horror, Thriller, Adventure, and Philosophical wonderlands of Mystical and Physiological Enlightenment.

 

~ Readers, Blog Followers, On Line Members of ‘BlackInAmerica.com,’ ‘BlackHistory.com,’ ‘BlackAuthors.com,’ ‘BlackWomenConnect.com,’ ‘HBCU’ and ‘HBCUconnect.com,’ ‘ChocolatePagesnetwork.com,’GoodReads.com,’ ‘BookMarketingNetwork.com,’ ‘Google.com,’ ‘Facebook.com,’ and ‘Twitter.com.’ ~  

 

“They say there is no sin in killing a beast, only in killing a man…but where does one begin and the other end – Why is it the so-called educated do not acquire the good sense of knowing better?”

http://parttwotheweddingparty.blogspot.com/

 

“God took dust from the ground, and formed man, and inserted in him a spirit and a soul. This man was called “Adam,” which in the Hebrew tongue signifies one that is ‘Red,’ because he was formed out of Red Earth (Africa), compounded together; for of that kind is virgin and True Earth!”

~ Josephus – Moshe/Moses ~

HALLOW II – An Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany

BookCoverImage_10.25.15

by

Mr. Gregory V Boulware

5.5″ x 8.5″ (13.97 x 21.59 cm)  Full Color on White paper 463 pages

ISBN-13: 978-1518770227  ISBN-10: 1518770223  BISAC: Body, Mind & Spirit / Shamanism

ID #5822620

/*

Hallow II is a follow-up addition to Hallow in its collection of short stories filled with adventure, Science-Fiction, Horror, and thrills.  Here we go again…’another masterpiece by this superlative writer with this latest addition to a collective assortment of goodies.’ Hallow II presents a wonderful collection of Horror, Thriller, Adventure, and Philosophical wonderlands of Mystical and Physiological Enlightenment.

 

~ “A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany” ~

http://blackhistory.com/content/284858/a-portentous-epoch-of-sagacious-redolence-and-epiphany

 

“Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh”

http://boweryofthecrimsonfrockandflesh.blogspot.com/  

 

“Coincidences, seemingly of a marvelous character, there are few persons who have not, on occasion, been startled. It also goes without saying; even the calmest of thinkers have experienced a vague thrilling half-credence in the supernatural genre.

 

 Speaking of certain, albeit, limited, coincidences, understand that we, Mr. ‘Eddie’ Poe and I, the Editor / Publisher, choose to speak of this topic. In my own heart, I cannot speak of his; there dwells no faith in the praetor nature. In past and probably, future conversations, men will debate the issue of the original intentions of God’s Laws. They may dispute that nature and its God are two. The latter creating the former can, at will, control and/or modify it. Would you not agree, my friend? The insanity of logic has, of course, assumed it is not that the Deity cannot modify his laws, the question is of will. Does man insult God with the imagination of a possible necessity for modification? Mr. Poe espouses the origin of these laws were fashioned to embrace all and every contingency which could lie in the future. All that one would need to do is to pay the strictest and closes attention with unwavering indulgences.

 

 This topic is only referred to as coincidences. It was submitted for my review as ‘Bowery of the Crimson Frock and Flesh – The Poe Report.’”

http://blackhistory.com/content/266425/bowery-of-the-crimson-frock-and-flesh

http://blackhistory.com/content/286940/a-significant-era-of-perceptive-aroma-and-vision   

http://boweryofthecrimsonfrockandflesh.blogspot.com/2014/05/bowery-of-crimson-frock-and-flesh.html   

 

“Howl Of An Angel”: ‘HALLOW II’

http://blackhistory.com/content/261163/hallow-ii-howl-of-an-angel

 

 ‘The Bookmarketing Network!’

http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profiles/blogs/howl-of-an-angel  

 

“The Devil Made Me Do It…The Devil Made Me Do It!”

 How many times have we all heard this statement when someone is/has been accused or convicted of a crime?

“Demon’s Throat”

http://blackhistory.com/content/231547/did-the-devil-really-make-you-do-it

 “Twitter”

https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorBoulwareG

“Amazon”

http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_gnr_fkmr0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Cn%3A283155%2Ck3AGregory+V.+Boulware&keywords=Gregory+V.+Boulware&ie=UTF8&qid=1324957155  

 

Publication Date:

Oct 24 2015

ISBN/EAN13:

1518770223 / 9781518770227

Page Count: 464

ID #5822620

>

Here’s another masterpiece by this superlative writer with this latest addition to a collective assortment of goodies. Hallow II presents a wonderful collection of Horror, Thriller, Adventure, and Philosophical wonderlands of Mystical and Physiological Enlightenment.

