Krampus

Christmas Ghost Stories: The Curse of the Catafalques, by F. Anstey

Ah, The Curse of the Catafalques. This is a gooder.

As explained previously, all this month leading up to The Big Day we will be featuring that delightful tradition of Christmas Ghost Stories here on the ol’ blog, focusing particularly on those which are out of copyright and can actually be posted instead of just referred to furtively and referenced with shoddily-edited YouTube clips of the dreadful tv movie adaptation.

And this one is my favourite.

Well, second-favourite, as I always save the fave-fave for The Big Day. But you’ll find this one a delight. Well, no. You’ll probably find it infuriating. I remember clearly the first time I read it I actually flung the book across the room, which is the sort of thing you read about people doing in old books, like flirting with their fans and narrowly escaping quicksand, but which never, ever happens in real life.

Only it did. I flung the HELL out of that book. And then I swore at it. My aunt came in to check on me, as I was lying in bed with a fever and she was worried I’d gotten out of bed to pee and just keeled over. She was not interested in hearing about how frustrating this Christmas ghost story was. She was very focused, my aunt, and once she’d determined that I was not only not keeled over but seemingly regaining my strength, she told me I was expected downstairs for dinner that night and that there’d be no more lying around in bed sick from then on.

So, ever since then I have been very careful not to read anything frustrating around my aunt. It’s Just! Not! Worth! It!

Anyhoodle, here’s our story. It’s heavy on the atmospherics, almost perfectly atmospheric, in fact. If it were any more atmospheric it would vanish into thin air. And for whatever reason, I found it on the Australian Gutenberg site, because the protagonist spends some time on Australia (voluntarily, of all things), leaves, and then things begin to happen, as is the way. I mean, have you been there?


 

Krampus

Krampus comes calling

The Curse of the Catafalques
F. Anstey

Chapter I

Unless I am very much mistaken, until the time when I was subjected to
the strange and exceptional experience which I now propose to relate,
I had never been brought into close contact with anything of a
supernatural description. At least if I ever was, the circumstance can
have made no lasting impression upon me, as I am quite unable to
recall it. But in the “Curse of the Catafalques” I was confronted with
a horror so weird and so altogether unusual, that I doubt whether I
shall ever succeed in wholly forgetting it–and I know that I have
never felt really well since.

It is difficult for me to tell my story intelligibly without some
account of my previous history by way of introduction, although I will
try to make it as little diffuse as I may.

I had not been a success at home; I was an orphan, and, in my anxiety
to please a wealthy uncle upon whom I was practically dependent, I had
consented to submit myself to a series of competitive examinations for
quite a variety of professions, but in each successive instance I
achieved the same disheartening failure. Some explanation of this may,
no doubt, be found in the fact that, with a fatal want of forethought,
I had entirely omitted to prepare myself by any particular course of
study–which, as I discovered too late, is almost indispensable to
success in these intellectual contests.

My uncle himself took this view, and conceiving–not without
discernment–that I was by no means likely to retrieve myself by any
severe degree of application in the future, he had me shipped out to
Australia, where he had correspondents and friends who would put
things in my way.

They did put several things in my way–and, as might have been
expected, I came to grief over every one of them, until at length,
having given a fair trial to each opening that had been provided for
me, I began to perceive that my uncle had made a grave mistake in
believing me suited for a colonial career.

I resolved to return home and convince him of his error, and give him
one more opportunity of repairing it; he had failed to discover the
best means of utilizing my undoubted ability, yet I would not reproach
him (nor do I reproach him even now), for I too have felt the
difficulty.

In pursuance of my resolution, I booked my passage home by one of the
Orient liners from Melbourne to London. About an hour before the ship
was to leave her moorings, I went on board and made my way at once to
the stateroom which I was to share with a fellow passenger, whose
acquaintance I then made for the first time.

He was a tall cadaverous young man of about my own age, and my first
view of him was not encouraging, for when I came in, I found him
rolling restlessly on the cabin floor, and uttering hollow groans.

“This will never do,” I said, after I had introduced myself; “if
you’re like this now, my good sir, what will you be when we’re fairly
out at sea? You must husband your resources for that.”

“And why trouble to roll? The ship will do all that for you, if you
will only have patience.”

He explained, somewhat brusquely, that he was suffering from mental
agony, not seasickness; and by a little pertinacious questioning (for
I would not allow myself to be rebuffed) I was soon in possession of
the secret which was troubling my companion, whose name, as I also
learned, was Augustus McFadden.

It seemed that his parents had emigrated before his birth, and he had
lived all his life in the Colony, where he was contented and fairly
prosperous–when an eccentric old aunt of his over in England happened
to die.

She left McFadden himself nothing, having given by her will the bulk
of her property to the only daughter of a baronet of ancient family,
in whom she took a strong interest. But the will was not without its
effect upon her existence, for it expressly mentioned the desire of
the testatrix that the baronet should receive her nephew Augustus if
he presented himself within a certain time, and should afford him
every facility for proving his fitness for acceptance as a suitor. The
alliance was merely recommended, however, not enjoined, and the gift
was unfettered by any conditions.

“I heard of it first,” said McFadden, “from Chlorine’s father
(Chlorine is her name, you know)”.

Sir Paul Catafalque wrote to me, informing me of the mention of my
name in my aunt’s will, enclosing his daughter’s photograph, and
formally inviting me to come over and do my best, if my affections
were not preengaged, to carry out the last wishes of the departed. He
added that I might expect to receive shortly a packet from my aunt’s
executors which would explain matters fully, and in which I should
find certain directions for my guidance. The photograph decided me; it
was so eminently pleasing that I felt at once that my poor aunt’s
wishes must be sacred to me. I could not wait for the packet to
arrive, and so I wrote at once to Sir Paul accepting the invitation.

“Yes,” he added, with another of the hollow groans, “miserable wretch
that I am, I pledged my honor to present myself as a suitor, and now–
now–here I am, actually embarked upon the desperate errand!”

He seemed inclined to begin to roll again here, but I stopped him.
“Really,” I said, “I think in your place, with an excellent chance–
for I presume the lady’s heart is also disengaged–with an excellent
chance of winning a baronet’s daughter with a considerable fortune and
a pleasing appearance, I should bear up better.”

“You think so,” he rejoined, “but you do not know all! The very day
after I had despatched my fatal letter, my aunt’s explanatory packet
arrived. I tell you that when I read the hideous revelations it
contained, and knew to what horrors I had innocently pledged myself,
my hair stood on end, and I believe it has remained on end ever since.
But it was too late. Here I am, engaged to carry out a task from which
my inmost soul recoils. Ah, if I dared but retract!”

“Then why in the name of common sense, don’t you retract?” I asked.
“Write and say that you much regret that a previous engagement, which
you had unfortunately overlooked, deprives you of the pleasure of
accepting.”

“Impossible,” he said; “it would be agony to me to feel that I had
incurred Chlorine’s contempt, even though I only know her through a
photograph at present. If I were to back out of it now, she would have
reason to despise me, would she not?”

“Perhaps she would,” I said.

“You see my dilemma–I cannot retract; on the other hand, I dare not
go on. The only thing, as I have thought lately, which could save me
and my honor at the same time would be my death on the voyage out, for
then my cowardice would remain undiscovered.”

“Well,” I said, “you can die on the voyage out if you want to–there
need be no difficulty about that. All you have to do is just to slip
over the side some dark night when no one is looking. I tell you
what,” I added (for somehow I began to feel a friendly interest in
this poor slack-baked creature): “if you don’t find your nerves equal
to it when it comes to the point, I don’t mind giving you a leg over
myself.”

“I never intended to go as far as that,” he said, rather pettishly,
and without any sign of gratitude for my offer; “I don’t care about
actually dying, if she could only be made to believe I had died that
would be quite enough for me. I could live on here, happy in the
thought that I was saved from her scorn. But how can she be made to
believe it?–that’s the point.”

“Precisely,” I said. “You can hardly write yourself and inform her
that you died on the voyage.”

“You might do this, though: sail to England as you propose, and go to
see her under another name, and break the sad intelligence to her.”

“Why, to be sure, I might do that!” he said, with some animation; “I
should certainly not be recognized–she can have no photograph of me,
for I have never been photographed. And yet—no,” he added, with a
shudder, “it is useless. I can’t do it; I dare not trust myself under
that roof!”

“I must find some other way. You have given me an idea. Listen,” he
said, after a short pause:

“You seem to take an interest in me; you are going to London; the
Catafalques live there, or near it, at some place called Parson’s
Green. Can I ask a great favor of you–would you very much mind
seeking them out yourself as a fellow-voyager of mine? I could not
expect you to tell a positive untruth on my account–but if, in the
course of an interview with Chlorine, you could contrive to convey the
impression that I died on my way to her side, you would be doing me a
service I can never repay!”

“I should very much prefer to do you a service that you could repay,”
was my very natural rejoinder.

“She will not require strict proof,” he continued eagerly; “I could
give you enough papers and things to convince her that you come from
me. Say you will do me this kindness!”

I hesitated for some time longer, not so much, perhaps, from scruples
of a conscientious kind as from a disinclination to undertake a
troublesome commission for an entire stranger—gratuitously. But
McFadden pressed me hard, and at length he made an appeal to springs
in my nature which are never touched in vain, and I yielded.

When we had settled the question in its financial aspect, I said to
McFadden, “The only thing now is–how would you prefer to pass away?
Shall I make you fall over and be devoured by a shark? That would be a
picturesque end–and I could do myself justice over the shark? I
should make the young lady weep considerably.”

