Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

  

French postcard in the Collection Cinéma by Editions La Malibran, Paris, no. CA 53, 1989. Photo: Boris Karloff and Elsa Lanchester in Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935).

 

British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.

 

Boris Karloff was born as William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service, and had virtually abandoned his family in far off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-years-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances, and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was extremely worried that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. that performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. Whilst he was trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. in order to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).

 

A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed prior to Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride oif Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni.. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.

 

Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his own face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music and told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among a young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. Early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.

 

Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.

What do you see? a impossible me? I cant be balanced, i cant be insane, i have drugs that push sanity down my throat. Now i am a label, and now i am full of disease, and now its no one else's fault you see, its all me. While you think i am balancing my shadow laughs the truth, I am one slip away from a necklace noose. But tel me again i am ill, and i am wrong, as it has become your, and my demons, favourite song. Dont you dare to stutter, you sing loud, its not as if my mental health has my confidence splayed all over the ground and me choking on my knees...... but i will not plead, not for no mortal being, I will just balance and my salvation will be a slip.

2002

 

I wake up from my exhausting rest.

 

“Hey kiddo.” I hear from my side. I turn to see a good friend that I met a while back who’s been letting me take the guest bedroom. A bar owner named Bibbo.

 

“Hello Bi-Bi-Bobbo.” I stutter out. He gives a soft smile.

 

“It’s Bibbo, but I’ll let it slide, kiddo.” He gives me a light pat before getting back to cleaning the bar. I’ve been hanging around the bar since I made it to Metropolis.

 

“Want something?” He asks while wiping the table.

 

“No thanks B-Bobbo.”

 

“Again, it’s Bibbo.” But he shrugs it off.

 

“How about some TV to pass the time?” He grabs the remote and starts flipping through channels, I notice something from the Metropolis news channel.

 

“N-News.” He looks at me, slightly confused before flipping back to the news channel.

 

“People are in an uproar at the upcoming election with Clay Irons competing with current CEO of LexCorp, Zeiko.”

 

“LexCorp. You’d think after the founder goes to prison, the company would be gone.” Bibbo scoffs at the mention of the company.

 

“I’m surprised it hasn’t died yet.” I ignore him and keep watching.

 

“We got to talk to one of the electees, Zeiko himself.” The reporter then walks to him.

 

“So Zeiko, what can you tell us about this election that’ll be different compared to the others?” He chuckles before replying.

 

“All I can say is, it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise.”

 

“Could you elaborate?”

 

“Apologies, I must be going.” He says before heading inside the building.

 

“Well you heard it here folks! Be sure to tune in next week for-” He flips the channel to an airing of Dexter’s Labratory.

 

“Sorry kid, wasn’t a huge fan of tha-” He stops when he notices my gaze.

 

“You okay?” He asks, shaking my shoulder, causing me to get out of my daydream.

 

“Sorry, was reminded something.” Something tells me whatever Zeiko was referring to, it’s not gonna be good.

 

“Me have to go now. Me be back soon-ish.” Before I’m able to leave, I hear him shout.

 

“Two o’clock ” I turn back to him.

 

“I’ll be closing by then.” he finishes before walking to the back.

 

“Thank you B-Bobbo.” I leave the bar.

 

-------------------------------------------------------

 

I arrive at the facility, wearing a purple costume a nice lady made for me that has an odd belt. I walk inside the facilty, which seems almost abandoned. And yet, the electricity seems to be working, by my guess, it’s like it was abandoned on purpose. I suddenly hear the sound of a car arriving, and then a flash, within seconds, I run as fast as I can with my superspeed to get out of the building before it explodes. I’m about a dozen feet from the explosion

 

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.” I hear near me. I get up to see Zeiko himself. With someone who looks to be wearing the same clothes I was wearing years ago.

 

“I gotta admit, you’re stonger than you look. Very bizarro looking, but who am I to judge a book by it’s freakishly deformed cover.” I stand up, eyes aimed directly at him.

 

“P-Psycho!”

 

“It’s Zeiko, eh, but it doesn’t matter at this point.” He snaps his fingers, gesturing the boy towards me, with great speed, he pushes me at a tree, grabbing me by the neck and giving me a hard uppercut, sending me through several trees and far up in the air. He finishes it off by flying at me, grabbing me by the neck and throwing me right into the ground, leaving a small crater. I attempt to get up, only for him to grab my head and slam it back into the ground.

 

“You d-don’t d-do this. Y-You need not to do.” I say, trying my best to stay awake. He tilts his head slightly, he shrugs off the confusion and attempts to finish me off with a harsh jab. I roll to the side just before the impact hits me and use my heat breath to throw him off for a brief seconds before I fly as high as I can away from him. Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough as he grabs me with both arms around my body and pulls me down into the ground, crashing into a half-dozen trees. I stumble trying to get up and find him on the ground, unconscious. I look closer to see a small black pellet on his neck. I accidentally grab it too hard, shattering it. I turn to the sounds of people getting closer, I glance back at his unconscious body.

 

“Darn it.” I mutter out, grabbing his body and carrying him with me out of the woods.

"You were a nymph and I was an echo.

You, a letter and I, the lipstick.

I waited for you in the wrong skin.

The suitor: stuttering,

unsuitable."

- Emily O’Neill, "Wedding Soup"

 

-----

it's been a while Flickr. I missed you.

My 'adventurous' summer is as monotonous as tomato soup.

Bleh.