>

The Books of Boulware

http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com

/*

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany”

By

Gregory V. Boulware

 

/*

“They say there is no sin in killing a beast, only in killing a man…but where does one begin and the other end – Why is it the so-called educated do not acquire the good sense of knowing better?”

 

“HALLOW II”: A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany

Or

(A Significant Era of Perceptive Aroma and Vision)

Bowery of the Crimson Frock and Flesh

“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the ‘Wolfsbane’ blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright.”

“One day men will look back and say, I gave birth to the twentieth century”

~Jack The Ripper~

http://boweryofthecrimsonfrockandflesh.blogspot.com/

Coincidences, seemingly of a marvelous character, there are few persons who have not, on occasion, been startled. It also goes without saying; even the calmest of thinkers have experienced a vague thrilling half-credence in the supernatural genre.

Adopted in Paris, the suggestion of the discovery of an assassin are founded in any similarity could quite possibly, produce a very similar result.

Consider the most trifling variation of facts in this supposition. With respect to the latter branch, the two cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations. Thoroughly diverting the eventful courses, a mathematical error in which its own individuality may be inappreciated by a process resulting enormously at variance with the truth. We must not fail in our understanding the calculus of probability, which forbids any ideas of an extension of the parallel effect. In proportion, this parallel has already been long-drawn and exactly on point.

Part Two: “The Wedding Party”

http://parttwotheweddingparty.blogspot.com/

“We knew we were all doomed…all of us who knew.”

Abberline recalled the statement from one of several interviews with the six whores of ‘Cleveland Street’ in the ‘White Chapel District.’ The funeral of Martha Taibron brought them all to collusion. They needed to join forces for their very survival. They were constantly pursued by McQueen, the pimp of Nickel Street. He extorted money and sexual favors from the street walkers – ladies of the night.

“They were lured with grapes, champagne, and laudanum. And then they were all euthanized.” The inspector spoke in trance-like sentences. “They were transported and dumped.”

The inspector began interviewing professional men. He spoke with doctors, dentists, taxidermists, veterinarians, surgeons, barbers, and butchers to the disapproval, chagrin, and dismay of Scotland Yard High Officials.

 Part Three:

‘Isle Manhattan’ – “The Changeling, Loup Garou”

https://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/2014/01/17/hallow-ii-howl-of-an-angel/

 Emissaries brought the names of ‘Duprae’ and ‘Abberline’ to the America’s. Not unlike ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ they had become household names within the law enforcement community. Duprae’s mantra preceded that of his famous colleague. The family crest of Lord Talbot arrived years before them.

The simple process to which he incorporated in solving cases had never before been disclosed to anyone… Not even the Prefect. The sole entity of that demesne is gifted to only me.

Of course, it’s not so surprising that the closed and solvent affairs were regarded as just short of miracles or that Chaunea’s analytical abilities gained his the notoriety and awarded credit on intuition and sagacious insight.

Being frank would have created an atmosphere of prejudice and abuse to every individual who would inquire into his practicum of procedure; his indolent humor forbade any such agitation of a topic whose interest has long ago dissipated. This position in many past times, have found him the attraction of cynical political eyes. The insolvable cases of which he was engaged were requested services at a level above Prefect.

Marie was the only daughter of the widow ‘Estelle Roget (Rogers)’ In France, they were named ‘Roget’ while the American adoption changed it and pronounced it as ‘Rogers.’ Marie’s (she is sometimes called Mary) father died when she was a baby. He was assassinated when she was approximately eighteen months of age. The couple, along with their daughter, resided in a close-nit cul-de-sac community, in Queens. The father kept a flat in Manhattan for business ventures. His death provided the aggrieved ladies a comfortable living.

~Hallow II~

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

~Robert Frost 1923~

  …Now, Go and Get Yourself Ready For The Big Read!