“That won’t do at all!” he said irritably; “I can see from her face
that Chlorine is a girl of a delicate sensibility, and would be
disgusted by the idea of any suitor of hers spending his last cohesive
moments inside such a beastly repulsive thing as a shark. I don’t want
to be associated in her mind with anything so unpleasant. No, sir; I
will die–if you will oblige me by remembering it–of a low fever, of
a noninfectious type, at sunset, gazing at her portrait with my fading
eyesight and gasping her name with my last breath. She will cry more
over that!”

“I might work it up into something effective, certainly,” I admitted;
“and, by the way, if you are going to expire in my stateroom, I ought
to know a little more about you than I do. There is time still before
the tender goes; you might do worse than spend it in coaching me in
your life’s history.”

He gave me a few leading facts, and supplied me with several documents
for study on the voyage; he even abandoned to me the whole of his
traveling arrangements, which proved far more complete and serviceable
than my own.

And then the “All-ashore” bell rang, and McFadden, as he bade me
farewell, took from his pocket a bulky packet. “You have saved me,” he
said. “Now I can banish every recollection of this miserable episode.
I need no longer preserve my poor aunt’s directions; let them go,
then.”

Before I could say anything, he had fastened something heavy to the
parcel and dropped it through the cabin-light into the sea, after
which he went ashore, and I have never seen nor heard of him since.

During the voyage I had leisure to think seriously over the affair,
and the more I thought of the task I had undertaken, the less I liked
it.

No man with the instincts of a gentleman can feel any satisfaction at
finding himself on the way to harrow up a poor young lady’s feelings
by a perfectly fictitious account of the death of a poor-spirited
suitor who could selfishly save his reputation at her expense.

And so strong was my feeling about this from the very first, that I
doubt whether, if McFadden’s terms had been a shade less liberal, I
could ever have brought myself to consent.

But it struck me that, under judiciously sympathetic treatment, the
lady might prove not inconsolable, and that I myself might be able to
heal the wound I was about to inflict.

I found a subtle pleasure in the thought of this, for, unless McFadden
had misinformed me, Chlorine’s fortune was considerable, and did not
depend upon any marriage she might or might not make. On the other
hand, I was penniless, and it seemed to me only too likely that her
parents might seek to found some objection to me on that ground.

I studied the photograph McFadden had left with me; it was that of a
pensive but distinctly pretty face, with an absence of firmness in it
that betrayed a plastic nature. I felt certain that if I only had the
recommendation, as McFadden had, of an aunt’s dying wishes, it would
not take me long to effect a complete conquest.

And then, as naturally as possible, came the thought–why should not I
procure myself the advantages of this recommendation? Nothing could be
easier; I had merely to present myself as Augustus McFadden, who was
hitherto a mere name to them; the information I already possessed as
to his past life would enable me to support the character, and as it
seemed that the baronet lived in great seclusion, I could easily
contrive to keep out of the way of the few friends and relations I had
in London until my position was secure.

What harm would this innocent deception do to anyone? McFadden, even
if he ever knew, would have no right to complain–he had given up all
pretentions himself–and if he was merely anxious to preserve his
reputation, his wishes would be more than carried out, for I flattered
myself that whatever ideal Chlorine might have formed of her destined
suitor, I should come much nearer to it than poor McFadden could ever
have done. No, he would gain, positively gain, by my assumption. He
could not have counted upon arousing more than a mild regret as it
was; now he would be fondly, it might be madly, loved. By proxy, it is
true, but that was far more than he deserved.

Chlorine was not injured–far from it; she would have a suitor to
welcome, not weep over, and his mere surname could make no possible
difference to her. And lastly, it was a distinct benefit to me, for
with a new name and an excellent reputation success would be an
absolute certainty.

What wonder, then, that the scheme, which opened out a far more manly
and honorable means of obtaining a livelihood than any I had
previously contemplated, should have grown more attractively feasible
each day, until I resolved at last to carry it out? Let rigid
moralists blame me if they will; I have never pretended to be better
than the average run of mankind (though I am certainly no worse), and
no one who really knows what human nature is will reproach me very
keenly for obeying what was almost an instinct. And I may say this,
that if ever an unfortunate man was bitterly punished for a fraud
which was harmless, if not actually pious, by a visitation of intense
and protracted terror, that person was I!

Chapter II

After arriving in England, and before presenting myself at Parson’s
Green in my assumed character, I took one precaution against any
danger there might be of my throwing away my liberty in a fit of
youthful impulsiveness. I went to Somerset House, and carefully
examined the probate copy of the late Miss Petronia McFadden’s last
will and testament.

Nothing could have been more satisfactory; a sum of between forty and
fifty thousand pounds was Chlorine’s unconditionally, just as McFadden
had said. I searched, but could find nothing in the will whatever to
prevent her property, under the then existing state of the law, from
passing under the entire control of a future husband.

After this, then, I could no longer restrain my ardor, and so, one
foggy afternoon about the middle of December, I found myself driving
towards the house in which I reckoned upon achieving a comfortable
independence.

Parson’s Green was reached at last; a small triangular open space
bordered on two of its sides by mean and modern erections, but on the
third by some ancient mansions, gloomy and neglected-looking indeed,
but with traces on them still of their former consequence.

My cab stopped before the gloomiest of them all–a square grim house
with dull and small-paned windows, flanked by two narrow and
projecting wings, and built of dingy brick, faced with yellow-stone.
Some old scrollwork railings, with a corroded frame in the middle for
a long departed oil lamp, separated the house from the road; inside
was a semicircular patch of rank grass, and a damp gravel sweep led
from the heavy gate to a square portico supported by two wasted black
wooden pillars.

As I stood there, after pulling the pear-shaped bell-handle, and heard
the bell tinkling and jangling fretfully within, and as I glanced up
at the dull housefront looming cheerless out of the fog-laden December
twilight, I felt my confidence beginning to abandon me for the first
time, and I really was almost inclined to give the whole thing up and
run away.

Before I could make up my mind, a mouldy and melancholy butler had
come slowly down the sweep and opened the gate—and my opportunity
had fled. Later I remembered how, as I walked along the gravel, a wild
and wailing scream pierced the heavy silence–it seemed at once a
lamentation and a warning. But as the District Railway was quite near,
I did not attach any particular importance to the sound at the time.

I followed the butler through a dank and chilly hall, where an antique
lamp hung glimmering feebly through its panes of dusty stained glass,
up a broad carved staircase, and along some tortuous paneled passages,
until at length I was ushered into a long and rather low reception
room, scantily furnished with the tarnished mirrors and spindle-legged
brocaded furniture of a bygone century.

A tall and meager old man, with a long white beard, and haggard,
sunken black eyes, was seated at one side of the high chimney-piece,
while opposite him sat a little limp old lady with a nervous
expression, and dressed in trailing black robes relieved by a little
yellow lace about the head and throat. As I saw them, I recognized at
once that I was in the presence of Sir Paul Catafalque and his wife.

They both rose slowly, and advanced arm-in-arm in their old-fashioned
way, and met me with a stately solemnity. “You are indeed welcome,”
they said in faint hollow voices. “We thank you for this proof of your
chivalry and devotion. It cannot be but that such courage and such
self-sacrifice will meet with their reward!”

And although I did not quite understand how they could have discerned,
as yet, that I was chivalrous and devoted, I was too glad to have made
a good impression to do anything but beg them not to mention it.

And then a slender figure, with a drooping head, a wan face, and large
sad eyes, came softly down the dimly-lighted room towards me, and I
and my destined bride met for the first time.

As I had expected, after she had once anxiously raised her eyes, and
allowed them to rest upon me, her face was lighted up by an evident
relief, as she discovered that the fulfillment of my aunt’s wishes
would not be so distasteful to her, personally, as it might have been.

For myself, I was upon the whole rather disappointed in her; the
portrait had flattered her considerably–the real Chlorine was thinner
and paler than I had been led to anticipate, while there was a settled
melancholy in her manner which I felt would prevent her from being an
exhilarating companion.

And I must say I prefer a touch of archness and animation in
womankind, and, if I had been free to consult my own tastes, should
have greatly preferred to become a member of a more cheerful family.
Under the circumstances, however, I was not entitled to be too
particular, and I put up with it.

From the moment of my arrival I fell easily and naturally into the
position of an honored guest, who might be expected in time to form
nearer and dearer relations with the family, and certainly I was
afforded every opportunity of doing so.

I made no mistakes, for the diligence with which I had got up
McFadden’s antecedents enabled me to give perfectly satisfactory
replies to most of the few allusions or questions that were addressed
to me, and I drew upon my imagination for the rest.

But those days I spent in the baronet’s family were far from lively:
the Catafalques went nowhere; they seemed to know nobody; at least no
visitors ever called or dined there while I was with them, and the
time dragged slowly on in a terrible monotony in that dim tomb of a
house, which I was not expected to leave except for very brief
periods, for Sir Paul would grow uneasy if I walked out alone–even to
Putney.

There was something, indeed, about the attitude of both the old people
towards myself which I could only consider as extremely puzzling. They
would follow me about with a jealous care, blended with anxious alarm,
and their faces as they looked at me wore an expression of tearful
admiration, touched with something of pity, as for some youthful
martyr; at times, too, they spoke of the gratitude they felt, and
professed a determined hopefulness as to my ultimate success.