~Release Date: October 2015~

The Books of Boulware

 ~BoulwareEnterprises~

http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com

 

“Article Posting Sites”

http://www.blogger.com/profile/10910946197037982583

http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.wordpress.com  

http://www.linkedin.com/pub/gregory-boulware/10/435/44b

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7237172.Gregory_V_Boulware

http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/GregoryVBoulware 

http://www.wattpad.com/user/GregLitideas

http://literarygreg10xsmenow.tumblr.com/

http://koobug.com/GregoryVB_Author?p1498

http://about.me/gregory_boulware

http://www.pinterest.com/writerauthor6bk/pins/

https://plus.google.com/111976345290342184104/posts

http://www.bookcrossing.com/mybookshelf/GVBoulware/all

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009002895659

http://ezinearticles.com/?expert_bio=Gregory_V._Boulware

 

~The Connect Platform~

http://blackhistory.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608 

http://hbcu.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608

http://blackwomenconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608

http://blackinamerica.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608   

http://chocolatepagesnetwork.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608

 

“Amazon”

http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_gnr_fkmr0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Cn%3A283155%2Ck3AGregory+V.+Boulware&keywords=Gregory+V.+Boulware&ie=UTF8&qid=1324957155 

 

And

 

“Twitter”

https://twitter.com/AuthorBoulwareG

https://twitter.com/AuthorBoulwareG/status/541394366842281984

 

“FAIRMOUNT”

http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html

http://aneastfallssonontheschuylkill.blogspot.com/2014/07/on-schuylkill-eastfalls-son-twitter.html

/*

 

 

“The Beginning of The End – The Fall of Light”

By

Gregory V. Boulware

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/939504766

IMG_20141116_111928 (1)

/*

“You have been asking for water for the last hour,” he said.

For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I daresay he found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water-soaked trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale-blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me.

“This must be the beginning of the end,” he said, interrupting me. “The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord!” When the men shall call upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them – hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!”

I began to understand the position. I ceased my labored reasoning, struggled to my feet, and standing over him, laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Be a man!” said I, “You are scared out your wits! What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.”

For a time he sat in blank silence.

“But how can we escape?” he asked, suddenly. “They are invulnerable, they are pitiless.”

“Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other,” I answered. “And the mightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was killed yonder not three hours ago.”

“Killed1” he said, staring about him. “How can God’s ministers be killed?”

“I saw it happen.” I proceeded to tell him. “We have chanced to come in for the thick of it,” said I, “and that is all.”

“What is that flicker in the sky?” he asked abruptly.

I told him it was the heliograph signaling – that it was the sign of human help and effort in the sky.

“We are in the midst of it,” I said, “quiet as it is. That flicker in the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take it, are the Martians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond and Kingston and the trees give cover, Earthworks are being thrown up and guns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this way again.”

And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture.

“Listen!” he said.

From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still. A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in the west the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendor of the sunset.

“We had better follow this path,” I said, “northward.”

Gene Barry was the starring hero from the classic ‘War of The Worlds’ by Herbert George Wells back in the sixties when I was a little boy. The bombs screamed across the big screen at the ‘Lehigh Movie Theatre’ on Lehigh Avenue between twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth Streets in North Philadelphia. My two younger brothers, two of the girls who lived next door on Myrtlewood Street; and me were shuttled off by our mothers that early Saturday evening. The ladies had plans of their own. We were shipped out to the movies. Man what a treat. Albeit we were all scared to death, afraid to leave the theatre on many other monster treated and frightful afternoons. I can remember running home, fearing the crossing of darkened alleyways along the route to the safe haven of the domicile. Vampires, Frankenstein’s Monster, Zombies, and Werewolves threatened to jump out and get us if we doddle and lagged behind.

The story, ‘War of the Worlds’ in the novel format takes the reader on a journey during the turn of the twentieth century in Britain. The Americanized movie version has it placed in Las Angeles with shots and scenes from around the globe.

The visionary Martian vessels were described as in the novel. They glowed the green lights and eerie screwing sounds of a mason jar unscrewing. The laser beam of instantaneous destruction managed to destroy and kill any and every living and non-living thing on the planet and in its path. The shadowy white dusty froth laden forms of human beings lay on the grounds and roadways of the countryside exit trails, hopefully leading to safety, played out in the book did make its ghostly presence on the big screen and in the book as well.

The movie version with Mr. Gene (Bat Masterson) Barry remains a classic; the traverse through the countryside of England uncovers a journey of epic endeavor, adventure, and excitement beyond the movie theatre.

“When Earth comes under siege from extraterrestrial invaders, the best and worst of mankind comes out among those struggling to survive.”

Mr. Wells was born in Bromley, Kent on September 21, 1866. He was called ‘Bertie’ by his family. His father was a shopkeeper who was previously a cricketer. After the business failed, his mother was forced to work as a domestic in the nearby country house of ‘Up-Park.’ She desired to return the family back to the middle-class status it had briefly enjoyed. Wells worked as a schoolteacher and a pharmacist. He also studied biology under Thomas Henry Huxley, a vociferous proponent of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution. This gentleman made an extraordinary impression on him so much so that he returned to teaching completing his course studies and earned his degree. Wells went on with his mastery of the imagination and produced more thought provoking science fiction works in novel format and magazine periodicals as well as a couple of biology textbooks while working for the University Correspondence College.