Now I was well aware that this is not the ordinary bearing of the
parents of an heiress to a suitor who, however deserving in other
respects, is both obscure and penniless, and the only way in which I
could account for it was by the supposition that there was some latent
defect in Chlorine’s temper or constitution, which entitled the man
who won her to commiseration, and which would also explain their
evident anxiety to get her off their hands.

But although anything of this kind would be, of course, a drawback, I
felt that forty or fifty thousand pounds would be a fair set-off–and
I could not expect everything.

When the time came at which I felt that I could safely speak to
Chlorine of what lay nearest my heart, I found an unforeseen
difficulty in bringing her to confess that she reciprocated my
passion.

She seemed to shrink unaccountably from speaking the word which gave
me the right to claim her, confessing that she dreaded it not for her
own sake, but for mine alone, which struck me as an unpleasantly
morbid trait in so young a girl.

Again and again I protested that I was willing to run all risks–as I
was–and again and again she resisted, though always more faintly,
until at last my efforts were successful, and I forced from her lips
the assent which was of so much importance to me.

But it cost her a great effort, and I believe she even swooned
immediately afterwards; but this is only conjecture, as I lost no time
in seeking Sir Paul and clenching the matter before Chlorine had time
to retract.

He heard what I had to tell him with a strange light of triumph and
relief in his weary eyes.

“You have made an old man very happy and hopeful,” he said. “I ought,
perhaps, even now to deter you, but I am too selfish for that. And you
are young and brave and ardent; why need we despair? I suppose,” he
added, looking keenly at me, “you would prefer as little delay as
possible?”

“I should indeed,” I replied. I was pleased, for I had not expected to
find him so sensible as that.

“Then leave all preliminaries to me; when the day and time have been
settled, I will let you know. As you are aware, it will be necessary
to have your signature to this document; and here, my boy, I must in
conscience warn you solemnly that by signing you make your decision
irrevocable–irrevocable, you understand?”

When I had heard this, I need scarcely say that I was all eagerness to
sign; so great was my haste that I did not even try to decipher the
somewhat crabbed and antiquated writing in which the terms of the
agreement were set out.

I was anxious to impress the baronet with a sense of my gentlemanly
feeling and the confidence I had in him, while I naturally presumed
that, since the contract was binding upon me, the baronet would, as a
man of honor, hold it equally conclusive on his own side.

As I look back upon it now, it seems simply extraordinary that I
should have been so easily satisfied, have taken so little pains to
find out the exact position in which I was placing myself; but, with
the ingenuous confidence of youth, I fell an easy victim, as I was to
realize later with terrible enlightenment.

“Say nothing of this to Chlorine,” said Sir Paul, as I handed him the
document signed, “until the final arrangements are made; it will only
distress her unnecessarily.”

I wondered why at the time, but I promised to obey, supposing that he
knew best, and for some days after that I made no mention to Chlorine
of the approaching day which was to witness our union.

As we were continually together, I began to regard her with an esteem
which I had not thought possible at first. Her looks improved
considerably under the influence of happiness, and I found she could
converse intelligently enough upon several topics, and did not bore me
nearly as much as I was fully prepared for.

And so the time passed less heavily, until one afternoon the baronet
took me aside mysteriously. “Prepare yourself, Augustus,” (they had
all learned to call me Augustus), he said; “all is arranged. The event
upon which our dearest hopes depend is fixed for tomorrow–in the Gray
Chamber of course, and at midnight.”

I thought this a curious time and place for the ceremony, but I had
divined his eccentric passion for privacy and retirement, and only
imagined that he had procured some very special form of license.

“But you do not know the Gray Chamber,” he added.

“Come with me, and I will show you where it is.” And he led me up the
broad staircase, and, stopping at the end of a passage before an
immense door covered with black baize and studded with brass nails,
which gave it a hideous resemblance to a gigantic coffin lid, he
pressed a spring, and it fell slowly back.

I saw a long dim gallery, whose very existence nothing in the external
appearance of the mansion had led me to suspect; it led to a heavy
oaken door with cumbrous plates and fastenings of metal.

“Tomorrow night is Christmas eve, as you are doubtless aware,” he said
in a hushed voice. “At twelve, then, you will present yourself at
yonder door–the door of the Gray Chamber–where you must fulfill the
engagement you have made.”

I was surprised at his choosing such a place for the ceremony; it
would have been more cheerful in the long drawing room; but it was
evidently a whim of his, and I was too happy to think of opposing it.
I hastened at once to Chlorine, with her father’s sanction, and told
her that the crowning moment of both our lives was fixed at last.

The effect of my announcement was astonishing: she fainted, for which
I remonstrated with her as soon as she came to herself. “Such extreme
sensitiveness, my love,” I could not help saying, “may be highly
creditable to your sense of maidenly propriety, but allow me to say
that I can scarcely regard it as a compliment.”

“Augustus,” she said, “you must not think I doubt you; and yet–and
yet–the ordeal will be a severe one for you.”

“I will steel my nerves,” I said grimly (for I was annoyed with her);
“and, after all, Chlorine, the ceremony is not invariably fatal; I
have heard of the victim surviving it–occasionally.”

“How brave you are!” she said earnestly. “I will imitate you,
Augustus; I too will hope.”

I really thought her insane, which alarmed me for the validity of the
marriage. “Yes, I am weak, foolish, I know,” she continued; “but oh, I
shudder so when I think of you, away in that gloomy Gray Chamber,
going through it all alone!”

This confirmed my worst fears. No wonder her parents felt grateful to
me for relieving them of such a responsibility! “May I ask where you
intend to be at the time?” I inquired very quietly.

“You will not think us unfeeling,” she replied, “but dear papa
considered that such anxiety as ours would be scarcely endurable did
we not seek some distraction from it; and so, as a special favor, he
has procured evening orders for Sir John Soane’s Museum in Lincoln’s
Inn Fields, where we shall drive immediately after dinner.”

I knew that the proper way to treat the insane was by reasoning with
them gently, so as to place their own absurdity clearly before them.
“If you are forgetting your anxiety in Sir John Soane’s Museum, while
I cool my heels in the Gray Chamber,” I said, “is it probable that any
clergyman will be induced to perform the marriage ceremony? Did you
really think two people can be united separately?”

She was astonished this time. “You are joking!” she cried; “you cannot
really believe that we are to be married in–in the Gray Chamber?”

“Then will you tell me where we are to be married?” I asked. “I think
I have the right to know–it can hardly be at the Museum!”

She turned upon me with a sudden misgiving; “I could almost fancy,”
she said anxiously, “that this is no feigned ignorance. Augustus, your
aunt sent you a message–tell me, have you read it?” Now, owing to
McFadden’s want of consideration, this was my one weak point–I had
not read it, and thus I felt myself upon delicate ground. The message
evidently related to business of importance which was to be transacted
in this Gray Chamber, and as the genuine McFadden clearly knew all
about it, it would have been simply suicidal to confess my own
ignorance.

“Why of course, darling, of course,” I said hastily. “You must think
no more of my silly joke; there is something I have to arrange in the
Gray Chamber before I can call you mine. But, tell me, why does it
make you so uneasy?” I added, thinking it might be prudent to find out
beforehand what formality was expected from me.

“I cannot help it–no, I cannot!” she cried, “the test is so
searching–are you sure that you are prepared at all points? I
overheard my father say that no precaution could safely be neglected.
I have such a terrible foreboding that, after all, this may come
between us.”

It was clear enough to me now; the baronet was by no means so simple
and confiding in his choice of a son-in-law as I had imagined, and had
no intention, after all, of accepting me without some inquiry into my
past life, my habits, and my prospects.

That he should seek to make this examination more impressive by
appointing this ridiculous midnight interview for it, was only what
might have been expected from an old man of his confirmed
eccentricity.

But I knew I could easily contrive to satisfy the baronet, and with
the idea of consoling Chlorine, I said as much. “Why will you persist
in treating me like a child, Augustus?” she broke out almost
petulantly. “They have tried to hide it all from me, but do you
suppose I do not know that in the Gray Chamber you will have to
encounter one far more formidable, far more difficult to satisfy, than
poor dear papa?”

“I see you know more than I–more than I thought you did,” I said.
“Let us understand one another, Chlorine–tell me exactly how much you
know.”

“I have told you all I know,” she said; “it is your turn to confide in
me.”

“Not even for your sweet sake, my dearest,” I was obliged to say, “can
I break the seal that is set upon my tongue. You must not press me.
Come, let us talk of other things.”

But I now saw that matters were worse than I had thought; instead of
the feeble old baronet I should have to deal with a stranger, some
exacting and officious friend or relation perhaps, or, more probably,
a keen family solicitor who would put questions I should not care
about answering, and even be capable of insisting upon strict
settlements.

It was that, of course; they would try to tie my hands by a strict
settlement, with a brace of cautious trustees; unless I was very
careful, all I should get by my marriage would be a paltry life-
interest, contingent upon my surviving my wife.

This revolted me; it seems to me that when law comes in with its
offensively suspicious restraints upon the husband and its
indelicately premature provisions for the offspring, all the poetry of
love is gone at once. By allowing the wife to receive the income “for
her separate use and free from the control of her husband,” as the
phrase runs, you infallibly brush the bloom from the peach, and
implant the “little speck within the fruit” which, as Tennyson
beautifully says, will widen by and by and make the music mute.