“Herbert G. Wells published his first novel, The Time Machine to critical and popular acclaim in 1895. He became one of the most prolific writers of his generation. Mr. Wells has explored a vast variety of social, philosophical, and political I thoughts and ideas via the medium of what is described as science fiction.”

>

“What was that?”

“I dunno…it’s pretty damned dark out there.”

“Shit man, a big ass bump like that had to be felt for a few blocks around!”

“…Feel anything else?”

“Nah…it was probably some big ass truck or something.”

Aw right, turn the radio up, the Halloween shows are about to start.” The doorbell rang. It was one of those chime-like doorbell ringers. It had a firm but soft tone.

“Damn kids – pain in the ass…where’s the candy?”

“Ho Dude! Listen! It’s Orson Welles! It’s one of his old radio shows – hurry up! Get me a cassette tape, quick!”

Rushing through the house with a cassette tape in hand, he fell over the ottoman sitting near the dining room threshold between there and the kitchen. He managed to get the tape into the recording machine just as the announcer introduced Orson Welles’ Halloween play.

Andre picked up his hot cup of java and prepared to drop a bit of whiskey in it. From the corner of his right eye he thought he’d seen a flash of light. He was reassured by another flash of falling light. This one more prominent that the other. The first one seemed to be a little ways down the road – over on ‘Haines Street.’ The second one seemed to fall a bit closer. It fell with an Earth-shattering boom…right smack in the middle of ‘High Street’ and ‘Baynton Street.’ The neighbors were all running around the corner to see what they thought was a terrible car crash. It wasn’t. It was the apartment building which sat on the northwest corner. The building was gone. What took its place was a monstrous sized gaping hole. The hole almost appeared bottomless at first. Then the rush of creek water sprouted from below. Rumor has it that the majority of this ‘Germantown’ area stood over bedrock and heavily flowing creek-water. The water was much deeper than the basements of houses that were built overhead.

The sidewalk began to crackle and break. The separation caused by the split right down the center of Baynton Street caused the crowds to disperse and run for home. The safety of their families was of extreme paramount.

Another monster boom sounded just around the corner on ‘Walnut Lane.’ The instant flash and boom on the street took out another building. A twin house on the odd numbered side of the street was suddenly and instantaneously gone. Loud noises under the street and greenish glowing lights appeared as the crowds rushed for their homes. The booming became regular. They exploded all around the neighborhood. Parked cars became airborne flying objects of mass destruction. They flew back to Earth as two ton bombs of metal and shrapnel, crushing other cars and several people in meshing. Jet planes flew overhead as police sirens screamed all around. The police cars did not stop in to check on the people, they were fleeing the area enmass.

A father and his three children ran down ‘Germantown Avenue.’ They vanished as one of the flying trash removal and collection trucks descended upon them. Overhead clouds formed and caused the daytime light to take on the appearance of a nighttime sky… The booming thunder, thumping-metal-grinding walking machines, flashing-burning white to blue-green rays, and falling lights burned to ashes anyone and anything it touched…

Til Next Time…

War of the Worlds and Other Science Fiction Classics by H. G. Wells.

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‘Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh’

Contemplation

Contemplation

By

Gregory V. Boulware

Part Two: “The Wedding Party”

“We knew we were all doomed…all of us who knew.”

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Abberline recalled the statement from one of several interviews with the six whores of ‘Cleveland Street’ in the ‘White Chapel District.’ The funeral of Martha Taibron brought them all to collusion. They needed to join forces for their very survival. They were constantly pursued by McQueen, the pimp of Nickel Street. He extorted money and sexual favors from the street walkers – ladies of the night.

“They were lured with grapes, champagne, and laudanum. And then they were all euthanized.” The inspector spoke in trance-like sentences. “They were transported and dumped.”

The inspector began interviewing professional men. He spoke with doctors, dentists, taxidermists, veterinarians, surgeons, barbers, and butchers to the disapproval, chagrin, and dismay of Scotland Yard High Officials.

“Foreigners are the culprits. They are the ones who are upsetting our economy – The Jews.”

The boasting neuro-surgeon showed pride amongst the gathering of Britain’s finest professional colleagues. This one…this Dr. Farrow, guardian to Sir William Gull; master surgeon and newly ordained member to ‘The Society and Brotherhood of Free Masons – an entity founded by Jews; glared at the inspector as he passed through the dining room of the Masonic Hall.

“It isn’t an Englishman,” said the Scotland Yard Commissioner. “Thank God.”

Dr. Farrow is the attending doctor to the Queen and the Royal Court.

When all had been exposed, the organ collecting masonic avenger lobotomized, the killings subsided. I felt that I was no longer watched by the brotherhood. Albeit, the feeling, the tense feeling of Dred overshadowed what was supposed to be peace. Inspector Abberline was once again summoned to duty. This new danger has shown its face with a sign written in blood.

To the dismay and embarrassment of Scotland Yard, Inspector Abberline did deliver the truth of the matter. He delivered a truth that Scotland Yard decided to disallow. It refused the inspector’s theory from the time he discovered the text. The text in the book was written by the founder of the ‘Free Masons.’

The blood printed sign was directed to the murder investigations by Scotland Yard personnel. The inspector dreaded answering the call. He sure as hell did not intend to go back through the ‘Gates of Hell.’ He fought against evil and won – even though it wasn’t sanctioned by the brotherhood or the royal house or his immediate supervisors.

But, answer the call he did…it was his duty to God and Country. Inspector Abberline arrived on the scene to see the sign first hand.

London Town’s Chief Commissioner was there as well. There was a large contingent of reporters and photographers breezing all about as well.

On the wall, atop the freshly butchered corpse of Mary Kelly’s White Chapel mate…Martha Taibron. The blood-stained message was posted for all to see:

“The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing”

Abberline argued that the message was written by an educated man. The point was not unlike his investigation findings and determinations.

The higher echelon was well aware of what was done to hide and cover-up the guilt and shame as well as their association with the perpetrator. The guilt of the brotherhood and all its members, including the top commanders of Scotland Yard, and the royal house; they all knew about the secret wedding sanctioned by the Catholic Church and witnessed by the ‘Whores of the White Chapel District.’

The kidnapping of Annie Crook was intent to capture her and Baby Alice. The marriage and the baby posed a direct threat to the bloodline of Queen Victoria. She exploded with anger and ordered the elimination of the two.

“How dare my son marry this thing – this creature – this harlot – this streetwalker whore who is less than the lowest commoner!” The Queen delegated the task to the Lord Chamberlin. The order was then given to Sir William Gull, ex-master neuro-surgeon, member of the Brotherhood, and in service to the Queen. This opportunity served well for the doctor’s alter ego and major organ removal, primarily the offending sexual organs of the streetwalking females of the night. Also entwined within the assignment awaited the open door sanction for revenge. The execution of traitors provided Sir William Gull with great pleasure. He hatched a sinister deed in executing the traitors to mankind and the sanctity of marriage – the abomination of fornication – the elimination of whores and prostitutes.

The assignment specifically called for the deaths of six whores from England’s White Chapel District on Cleveland Street.

The wedding party was of a private nature. Mary, Liz, Kate, Marie, Mitzi, Martha, and Anne Crook, the bride, were all present. They wore their best dresses while Anne was adorned in a brand new white wedding gown of the finest chiffon, silk, and satin. No expense was sparred. She was truly a lovely bride beneath veils of fine woven material and true love.

Prince Eddie donned his majestic white uniform of royalty. The pure silver and golden sashes with breast-pinned medals gleamed and flashed of blinding brilliance. He was accompanied by his most trusted and close assistants. These particular individuals were sworn to the greatest of secrecies. They were all loyal except for one of the most important members of royal service. Sir William Gull was succeeded by Dr. Allan Farrow who personally treated, attended, and reported directly to the Queen.

The head Priest of the Catholic Church presided over the ritual. Baby Alice was born soon after. The Prince and Anne were infatuated with one another. The sexual romance and interludes began at the White Chapel Brothel, run by a sinister, conniving, and snakely individual identified by police and colleagues as ‘McQueen.’

His position was one of ownership over the six whores in attendance. The seventh, Mary Kelly, would soon fall into the fold, one way or another. Mary was independent. She was beginning to succeed in convincing the other girls to stop paying McQueen for their non-existent protection and keep their hard earned earnings for themselves.

Eddie had become an exclusive client to Anne. She wanted for nothing and made sure to look after her sisters of the streets. McQueen had other plans for the women. The protection fees had just been increased. He also knew of the secret marriage.

“It’s in their best interest to pay me. If not, they will never work with their physical abilities again – and could possibly be found dead.”