This may be overstrained on my part, but it represents my honest
conviction; I was determined to have nothing to do with law. If it was
necessary, I felt quite sure enough of Chlorine to defy Sir Paul. I
would refuse to meet a family solicitor anywhere, and I intended to
say so plainly at the first convenient opportunity.

Chapter III

The opportunity came after dinner that evening when we were all in the
drawing-room, Lady Catafalque dozing uneasily in her armchair behind a
fire screen, and Chlorine, in the further room, playing funereal
dirges in the darkness, and pressing the stiff keys of the old piano
with a languid uncertain touch.

Drawing a chair up to Sir Paul’s, I began to broach the subject calmly
and temperately. “I find,” I said, “that we have not quite understood
one another over this affair in the Gray Chamber. When I agreed to an
appointment there, I thought–well, it doesn’t matter what I thought,
I was a little too premature. What I want to say now is, that while I
have no objection to you, as Chlorine’s father, asking me any
questions (in reason) about myself, I feel a delicacy in discussing my
private affairs with a perfect stranger.”

His burning eyes looked me through and through; “I don’t understand,”
he said. “Tell me what you are talking about.”

I began all over again, telling him exactly what I felt about
solicitors and settlements. “Are you well?” he asked sternly. “What
have I ever said about settlements or solicitors?”

I saw that I was wrong again, and could only stammer something to the
effect that a remark of Chlorine’s had given me this impression.

“What she could have said to convey such an idea passes my
comprehension,” he said gravely; “but she knows nothing—she’s a mere
child. I have felt from the first, my boy, that your aunt’s intention
was to benefit you quite as much as my own daughter. Believe me, I
shall not attempt to restrict you in any way; I shall be too rejoiced
to see you come forth in safety from the Gray Chamber.”

All the relief I had begun to feel respecting the settlements was
poisoned by these last words.

Why did he talk of that confounded Gray Chamber as if it were a fiery
furnace, or a cage of lions? What mystery was there concealed beneath
all this, and how, since I was obviously supposed to be thoroughly
acquainted with it, could I manage to penetrate the secret of this
perplexing appointment?

While he had been speaking, the faint, mournful music died away, and,
looking up, I saw Chlorine, a pale, slight form, standing framed in
the archway which connected the two rooms.

“Go back to your piano, my child,” said the baronet; “Augustus and I
have much to talk about which is not for your ears.

“But why not?” she said; “oh, why not? Papa! Dearest mother! Augustus!
I can bear it no longer! I have often felt of late that we are living
this strange life under the shadow of some fearful Thing, which would
chase all cheerfulness from any home. More than this I did not seek to
know; I dared not ask. But now, when I know that Augustus, whom I love
with my whole heart, must shortly face this ghastly presence, you
cannot wonder if I seek to learn the real extent of the danger that
awaits him! Tell me all. I can bear the worst–for it cannot be more
horrible than my own fears!”

Lady Catafalque had roused herself and was wringing her long mittened
hands and moaning feebly. “Paul,” she said, “you must not tell her; it
will kill her; she is not strong!” Her husband seemed undecided, and I
myself began to feel exquisitely uncomfortable. Chlorine’s words
pointed to something infinitely more terrible than a mere solicitor.

“Poor girl,” said Sir Paul at last, “it was for your own good that the
whole truth has been thus concealed from you; but now, perhaps, the
time has come when the truest kindness will be to reveal all. What do
you say, Augustus?” “I–I agree with you,” I replied faintly; “she
ought to be told.”

“Precisely!” he said. “Break to her, then, the nature of the ordeal
which lies before you.”

It was the very thing which I wanted to be broken to me! I would have
given the world to know all about it myself, and so I stared at his
gloomy old face with eyes that must have betrayed my helpless dismay.
At last I saved myself by suggesting that such a story would come less
harshly from a parent’s lips.

“Well, so be it,” he said. “Chlorine, compose yourself, dearest one;
sit down there, and summon up all your fortitude to hear what I am
about to tell you. You must know, then–I think you had better let
your mother give you a cup of tea before I begin; it will steady your
nerves.”

During the delay which followed–for Sir Paul did not consider his
daughter sufficiently fortified until she had taken at least three
cups–I suffered tortures of suspense, which I dared not betray.

They never thought of offering me any tea, though the merest observer
might have noticed how very badly I wanted it.

At last the baronet was satisfied, and not without a sort of gloomy
enjoyment and a proud relish of the distinction implied in his
exceptional affliction, he began his weird and almost incredible tale.

“It is now,” said he, “some centuries since our ill-fated house was
first afflicted with the family curse which still attends it. A
certain Humfrey de Catafalque, by his acquaintance with the black art,
as it was said, had procured the services of a species of familiar, a
dread and supernatural being. For some reason he had conceived a
bitter enmity towards his nearest relations, whom he hated with a
virulence that not even death could soften. For, by a refinement of
malice, he bequeathed this baleful thing to his descendants forever,
as an inalienable heirloom! And to this day it follows the title–and
the head of the family for the time being is bound to provide it with
a secret apartment under his own roof. But that is not the worst as
each member of our house succeeds to the ancestral rank and honors, he
must seek an interview with ‘The Curse,’ as it has been styled for
generations. And, in that interview, it is decided whether the spell
is to be broken and the Curse depart from us forever–or whether it is
to continue its blighting influence, and hold yet another life in
miserable thraldom.”

“And are you one of its thralls then, papa?” faltered Chlorine.

“I am, indeed,” he said. “I failed to quell it, as every Catafalque,
however brave and resolute, has failed yet. It checks all my accounts,
and woe to me if that cold, withering eye discovers the slightest
error–even in the pence column! I could not describe the extent of my
bondage to you, my daughter, or the humiliation of having to go and
tremble monthly before that awful presence.

“Not even yet, old as I am, have I grown quite accustomed to it!”

Never, in my wildest imaginings, had I anticipated anything one
quarter so dreadful as this; but still I clung to the hope that it was
impossible to bring me into the affair.

“But, Sir Paul,” I said–“Sir Paul, you–you mustn’t stop there, or
you’ll alarm Chlorine more than there’s any need to do. She–ha, ha!–
don’t you see, she has got some idea into her head that I have to go
through much the same sort of thing. Just explain that to her. I’m not
a Catafalque, Chlorine, so it–it can’t interfere with me. That is so,
isn’t it, Sir Paul? Good heavens, sir, don’t torture her like this!” I
cried, as he was silent. “Speak out!”

“You mean well, Augustus,” he said, “but the time for deceiving her
has gone by; she must know the worst. Yes, my poor child,” he
continued to Chlorine, whose eyes were wide with terror–though I
fancy mine were even wider–“unhappily, though our beloved Augustus is
not a Catafalque himself, he has of his own free will brought himself
within the influence of the Curse, and he, too, at the appointed hour,
must keep the awful assignation, and brave all that the most fiendish
malevolence can do to shake his resolution.”

I could not say a single word; the horror of the idea was altogether
too much for me, and I fell back on my chair in a state of speechless
collapse.

“You see,” Sir Paul went on explaining, “it is not only all new
baronets, but every one who would seek an alliance with the females of
our race, who must, by the terms of that strange bequest, also undergo
this trial. It may be in some degree owing to this necessity that,
ever since Humfrey de Catafalque’s diabolical testament first took
effect, every maiden of our House has died a spinster.” (Here Chlorine
hid her face with a low wail.) “In 1770, it is true, one solitary
suitor was emboldened by love and daring to face the ordeal. He went
calmly and resolutely to the chamber where the Curse was then lodged,
and the next morning they found him outside the door–a gibbering
maniac!”

I writhed on my chair. “Augustus!” cried Chlorine wildly, “promise me
you will not permit the Curse to turn you into a gibbering maniac. I
think if I saw you gibber I should die!”

I was on the verge of gibbering then; I dared not trust myself to
speak.

“Nay, Chlorine,” said Sir Paul more cheerfully “there is no cause for
alarm; all has been made smooth for Augustus.” (I began to brighten a
little at this.) “His Aunt Petronia had made a special study of the
old-world science of incantation, and had undoubtedly succeeded at
last in discovering the master-word which, employed according to her
directions, would almost certainly break the unhallowed spell. In her
compassionate attachment to us, she formed the design of persuading a
youth of blameless life and antecedents to present himself as our
champion, and the reports she had been given of our dear Augustus’s
irreproachable character led her to select him as a likely instrument.
And her confidence in his generosity and courage was indeed well-
founded, for he responded at once to the appeal of his departed aunt,
and, with her instructions for his safeguard, and the consciousness of
his virtue as an additional protection, there is hope, my child,
strong hope, that, though the struggle may be a long and bitter one,
yet Augustus will emerge a victor!”

I saw very little ground for expecting to emerge as anything of the
kind, or for that matter to emerge at all, except in installments–for
the master-word which was to abash the demon was probably inside the
packet of instructions, and that was certainly somewhere at the bottom
of the sea, outside Melbourne, fathoms below the surface.

I could bear no more. “It’s simply astonishing to me,” I said, “that
in the nineteenth century, hardly six miles from Charing Cross, you
can calmly allow this hideous ‘Curse,’ or whatever you call it, to
have things all its own way like this.”

“What can I do, Augustus?” he asked helplessly.

“Do? Anything!” I retorted wildly (for I scarcely knew what I said).
“Take it out for an airing (it must want an airing by this time); take
it out–and lose it! Or get both the archbishops to step in and lay it
for you. Sell the house, and make the purchaser take it at a
valuation, with the other fixtures. I certainly would not live under
the same roof with it. And I want you to understand one thing–I was
never told all this; I have been kept in the dark about it. Of course
I knew there was some kind of a curse in the family–but I never
dreamed of anything so bad as this, and I never had any intention of
being boxed up alone with it either. I shall not go near the Gray
Chamber!”

“Not go near it!” they all cried aghast.

“Not on any account,” I said, for I felt firmer and easier now that I
had taken up this position.

“If the Curse has any business with me, let it come down and settle it
here before you all in a plain straightforward manner. Let us go about
it in a businesslike way. On second thoughts,” I added, fearing lest
they should find means of carrying out this suggestion, “I won’t meet
it anywhere!”

“And why–why won’t you meet it?” they asked breathlessly.

“Because,” I explained desperately, “because I’m–I’m a materialist.”
(I had not been previously aware that I had any decided opinions on
the question, but I could not stay then to consider the point.) “How
can I have any dealings with a preposterous supernatural something
which my reason forbids me to believe in? You see my difficulty? It
would be inconsistent, to begin with, and–and extremely painful to
both sides.”

“No more of this ribaldry,” said Sir Paul sternly. “It may be terribly
remembered against you when the hour comes. Keep a guard over your
tongue, for all our sakes, and more especially your own. Recollect
that the Curse knows all that passes beneath this roof. And do not
forget, too, that you are pledged–irrevocably pledged. You must
confront the Curse!”

Only a short hour ago, and I had counted Chlorine’s fortune and
Chlorine as virtually mine; and now I saw my golden dreams roughly
shattered forever! And, oh, what a wrench it was to tear myself from
them! What it cost me to speak the words that barred my Paradise to me
forever!

But if I wished to avoid confronting the Curse–and I did wish this
very much–I had no other course. “I had no right to pledge myself,” I
said, with quivering lips, “under all the circumstances.”

“Why not,” they demanded again; “what circumstances?”

“Well, in the first place,” I assured them earnestly, “I’m a base
impostor. I am indeed. I’m not Augustus McFadden at all. My real name
is of no consequence–but it’s a prettier one than that.

“As for McFadden, he, I regret to say, is now no more.”

Why on earth I could not have told the plain truth here has always
been a mystery to me. I suppose I had been lying so long that it was
difficult to break myself of this occasionally inconvenient trick at
so short a notice, but I certainly mixed things up to a hopeless
extent.

“Yes,” I continued mournfully, “McFadden is dead; I will tell you how
he died if you would care to know. During his voyage here he fell
overboard, and was almost instantly appropriated by a gigantic shark,
when, as I happened to be present, I enjoyed the melancholy privilege
of seeing him pass away. For one brief moment I beheld him between the
jaws of the creature, so pale but so composed (I refer to McFadden,
you understand–not the shark), he threw just one glance up at me, and
with a smile, the sad sweetness of which I shall never forget (it was
McFadden’s smile, I mean, of course–not the shark’s), he, courteous
and considerate to the last, requested me to break the news and
remember him very kindly to you all. And, in the same instant, he
abruptly vanished within the monster–and I saw neither of them
again!”

Of course in bringing the shark in at all I was acting directly
contrary to my instructions, but I quite forgot them in my anxiety to
escape the acquaintance of the Curse of the Catafalques.

“If this is true, sir,” said the baronet haughtily when I had
finished, “you have indeed deceived us basely.”

“That,” I replied, “is what I was endeavoring to bring out. You see,
it puts it quite out of my power to meet your family Curse. I should
not feel justified in intruding upon it. So, if you will kindly let
some one fetch a fly or a cab in half an hour–”

“Stop!” cried Chlorine. “Augustus, as I will call you still, you must
not go like this. If you have stooped to deceit, it was for love of
me, and–and Mr. McFadden is dead. If he had been alive, I should have
felt it my duty to allow him an opportunity of winning my affection,
but he is lying in his silent tomb, and–and I have learnt to love
you. Stay, then; stay and brave the Curse; we may yet be happy!”

I saw how foolish I had been not to tell the truth at first, and I
hastened to repair this error.

“When I described McFadden as dead,” I said hoarsely, “it was a loose
way of putting the facts–because, to be quite accurate, he isn’t
dead. We found out afterwards that it was another fellow the shark had
swallowed, and, in fact, another shark altogether. So he is alive and
well now, at Melbourne, but when he came to know about the Curse, he
was too much frightened to come across, and he asked me to call and
make his excuses. I have now done so, and will trespass no further on
your kindness–if you will tell somebody to bring a vehicle of any
sort in a quarter of an hour.”

“Pardon me,” said the baronet, “but we cannot part in this way. I
feared when first I saw you that your resolution might give way under
the strain; it is only natural, I admit. But you deceive yourself if
you think we cannot see that these extraordinary and utterly
contradictory stories are prompted by sudden panic. I quite understand
it, Augustus; I cannot blame you; but to allow you to withdraw now
would be worse than weakness on my part. The panic will pass, you will
forget these fears tomorrow, you must forget them; remember, you have
promised. For your own sake, I shall take care that you do not forfeit
that solemn bond, for I dare not let you run the danger of exciting
the Curse by a deliberate insult.”

I saw clearly that his conduct was dictated by a deliberate and most
repulsive selfishness; he did not entirely believe me, but he was
determined that if there was any chance that I, whoever I might be,
could free him from his present thraldom, he would not let it escape
him.

I raved, I protested, I implored–all in vain; they would not believe
a single word I said, they positively refused to release me, and
insisted upon my performing my engagement.

And at last Chlorine and her mother left the room, with a little
contempt for my unworthiness mingled with their evident compassion;
and a little later Sir Paul conducted me to my room, and locked me in
“till,” as he said, “I had returned to my senses.”

Chapter IV

What a night I passed, as I tossed sleeplessly from side to side under
the canopy of my old-fashioned bedstead, torturing my fevered brain
with vain speculations as to the fate the morrow was to bring me.

I felt myself perfectly helpless; I saw no way out of it; they seemed
bent upon offering me up as a sacrifice to this private Moloch of
theirs. The baronet was quite capable of keeping me locked up all the
next day and pushing me into the Gray Chamber to take my chance when
the hour came.

If I had only some idea what the Curse was like to look at, I thought
I might not feel quite so afraid of it; the vague and impalpable
awfulness of the thing was intolerable, and the very thought of it
caused me to fling myself about in an ecstasy of horror.

By degrees, however, as daybreak came near, I grew calmer–until at
length I arrived at a decision. It seemed evident to me that, as I
could not avoid my fate, the wisest course was to go forth to meet it
with as good a grace as possible. Then, should I by some fortunate
accident come well out of it, my fortune was ensured.

But if I went on repudiating my assumed self to the very last, I
should surely arouse a suspicion which the most signal rout of the
Curse would not serve to dispel.

And after all, as I began to think, the whole thing had probably been
much exaggerated; if I could only keep my head, and exercise all my
powers of cool impudence, I might contrive to hoodwink this formidable
relic of medieval days, which must have fallen rather behind the age
by this time. It might even turn out to be (although I was hardly
sanguine as to this) as big a humbug as I was myself, and we should
meet with confidential winks, like the two augurs.

But, at all events, I resolved to see this mysterious affair out, and
trust to my customary good luck to bring me safely through, and so,
having found the door unlocked, I came down to breakfast something
like my usual self, and set myself to remove the unfavorable
impression I had made on the previous night.

They did it from consideration for me, but still it was mistaken
kindness for them all to leave me entirely to my own thoughts during
the whole of the day, for I was driven to mope alone about the gloom-
laden building, until by dinnertime I was very low indeed from nervous
depression.

We dined in almost unbroken silence; now and then, as Sir Paul saw my
hand approaching a decanter, he would open his lips to observe that I
should need the clearest head and the firmest nerve ere long, and warn
me solemnly against the brown sherry; from time to time, too, Chlorine
and her mother stole apprehensive glances at me, and sighed heavily
between every course. I never remember eating a dinner with so little
enjoyment.

The meal came to an end at last; the ladies rose, and Sir Paul and I
were left to brood over the dessert. I fancy both of us felt a
delicacy in starting a conversation, and before I could hit upon a
safe remark, Lady Catafalque and her daughter returned, dressed, to my
unspeakable horror, in readiness to go out. Worse than that even, Sir
Paul apparently intended to accompany them, for he rose at their
entrance.

“It is now time for us to bid you a solemn farewell, Augustus,” he
said, in his hollow old voice.

“You have three hours before you yet, and if you are wise, you will
spend them in earnest self-preparation.

“At midnight, punctually, for you must not dare to delay, you will go
to the Gray Chamber–the way thither you know, and you will find the
Curse prepared for you. Good-bye, then, brave and devoted boy; stand
firm, and no harm can befall you!”

“You are going away, all of you!” I cried. They were not what you
might call a gay family to sit up with, but even their society was
better than my own.

“Upon these dread occasions,” he explained, “it is absolutely
forbidden for any human being but one to remain in the house. All the
servants have already left, and we are about to take our departure for
a private hotel near the Strand. We shall just have time, if we start
at once, to inspect the Soane Museum on our way thither, which will
serve as some distraction from the terrible anxiety we shall be
feeling.”

At this I believe I positively howled with terror; all my old panic
came back with a rush.

“Don’t leave me all alone with It!” I cried; “I shall go mad if you
do!”