The body was fresh. The gore of crimson was found just about everywhere in the alley. It pooled and puddled all about the body of the victim. The wounds were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Albeit, sliced with the utmost precision…the precision of a master surgeon. The organs were skillfully removed with no sign of brutal ravaging. Even the killing cut was a work of art.

New York City was not very much unlike Paris. The hustle and bustle of the people mirrored many images of many busy cities across the globe. The rain poured and then misted accompanying a thick cloudy atmosphere. The smell of breakfast delicacies and strong rich coffee permeated the ‘Garment District’ this morning. Duprae and I strolled along 7th avenue just as the Sun poked rays above and over the horizon line and the top edges of buildings and the sparse spreading of greenery.

Chaunea insisted on a ‘walk-about’ just as soon as we could get settled. Our rooms were very cozy indeed. Cozy enough to meet our immediate needs. I meticulously hung my garments with care. We really didn’t know how long we would be visiting the island city. He wanted to familiarize himself with the everyday lifestyles of the city-folk in New York. He did the same thing in Philadelphia once. I recalled our chance meeting in Baltimore while planning the trip to Paris. Was our chance meeting in that obscure library really a chance meeting? I wondered while studying his current movements. The Inspector and I first met in Baltimore City. He’d taken the position of interest in my written works during my employ with one of several news and article agencies. The interest was aroused while perusing an article; one of many publications, concerning a black bird. His reason for the office visit was to place and advertisement in the newspaper of which I was employed.

The beneficial coincidence allowed he and I to become acquaintances…a kindred spirit of sorts. We did become very close friends and eventually, like brothers.

It was highly fascinating to learn, as time progressed, that Chaunea and I thought and felt very much alike. He of course is more advanced, sharper, and keener than I.

I’ve learned and continue to learn very much from him, especially in the art of deduction, rationalization, analyzation, reasoning, and patience.

The ballast and cobble stoned streets appeared and served as they did in the aforementioned metros. The rancid wetness of early morning garbage filled the cool breeze. It caused the sinuses to tingle and the nose to itch as the multi-collaboration of aromas urging face twitching annoyance.

We were not long departed from our sea-going vessel when our American journey got underway. We breakfasted at an eatery near the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue. Abberline was already finishing the morning news when we entered during his nearly completed nourishment.

After completing an enjoyable greeting and eating; allowing Abberline to finish his meal, the three of us headed towards the chief inspector’s Manhattan office at the nearby police headquarters.

We walked a few blocks on 34th Street to Amsterdam Avenue. The building was a rather handsome yet large ‘Brownstone’ with gated or bared windows on the ground floor level. We climbed the stairs to the second floor landing. Turning to the left at the end of the corridor was the inspector’s office. The center of the door was of hazy non-see-through glass. Printed on the outside was ‘Chief Inspector Abberline, Scotland Yard Investigations.’

Abberline was a tall yet thinly muscular man with long wavy black hair which surpassed his shirt collar. He combed it straight back. It hung in length to just above his shoulder. Many would consider him a handsome man. His apparel was not shabby, new, or top shelf; although neat and sharp in appearance, did not offend a normal eye.

The office atmosphere was brilliant and highly professional. It was fully equipped with all the latest gadgetry and literature. It also held the latest in communication, the telephone, and telegraph as well as a wireless.

The chief inspector stepped out from behind his desk with an extended his right palm, gesturing a handshake. We, as gentlemen and professionals, exchanged greetings and other pleasantries. Refreshments were offered and accepted as we made ourselves comfortable.

“Gentlemen, it brings me much pleasure to know the invitation to assist in this investigation has not been wasted.”

Queen Victoria ranted and raved. She threw her golden goblet across the room. It skidded off the gold-silver-and chrome laden table and hit the wall. The wall was painted ivory-white. The windows trimmed in shimmering brass, draped with silk and satin dressings on soft and dark pastels. The cup was filled with claret as it splashed all over. The chalice ended its flying and ricocheting journey after the wall by bouncing off the shoulder of a servant who simply passed by.

“We want them disposed of… We do not wish to know or care in which manner this thing is done. We want this matter dissolved and forgotten forthwith…or closer heads to thee, will surely serve instead.”

The first to disappear was the baby’s mother, ‘Anne Crooke.’ She was taken by ‘The Royal Secret Service Police’ while making love to the ‘Crown Prince.’ She had no idea it was ‘Prince Edward Albert Victor, the Duke of Clarence,’ and not simply ‘Albert’ whom she was atop; riding and writhing in quintessential rapture. Their combined effort of vigorous pumping up and down, lost in a sea of passion, had no clue of the impending assault. He caressed her naked flesh with pleasingly aggressive lust and the determination of fulfillment.

They hadn’t noticed the booming and thundering noises made by the invading usurpers of the White Chapel Brothel, of which their flat was located. Violently, pleasantly, engaged in the throes of sweet pleasure and passion, combined with that of pure love, the ex-harlot and the Duke did not hear the noise. The engagement was brutally and explosively interrupted when the bedroom door blew open and inward against the fast hold of the hinged frame. The door slammed against the papered wall as the fasteners within the wood splintered away from the wall that made every effort to hold. The abrupt action allowed the ingress of the horde to descend upon them, subduing them and separating them…forever.

The sexual fluids dripped all over the satin sheets as the ruffians ripped and pulled them apart. The burley men lifted the terrified Anne right up in a partially wrapped bed sheet, throwing her unclothed, down the stairs into the waiting arms of more darkly clad ruffians. They, in turn, carried her to the waiting carriage of black with six Black Stallions who kicked and whinnied to a full gallop. The mysterious escaping Black Carriage bore the royal markings of the majesty on its outer doors.

Prince Eddie, whom the local populace knew as ‘Albert’ or ‘Eddie’ was shocked and horrified. He was under the impression that he was the target of an assassination. Little did he know, the palace had known of his secreted rendezvous with the ex-whore for some time. She had become his exclusive concubine well before they were married; a wedding unknown to the Queen. Recent determinations, secretly discovered, were divulged to ‘Her-Majesty’ – Eddie was being treated for syphilis.

He was secretly taken to an undisclosed location. Anne was shuffled off to a nearby asylum, viciously interrogated, tortured, and finally lobotomized, ensuring the vile secret would remain a secret.

Fortunately, ‘Baby Alice’ was in the safe-keeping of Mary Kelly. She’d been left with Mary the night before. The following day presented the newly-weds with their six month wedding anniversary. Their daughter, Alice, was one year and eight days of age.

Arguments have been founded upon the fiction of truth. An investigation into said truth was quite possibly the objective to the point. Some have said that paralleling the inessential facts surrounding the murder of a young girl in New York as it relates to the double-murder in Paris, Madame L’Espanaye and the young mademoiselle, her daughter.

Abberline explained his departure from us in a brief manner to which he expelled our suspicions. He felt that our investigation was at a close in Paris while the threat carried itself across the waters into America; the facts addressing the murder of Miss Mary Cecelia Rogers.

Although the young woman’s death occasioned an intense and long enduring excitement, my journalistic intuition kept nudging me to not put trust in this inspector from Scotland Yard. He did not mention to the ‘Chevalier – Duprae,’ and me, his involvement of the coincidences surrounding the murder in Paris and the one in New York.

In my mind, I endeavored to depict some very remarkable features in the mental characters of my friend, ‘The Chevalier – Lord Charles ‘Chaunea’ Alexander Duprae.

The affair surrounding the deaths of Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter were placed on suspension. We could not dismiss the case due to its familiarity with this one in New York. Duprae’s concentration is now focused on the inspector and this case of ‘Mary Rogers,’ aka ‘Marie Roget.’

Before jumping head-first into the case, we decided to break from our mental meeting with ‘Chief Inspector Frederick Quincy Abberline’ of Sussex County in the Southeast of England. We felt that we deserved a much needed rest…a little ‘R and R;’ and maybe a little bit of debauchery and drink. The idea of smoking the plant was also entertained upon the undesired relapsing into old habits of moody revelry, I was found to be in a prone position nearly at all times during the dream-like binges; I do love the drink, love-making, and smoke; to abstraction. I really fell in with the humor; and continuing to occupy our chambers, we gave the future to the winds. We decided to slumber tranquilly in the present, weaving in and out dully around the world in dreams and allusion. We would take up the New York investigation soon after our mini-vacation; after all…Abberline in on the case.

Chaunea and I took a near drunken walk down Broadway. We sampled the area delicacies and needless to say, the beers and liquors as well. The neighboring taverns were cordial and amicable enough. I do believe that some of them, patrons and staff, did recognize us. Several recognized the famous detective via the newspapers and newsreel footage portrayed in the moving picture houses. The others who knew of me through my written works in magazines, newspapers, and periodicals. I dare say my printed image did me a great service as well.

“Welcome Monsieur Duprae, would you and Monsieur Poe like a quiet table in the rear or one close to the stage and show? The bar is also available for your convenience!”