Sir Paul simply turned on his heel in silent contempt, and his wife
followed him; but Chlorine remained behind for one instant, and
somehow, as she gazed at me with a yearning pity in her sad eyes, I
thought I had never seen her looking so pretty before.

“Augustus,” she said, “get up.” (I suppose I must have been on the
floor somewhere.) “Be a man; show us we were not mistaken in you. You
know I would spare you this if I could; but we are powerless. Oh, be
brave, or I shall lose you forever!”

Her appeal did seem to put a little courage into me; I staggered up
and kissed her slender hand and vowed sincerely to be worthy of her.

And then she too passed out, and the heavy hall door slammed behind
the three, and the rusty old gate screeched like a banshee as it swung
back and closed with a clang.

I heard the carriage-wheels grind the slush, and the next moment I
knew that I was shut up on Christmas eve in that somber mansion–with
the Curse of the Catafalques as my sole companion.

I don’t think the generous ardor with which Chlorine’s last words had
inspired me lasted very long, for I caught myself shivering before the
clock struck nine, and, drawing up a clumsy leathern armchair close to
the fire, I piled on the logs and tried to get rid of a certain
horrible sensation of internal vacancy which was beginning to afflict
me.

I tried to look my situation fairly in the face; whatever reason and
common sense had to say about it, there seemed no possible doubt that
something of a supernatural order was shut up in that great chamber
down the corridor, and also that, if I meant to win Chlorine, I must
go up and have some kind of an interview with it. Once more I wished I
had some definite idea to go upon; what description of being should I
find this Curse? Would it be aggressively ugly, like the bogie of my
infancy, or should I see a lank and unsubstantial shape, draped in
clinging black, with nothing visible beneath it but a pair of burning
hollow eyes and one long pale bony hand? Really I could not decide
which would be the more trying of the two.

By and by I began to recollect unwillingly all the frightful stories I
had ever read; one in particular came back to me–the adventure of a
foreign marshal who, after much industry, succeeded in invoking an
evil spirit, which came bouncing into the room shaped like a gigantic
ball, with, I think, a hideous face in the middle of it, and would not
be got rid of until the horrified marshal had spent hours in hard
praying and persistent exorcism!

What should I do if the Curse was a globular one and came rolling all
round the room after me?

Then there was another appalling tale I had read in some magazine–a
tale of a secret chamber, too, and in some respects a very similar
case to my own, for there the heir of some great house had to go in
and meet a mysterious aged person with strange eyes and an evil smile,
who kept attempting to shake hands with him.

Nothing should induce me to shake hands with the Curse of the
Catafalques, however apparently friendly I might find it.

But it was not very likely to be friendly, for it was one of those
mystic powers of darkness which know nearly everything–it would
detect me as an impostor directly, and what would become of me? I
declare I almost resolved to confess all and sob out my deceit upon
its bosom, and the only thing which made me pause was the reflection
that probably the Curse did not possess a bosom.

By this time I had worked myself up to such a pitch of terror that I
found it absolutely necessary to brace my nerves, and I did brace
them. I emptied all the three decanters, but as Sir Paul’s cellar was
none of the best, the only result was that, while my courage and
daring were not perceptibly heightened, I was conscious of feeling
exceedingly unwell.

Tobacco, no doubt, would have calmed and soothed me, but I did not
dare to smoke. For the Curse, being old-fashioned, might object to the
smell of it, and I was anxious to avoid exciting its prejudices
unnecessarily.

And so I simply sat in my chair and shook. Every now and then I heard
steps on the frosty path outside: sometimes a rapid tread, as of some
happy person bound to scenes of Christmas revelry, and little dreaming
of the miserable wretch he was passing; sometimes the slow creaking
tramp of the Fulham policeman on his beat.

What if I called him in and gave the Curse into custody—either for
putting me in bodily fear (as it was undeniably doing), or for being
found on the premises under suspicious circumstances?

There was a certain audacity about this means of cutting the knot that
fascinated me at first, but still I did not venture to adopt it,
thinking it most probable that the stolid constable would decline to
interfere as soon as he knew the facts; and even if he did, it would
certainly annoy Sir Paul extremely to hear of his Family Curse
spending its Christmas in a police cell, and I felt instinctively that
he would consider it a piece of unpardonable bad taste on my part.

So one hour passed. A few minutes after ten I heard more footsteps and
voices in low consultation, as if a band of men had collected outside
the railings. Could there be any indication without of the horrors
these walls contained?

But no; the gaunt housefront kept its secret too well; they were
merely the waits. They saluted me with the old carol, “God rest you,
merry gentleman, let nothing you dismay!” which should have encouraged
me, but it didn’t and they followed that up by a wheezy but pathetic
rendering of “The Mistletoe Bough.”

For a time I did not object to them; while they were scraping and
blowing outside I felt less abandoned and cut off from human help, and
then they might arouse softer sentiments in the Curse upstairs by
their seasonable strains: these things do happen at Christmas
sometimes. But their performance was really so infernally bad that it
was calculated rather to irritate than subdue any evil spirit, and
very soon I rushed to the window and beckoned to them furiously to go
away.

Unhappily, they thought I was inviting them indoors for refreshment,
and came round to the gate, when they knocked and rang incessantly for
a quarter of an hour.

This must have stirred the Curse up quite enough, but when they had
gone, there came a man with a barrel organ, which was suffering from
some complicated internal disorder, causing it to play its whole
repertory at once, in maddening discords. Even the grinder himself
seemed dimly aware that his instrument was not doing itself justice,
for he would stop occasionally, as if to ponder or examine it. But he
was evidently a sanguine person and had hopes of bringing it round by
a little perseverance; so, as Parson’s Green was well-suited by its
quiet for this mode of treatment, he remained there till he must have
reduced the Curse to a rampant and rabid condition.

He went at last, and then the silence that followed began to my
excited fancy (for I certainly saw nothing) to be invaded by strange
sounds that echoed about the old house. I heard sharp reports from the
furniture, sighing moans in the draughty passages, doors opening and
shutting, and–worse still–stealthy padding footsteps, both above and
in the ghostly hall outside!

I sat there in an ice-cold perspiration, until my nerves required more
bracing, to effect which I had recourse to the spirit-case.

And after a short time my fears began to melt away rapidly. What a
ridiculous bugbear I was making of this thing after all! Was I not too
hasty in setting it down as ugly and hostile before I had seen it…
how did I know it was anything which deserved my horror?

Here a gush of sentiment came over me at the thought that it might be
that for long centuries the poor Curse had been cruelly
misunderstood–that it might be a blessing in disguise.

I was so affected by the thought that I resolved to go up at once and
wish it a merry Christmas through the keyhole, just to show that I
came in no unfriendly spirit.

But would not that seem as if I was afraid of it? I scorned the idea
of being afraid. Why, for two straws, I would go straight in and pull
its nose for it–if it had a nose! I went out with this object, not
very steadily, but before I had reached the top of the dim and misty
staircase, I had given up all ideas of defiance, and merely intended
to go as far as the corridor by way of a preliminary canter.

The coffin-lid door stood open, and I looked apprehensively down the
corridor; the grim metal fittings on the massive door of the Gray
Chamber were gleaming with a mysterious pale light, something between
the phenomena obtained by electricity and the peculiar phosphorescence
observable in a decayed shellfish; under the door I saw the reflection
of a sullen red glow, and within I could hear sounds like the roar of
a mighty wind, above which peals of fiendish mirth rang out at
intervals, and were followed by a hideous dull clanking.

It seemed only too evident that the Curse was getting up the steam for
our interview. I did not stay there long, because I was afraid that it
might dart out suddenly and catch me eavesdropping, which would be a
hopelessly bad beginning. I got back to the dining room, somehow; the
fire had taken advantage of my short absence to go out, and I was
surprised to find by the light of the fast-dimming lamp that it was a
quarter to twelve already.

Only fifteen more fleeting minutes and then–unless I gave tip
Chlorine and her fortune forever–I must go up and knock at that awful
door, and enter the presence of the frightful mystic Thing that was
roaring and laughing and clanking on the other side!

Stupidly I sat and stared at the clock; in five minutes, now, I should
be beginning my desperate duel with one of the powers of darkness–a
thought which gave me sickening qualms.

I was clinging to the thought that I had still two precious minutes
left–perhaps my last moments of safety and sanity—when the lamp
expired with a gurgling sob, and left me in the dark.

I was afraid of sitting there all alone any longer, and besides, if I
lingered, the Curse might come down and fetch me. The horror of this
idea made me resolve to go up at once, especially as scrupulous
punctuality might propitiate it.

Groping my way to the door, I reached the hall and stood there,
swaying under the old stained-glass lantern. And then I made a
terrible discovery. I was not in a condition to transact any business;
I had disregarded Sir Paul’s well-meant warning at dinner; I was not
my own master. I was lost!

The clock in the adjoining room tolled twelve, and from without the
distant steeples proclaimed in faint peals and chimes that it was
Christmas morn. My hour had come!

Why did I not mount those stairs? I tried again and again, and fell
down every time, and at each attempt I knew the Curse would be getting
more and more impatient.

I was quite five minutes late, and yet, with all my eagerness to be
punctual, I could not get up that staircase. It was a horrible
situation, but it was not at its worst even then, for I heard a
jarring sound above, as if heavy rusty bolts were being withdrawn.

The Curse was coming down to see what had become of me! I should have
to confess my inability to go upstairs without assistance, and so
place myself wholly at its mercy!

I made one more desperate effort, and then–and then, upon my word, I
don’t know how it was exactly–but, as I looked wildly about, I caught
sight of my hat on the hat-rack below, and the thoughts it roused in
me proved too strong for resistance. Perhaps it was weak of me, but I
venture to think that very few men in my position would have behaved
any better.

I renounced my ingenious and elaborate scheme forever, the door
(fortunately for me) was neither locked nor bolted, and the next
moment I was running for my life along the road to Chelsea, urged on
by the fancy that the Curse itself was in hot pursuit.

For weeks after that I lay in hiding, starting at every sound, so
fearful was I that the outraged Curse might track me down at last; all
my worldly possessions were at Parson’s Green, and I could not bring
myself to write or call for them, nor indeed have I seen any of the
Catafalques since that awful Christmas eve.

I wish to have nothing more to do with them, for I feel naturally that
they took a cruel advantage of my youth and inexperience, and I shall
always resent the deception and constraint to which I so nearly fell a
victim.

But it occurs to me that those who may have followed my strange story
with any curiosity and interest may be slightly disappointed at its
conclusion, which I cannot deny is a lame and unsatisfactory one.

They expected, no doubt, to be told what the Curse’s personal
appearance is, and how it comports itself in that ghastly Gray
Chamber, what it said to me, and what I said to it, and what happened
after that.

This information, as will be easily understood, I cannot pretend to
give, and, for myself, I have long ceased to feel the slightest
curiosity on any of these points. But for the benefit of such as are
less indifferent, I may suggest that almost any eligible bachelor
would easily obtain the opportunities I failed to enjoy by simply
calling at the old mansion at Parson’s Green, and presenting himself
to the baronet as a suitor for his daughter’s hand.

I shall be most happy to allow my name to be used as a reference.

THE END

Anonymous Investigation

#Dramasec and Dramamine

only fake anons dox real anons, Ed Eddinni Draughn

only fake anons dox real anons, Ed Eddinni Draughn

Are you still here? huh.

Me too, so let’s get to it. Here’s what happens on FB when I ban Ed “Eddinni” Draughn, a mentally ill, dox-obsessed, unemployable would-be magician from a small group on Facebook…for doxing. He promised to show this thread to his therapist, but somehow I think he’s lying. So why don’t you?

The short form: he faildoxed me, then impersonated several of my friends, attempting to scare me off, then banned my friends when they showed up to laugh at him, then obligingly listed for me all kinds of different Facebook pages he and his imaginary friends have created, apparently either to dox people who have annoyed him or to impersonate yet other famous, accomplished people. Yep, that’s how you manage a soopor-sikrit cabal on Facebook, Ed.

Then he tries to teach people about OPSEC.

Ms. Murphy gets mention as though she is not a Fed being in her position she definitely knows Feds, but has not come clean as to who they are within our collective. She also knows of one of the biggest Feds and (or) informants that is deeply rooted in our collective a person named #s1egewho she no doubt knows of his real identity, as any journalist within Anon worth their salt knows exactly who s1ege is. Her hiding this information, makes her a great liability to our idea.
https://justpaste.it/

Dox on Lorraine Murphy from Cryptosphere and Anonymous Reason This highly known Anonymous member… – justpaste.it
JUSTPASTE.IT
Lorraine Murphy Ed i told you a thousand times I neither know nor care who s1ege or his band of feddies are. They don’t interest me. I don’t know why you fanboy so hard on all the feds: the jester, s1ege, and the rest, but nobody really falls for those pages where you pretend to be them.

 

Hide 67 Replies
Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards He doesn’t run these pages. We know for a fact you are friends with Maurizio (s1ege). So you are admitting they are feds and you are friends with them. We are good friends with you. We are glad you switched from the Dilaudid to the Tylenol. Please get well.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy I will so I can kick your ass, moron.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Lorraine Murphy The administrators of this page are far from joking. Keep not taking us seriously and under estimating us it just fuels our rage even more. s1ege knows we aren’t joking he needs to reveal himself immediately as obviously some knows who he is. We keep saying the fallout will be way worse and it will be on HIM. He likes to troll and make jokes not taking shit seriously. If s1ege comes to us admits who he is, then the shit storm will be over. We need proof of some kind too. We feel it’s a few people. The worse thing anyone can do is ignore this !!!!!

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Lorraine Murphy so? You want to kick our ass huh? You are pissed you got caught in a Lie saying they are Feds and you couldn’t care less when for a fact we know you are Friends with Maurizio Domenico. Before telling stories know we are everywhere. You tell him whoever is voicing s1ege to just say “Look okay I’m s1ege / we’re s1ege it started out ….” Etc. We are true Anon, and Anon doesn’t keep shit from other United Anons. You know lots of people are sick of hearing about s1ege, phaglord Ed, that Chris W. dude. You ask him if it’s really worth lots of people going down. It’s not us but him, j35t3r too. th3j35t3r we know for a fact is fed, guess what ask if we care. We heard he was successfully doxed anyway. Look on a solemn promise here in typing if s1ege does not reveal his true identity, then this will seem like kiddy shit, you got that?!

 

Ed The Fed The Voice
Ed The Fed The Voice Lorraine Murphy OMG get over yourselves people FFS. Also whoever runs this page get my damn dox off it, and everyone elses. Lorraine Murphy this here is ME. You know my page is you ever need anything to say. I don’t run this page here.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy OH god are you still here? You seem upset by something.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Lorraine Murphy “Lori” you know who this is? You know me quite well actually. I’m one of the most vocal voices of Anonymous I run the subreddit actually. We are good friends you and I. It’s Gregg, Gregg Housh. I thought it was time to start holding our idea up to higher standards. You know how I feel about the truth. So before you go running your mouth which we both know you have make sure you know who runs a page ;)
Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy oh my god Gregg Housh is going to pee himself laughing. Gregg, get a load of this famefag.
Like · Reply · 1 · 20 hrs

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Well I’m not laughing lulz. You know how I’ve always felt about s1ege that he is a huge distraction that needs to be dealt with.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy And you are perhaps the least capable person of dealing with him on the face of the planet. if you weren’t obsessed with people more famous than you, you wouldn’t be so distracted by them. you’re kind of creepy in a mark david chapman way.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy not that i think you’re even as capable as him.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Lori we have talked about you not thinking before you speak. There are a few people you know that run this page that you would be very surprised. That is why we know quite a bit and can dig up what we can and even more. Call me.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy just another loser who can’t get women to give him a call. so he pretends to be people who’ve actually done something. imagine if you took all the time you spend doxing and making pages and spamming and used it to do something that wasn’t sad and pathetic and ultimately embarrassing.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Shall I get Jake to start talking you know he is not afraid to give you the very blunt truth which you seem to need to hear.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy just imagine all those hours you’d have to do something useful…if only you knew how to.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Davis and you have clashed before he’ll give you a piece of his mind.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy are you sure any of your enablers have any to spare?

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy it’s been… but it’s time for me to go watch a movie. have fun with the voices in your head and all your imaginary friends.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Lori it’s Davis cut your shit now or I’ll light up your phone !

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy ha who the hell is davis. nice of you to ban the real gregg. smooth move, noob.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy phone is just, like, sitting there. being quiet

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy tick tock, eddie.
Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy OH, oh, you are trying to impersonate Jake Davisnow? aw, Ed, you really are cray-cray. do you know what his lawyer would happily do to you for making the insinuation that he has nothing better to do than phone hacking people on facebook who’ve pissed off an unemployable would-be hypnotist? it would be comedic if it weren’t so sad. which of my other friends are you going to impersonate and then ban next? might not be wise to annoy all these OG Anons. Just sayin’.
Like · Reply · 1 · 19 hrs · Edited
Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable I agree…

 

Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable I am VERY annoyed by what I’m seeing right now.

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards We were kidding none of those people run this page neither does Ed as we’ve doxed him too. You have zero clue who to tuns this page, and for you that is good. We could be a number of different well let’s just say corporations. Lorraine Murphy the people that run this page has everything we need at our fingertips and we’ll just leave it at that. You obviously have zero intelligence, intelligence being a key word here. ;)

 

Anonymous Setting Standards
Anonymous Setting Standards Glen Barnstable Jake how are you? Still keeping up your probation?

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy That’s not Jake you tard. Jesus Christ, don’t you even know what t0piary sounds like? How many of my friends are you going to try to impersonate and then pick fights with? As I said before, it would be funny if it wasn’t so small and sad. Get therapy, Ed.
Like · Reply · 1 · 5 hrs
Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable LMFAO!!!!

 

Glen Barnstable

Glen Barnstable I’m not anyone you know…. I guarantee it.

I would love it if you would pick a fight with me. In fact, it would make my day. Show us your best mother fucker… You’re gonna need it.

I’m sick and tired of people like you… “Doxing” all sorts of people, which aren’t even real fucking doxes. You don’t even know what the fuck that even is…

You’re a joke and a fraud. You’re NOT anonymous and dont you dare even try to call yourself an Anon.

I hope you’re ready for a shit storm.

Unlike · Reply · 1 · 4 hrs
Glen Barnstable

Glen Barnstable Oh and by you even hinting at you being involved in some corporation, clearly in opposition to Anonymous and involved in the slandering of my fellow Anon brothers and sisters, I have now taken this matter personally.

So gather all your little fucking tools you got and start using them because you’re about to feel the wrath of a mother fuckin Titan bitch.