The tavern was soft lit and full of people. The ‘Black Maître de’ seated us nicely into a cozy dark corner which allowed an excellent view of the stage and the entire establish as well.

The audience, primarily people of color from every continent imaginable, added an extra bit of flavor to our enchanted evening. The both of us do like an integrated crowd, made up of many different types of folk, cultures, and lifestyles. We both found that simply invigorating and fascinatingly wonderful. France and England had its fair share of the world’s populace, but not like here in the United States. The jazz music was unbelievable. It was magnifique and ever so delightful.

We must have spent the entire night here at the ‘Che De Lounge’ after our visit to the ‘Bamville.’ The same type of people gathered there as well. Chaunea enjoyed himself immensely. The bronze colored deva kept him upstairs for nearly two hours before rejoining me at our table.

We’d sampled many types of enjoyment this night. Our jumpstart of marijuana and bitters was topped off this morning with French Champagne, while the wine and cocaine flourished throughout the night. Chaunea did entertain the thought of visiting the ‘Chinese House of Pleasure.’ The address was supplied by the Chief Inspector. He swore us to secrecy when we parted for the evening.

“This is where I’ll be for a few hours – care to join me?” We both declined and shook our heads in unison while accepting the note for a possible visit later during our stay in the Americas. Chaunea talked himself out of the visit because he knew one hour could quite possibly turn into three days or more.

Just prior to sunrise, we did have our fill of pleasurable indulgences…it was time for sleep and rest before returning to work.

The singer on stage, as we prepared for our departure, was a petite ginger-brown woman with a masterfully overpowering groin for a singing voice. It was simply magnifying. The song she sang brought about memories of a story I once heard. Chaunea appeared to be in a recollective state of mind as well. The story brought memories of a not so long ago occurrence back in England – the ‘Family Talbot!’

The song she sung was mystifying yet entertainingly and eerily suggestive. It was more bluesy than that of jazz music. Its lyrics mesmerized us. The Chief Inspector also came to mind:

“I got early this morning, so I could walk the floor. I’ve got to hit the streets cause there’s a wolf outside my door.

The bill collectors are calling, and my kids need better shoes…gonna go to church on Sunday, cause I’ve got nothin left ta loose…

And it’s a good day…it’s a real good day for the blues.

It’s raining cats and dogs outside, and I’m lookin for a job. The man I worked for laid me off; Lord, I worked for him real hard! But I won’t let my kids go hungry, no matter what I have ta do…

And it’s a good day; it’s a real good day for da blues.

Things are gettin better, the check is in the mail. I just threw my last dime down the wihin well…

and it’s a good day, it’s a real good day for da blues.

I got up early this morning, so I could walk the floor. I’ve got to hit the streets, cause there’s a wolf outside my door. The bill collectors are calling, and my kids need better shoes, gonna go ta church on Sunday, cause I’ve got nothin left ta loose.

And it’s a good day…it’s a real good day for da blues.”

The song’s lyrics seemed to stay with us on our short walking journey back to our hotel. For me, I kept seeing the sinister figure of the Chief Inspector, glaring from the darkened corner of the flat owned by ‘Madame L’Espanaye. The vision continually haunted me to no end…

We expected to be awakened by the charms of harmonious chatter and laughter. We looked forward to the sensual arousal of breakfast aromas dazzling our every senses to complement the happiness of the nostrils. It did not occur.

We were abruptly awakened by two burly New York City Cops. They were not smiling while we twitched and bitched about; tossing and turning in our beds.

Abberline was standing in a pool of blood. His gloved hands dripped twelve-hour-old gore. The right hand held a freshly lit cigarette… His face was ghostly white; bloodless.

 

End of Part Two…Next, Part Three: ‘Isle Manhattan’

“The Changeling – Loup Garou”

 

Til Next Time….

 

Acknowledgements:

Mr. ‘Eddie’ Poe (Edgar Allan Poe) and I, the 3rd Party Voice of the Editor/Publisher, Gregory V. Boulware

This story is based on and greatly inspired in whole or in part by Edgar Allen Poe, Master of the Macabre, ‘Murders In The Rue Morgue (Street)’and The Mystery of Marie Roget

The Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe

ISBN 9780385074070 and notes from Bookrags.com, “He has ruined the old sound with the first letter” http://www.bookrags.com/notes/poe/part17.html

“From Hell,” ~Jack the Ripper~

http://boweryofthecrimsonfrockandflesh.blogspot.com/2014/05/bowery-of-crimson-frock-and-flesh.html

“It’s A Real Good Day,” Ruth Brown

Wikipedia

Protestantism and Lutheran

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