Unlike · Reply · 1 · 4 hrs
Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy today he’s impersonating the jester again.
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hrs

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy Glen Barnstable an anonenema? he could use it. clearly there are no laxatives available where he lives.
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hrs

 

Ed The Fed The Voice

Ed The Fed The Voice Ms. Lorraine Murphy kindly keep your name from your mouth please. I am a true Anon, even as “Nick Cooper” in which we were friends I commented on your post shared some even, posted in your group, I am very much a activist as much as I can be being behiSee More

The Wikileaks Documentary — Full Version – YouTube
YOUTUBE.COM

 

Cults, and How They Are Created
Cults, and How They Are Created Here is another one.

 

Anonymous For The Victims Sector
Anonymous For The Victims Sector Another Lorraine Murphy are you getting it yet? Ed

 

Stop Islamic State of Iraq and Syria

 

Operation Take Down Cyber Bullies For Good.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy So, what meds are you actually taking now?

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy any of your personalities can answer, it’s fine.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy I know how you love maltego, and i’d thank you for all the pages to put in it except we had those and more quite some time ago. tick tock. tick. tock.

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn I’m on meds for Anxiety, Mood, Depression, Diabetes, High Blood Pressure, Sciatica, Colitis … Etc if you must know about 22 pills a day.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy they’re not working very well, are they, hon?
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn What do you mean? My meds work fine I’ve always been Med Compliant, just not good with Therapy. I see a Therapist early next month the first time in 7 years. They’ve wanted to do E.C.T. … etc. Since 15 I’ve been on about 30 different medications they work for a while then stop. They’ve ran out of meds to try. It’s therapy they think is key for me. See I’m open if you just ask.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy good. show your therapist this thread.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn Why is that? I have commented with the pages I run. This exact page I have no idea who runs. See the thing with you personally and a few others is you upset me and that is never a good thing to upset me plain and simple, no matter who you are. I personally know a ex fed who will remain nameless except to say he found my private unlisted number and called me. He knew stuff about me that S.E, can’t dig up. He has lots of friends who are P.I.’s though he himself is not. He is ex alphabet and ex military. He told me I could change my number make it private all I want but he could find out always. He told me I had X amount of time to take back some stuff I had written as I’ve been trolled and lied to so many times I thought he was lying. He sent me a official email actually encouraging me to get a Lawyer or my Police to read. I was like Holy Shit. We are fine now.
Anonymous Justice Sector
Anonymous Justice Sector Here is another page I run which is to share knowledge more or less.

 

Anonymous Justice Sector

Anonymous Justice Sector https://youtu.be/P0DEmfuBumU

OSInt, Cyberstalking, Footprinting and…
YOUTUBE.COM

 

Anonymous Justice Sector

Anonymous Justice Sector This is a very good talk stuff I didn’t even know. If you use Bing Maps, you can see where people are tweeting from. If you look at picfog using hashtags you see all sorts of tweeted images, like the former openbook for facebook. This fool tweeted a piSee More

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy yeah, we know that one too

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy Ed Eddini Draughn you threatening me, ed?
Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn No those are on that page have been lol.

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy Anonymous Justice Sector youre REALLY not in a position to teach any of those skills, Ed.
Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy ah, i see the kettle has boiled. off to have some tea and talk to some of my friends. you’ll probably try to impersonate them again tomorrow. ask your therapist why impersonating famous anons and hackers is a bad idea.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs

 

Ed Eddini Draughn

Ed Eddini Draughn I don’t make threats lol. Those are just good videos. Of course this tool is my favorite, in combo with Maltego. Michael Brazzel who made this was / is a cop and has worked for the Feds. He’s great on Internet security.

https://inteltechniques.com/menu.html

 

Ed The Fed The Voice
Ed The Fed The Voice I don’t teach those are only some of the videos that I like, and I like sharing them. I don’t impersonate anyone, I’m me plain and simple. :)

 

Ed The Fed The Voice
Ed The Fed The Voice Lorraine Murphy 😂 I’m me but months ago before everything went down with Anon I used this Analogy quite a bit and many Anons agreed again BEFORE some of the shit went down which I was at fault and Anon too. I’m still Anon, but a bit Rogue. As far as the activism I said I was / am not a hacker at all, but using the real Lulzsec I always said I was more a “Topiary” than a “Kayla” though true Davis can hack. I’m more a voice in other words.

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn I was friends with #s1ege, Maurizio we had like 60+ friends in common. My issue with him, is that he is a Coward that hides behind the “s1ege” name not saying his real first name, NO last name but the other “known” profile he goes under. Anons don’t do that to each other. I have been trolled so many times with people saying they are s1ege or so and so is s1ege yes it gets draining. On another profile I had guessed it was James St. Patrick or Raymond Johanson I had wrote both. It is a lie that #NWH was behind the big d.d.o.s. attack. It only seemed like s1ege with Anon Itel was spreading that around. I put two and two together. Anyway only Raymond had written me back and I told him I wrote James. Then Raymond said HE was Anon Intel so those two are same person in other words. He may not be s1ege actually he doesn’t care. I do know from Xavier Luloff that Mark Lubbers and Harvey Harris now Maj Houl has butted heads with s1ege. I know a few things from a chat I intercepted, is that s1ege is oldfag, part of black bloc, infatada, has been around since at least 05, has a ego, and makes waves, from tech republic interview can hack to a extent as he has told websites what their vulnerabilities are, and writes. Ash Fawkes apparently knows him personally I guess so the clues are there.

 

Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable You’re more of a douche… Actually no, you dont deserve that glory… You’re the shit the douche cleans.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn How? I’m busy running my pages trying to make a small difference.

 

Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable lol And by the way, YOU DONT KNOW SHIT ABOUT SHIT…
Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable Right… Sure you are pal… More like trying to be a fuckin leaderfag and spread your assholiness across the internet like a disease.
Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn Hey Glen I can talk bud without a mask. You? I have never hid my feelings about s1ege. Actually I use to like the jester too even spoke highly of him, defended him as most Anons don’t like J. I then go on twitter to see he blocked me from following him which I have no clue as to why. So him and s1ege unfortunately are on my shit list. That is never a good place to be either. I’m a good person just don’t get on my bad side as when I come back I come back hard. Like with Love when I love it deep and full, same thing with my anger.

 

Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable Bitch please… Im not afraid of you. Dont threaten me fool.
Glen Barnstable
Glen Barnstable I dont hide behind a mask by the way… The fact that you havnt figured that out yet is why Im not afraid of your sorry ass in any way.
Lorraine Murphy
Eileen Townsend
Eileen Townsend love your earrings

 

Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy thanks, i still have them somewhere

 

Ed The Fed The Voice

Ed The Fed The Voice If you only see my profile and my public post Glen.

This is very interesting, and like most one I have watched. This does go into computers too. It’s talks about “Evil Maid Attacks”, where a maid does MORE than clean your room when you are out. I’m sSee More

 

Ed The Fed The Voice

Ed The Fed The Voice This is a very good talk. It throws out some of the myths too. Like just because a person has their arms crossed or is twitching doesn’t necessarily mean deception. Myself I have my arms crossed a lot as it’s comfortable. I squirm a lot as well. You leSee More

 

Ed The Fed The Voice
Ed The Fed The Voice I got nothing to prove Glen as I always say those who count know me. I hope you get better Bud :)

 

Ed Eddini Draughn
Ed Eddini Draughn Here is that interview of the Guy that created that inteltechnique website with that tool I did a tutorial on which is in the pinned post. The guy knows his stuff having helped Federal Agencies and being a former Law Enforcement as well.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYhgwvCrDDc
https://inteltechniques.com/menu.html

 

Ed Eddini Draughn

Ed Eddini Draughn As one who goes after Pedophiles this link has much invaluable information. Please #share this.

https://tuecaa.wordpress.com/…/pedophile-symbols-and…/

 

Glen Barnstable

Glen Barnstable No DOX for me???

Aww…. I feel left out.

Like · Reply · 1 · 1 hr

 

1 Reply
Lorraine Murphy
Lorraine Murphy like i said, the meds are not working.

 

Lorraine Murphy

Jack Black and Jimmy Fallon: More Than Words, Less Than Perfect

Yes, Jack Black. Yes, you can have me.

Compare and contrast to the original video, by Extreme. It sets the bar high, with over 75 million YES MILLION views, but then ballads by metal bands are always best ballads. Beth. Angie. The list goes on. No-one knows why.

A Zen metal köan.

Canadian Sniper: watch the trailer

Canadian Sniper, currently breaking box office records from Saint-Louis-du-Ha! Ha! to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, is a poignant lumbersexual domestic drama illustrating the post traumatic stress of a, yes, Canadian Sniper, isolated and alone in an environment deprived even of a backyard rink.

Enjoy?

Jan Terri is the Spirit of Christmas 2014

You know how there’s these ghosts? These Christmas ghosts? And they’re not so much all dead people as they are spirits in the pagan, pantheistic sense? Well, they say every Christmas gets the ghost it deserves (what? they do TOO say that. Now).

And this Christmas, that spirit is legendary chanteuse Jan Terri.

Now, my 2014 was memorable, even if parts of it have been blacked out for my own protection and ability to sleep at night. But it wasn’t all bad. For some of my friends, this year was indeed all bad, and they cannot wait to see its ass out the door. So it is to them that this little ditty is dedicated. You expected an angel singing the praises of the Mother of God and this, THIS, is what you got instead.

Happy New Year!