A fisheye HDR shot of the old Fire Station next to Piccadilly Station in Manchester. Shot from the concourse. A b-b-b-b-bus stutters across the 5 frame sequence in the lower centre of the shot.

Nathanial Frost, another vampire I recently made because I decided I want a clan.

 

I think he's sexy ...

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

"We can slip in, two minutes. Just like that, piece of cake."

 

Edward Murr's aggravated countenance went unnoticed by the younger strategist at his side, straining at the leash. This was not the usual way. Waiting there in the damp, small hours of Fairfax's morning, Murr miserably contemplates whether or not to correct his partner. His own pause of uncertainty in his authority agitates him further.

 

"George," Murr posed to his accomplice, "do you believe Cathan would have sent you to do this task on your own?"

 

George considers, shifting his stance in the bushes that the pair was using for cover.

 

"He might have."

 

"He would not," Murr redresses. "Leading me to my next question: Do you think there is a reason why I'm the person on this crew that Cathan hasn't been inclined to lecture about, shall we say, a botched errand?"

 

George lets an indignant puff of air out from the back of his throat this time, but fails to suppress a smile, all the same. Murr raises a hand before the hothead can conjure a sarcastic riposte.

 

"No, I'll help you; I'm aware your power isn't cerebral. See, I've already taken my trial by fire. Cathan was there. When I work, the calls I make don't come from a place of needing to prove myself. Not anymore. Now if you're going to assume to tell me how to go about this operation in a way Cathan would approve of..."

 

It's George's turn to cut in. "You're going to have to share your best friend, Ed. Do you think there's a reason why he's extended his circle of trust beyond just you?"

 

Murr shrugs off the intentionally disparaging imitation. "Home invasions are sloppy. You can take my word for it. We get the kid on the way to or back from the school."

 

"There's still going to be cops crawling all over. We've been holding up in this town for too long."

 

"Kaleidoscope managed the patrols last night. So will we now."

 

"Right..." George sits back. "And the kid. If she knows nothing..."

 

"Then we throw her back, and the interrogation won't need to be... excessive. What kind of question is that?"

 

"Oh you misunderstand, Pops. I'm hoping she IS tied to this hero running around. Be a shame if Kalei or Chain Master were the only ones who had any fun, before we have to get serious for the big day."

 

At this, Murr is overcome with revulsion. "This is necessary. Not fun."

 

George just keeps his eyes on the Nash household. "You can call the shots on the mission, Ed. Do me a solid, though; don't tell me how much I can enjoy it."

  

***

  

Vicki vowed to herself for the tenth time that, if she made it out of (whatever this was) alive, she was never going to get anywhere she needed to be by running, ever again.

 

Even after all she had experienced in the past few hours, she was finding it difficult to accept what she had been told, and what she now held in her scratched hands. Frannie Nash-the mousy, wouldn't-harm-a-fly Frannie, of all people-was next on these creeps' hit-list? There was a whole community living in the old mines, helping a superhero? And this phone... this phone was going to solve her problems. Somehow.

 

"It's not a wireless, it... HAS a wire!" Vicki bemoans, still plodding along into town, grappling in annoyance with the clunky object and its blanket. It hadn't been hung up by its owner; the cord was simply a tangled mess, fastening the receiver to the body of the dial. "How does he expect me to use this piece of-"

 

Angrily holding the device to her ear to prove to herself its worthlessness, she detects, to her amazement, the white noise of functional electronics. She halts for an instant, before remembering the urgency behind her flight, and she resigns to making tracks towards Frannie's home, first, and pondering this bizarre phenomenon, second. But over the earpiece comes a diligent, somewhat droll voice:

 

"If you wish to assume a new identity, please, end your current call and redial."

 

"... What the shit," Vicki concedes in exasperation.

 

"If you are still in immediate peril, please, stay on the line."

 

Vicki continues navigating the streets, having, at long last, put Fairfax's more rural landscape behind her. She sees a lone jogger, but no stationed police officers. The lax security was nearly enough to make Vicki question whether she was being subjected to the glass woman's trickery again, but nothing else was sickeningly off-putting. She wasn't sure a policeman would be up to listening anyway, with the story she had to tell. Fairfax wasn't supposed to be quite this crazy.

 

Diverting to the precinct and chancing her troubles with the authorities was off the table, Vicki decided. Frannie could already be...

 

"My friend is about to be in danger! You're supposed to do... something. Whoever 'you' are."

 

"I am your Operator. Are you requesting assistance beyond your H-Dial's standard function?"

 

"I just got this thing today! I need serious help!"

 

Vicki all but plows straight into three pedestrians as she cuts past a hedge around a café corner. It's Glinda, Roger and Chris, wide-eyed, as equally ragged as she was.

 

Roger, having apparently caught her last exclamation, penetrates the awkward silence of the confrontation. "Well... I always told you as much."

 

Vicki's eye twitches absentmindedly, as she prepares to lambaste Roger's comedic timing to no end, only for Chris to also chime in.

 

"We just got back, thought we heard you yelling a street or two over. Vicki... We uh, well, you aren't going to believe this-"

 

"The boy in the park is a superhero and we almost got killed by a witch and a giant but there are people living in the silver mines and he told me to take a phone with me to save Frannie because they'll think she's in cahoots!" Vicki blurts out.

 

"Did... did you take drugs?!" Glinda asks, aghast at the prospect. "THAT's what you were doing instead of meeting us last-"

 

"THE PHONE. IS TALKING. Say 'Hi', phone!" Vicki's friends exchanged concerned glances as she hoists the machine towards them.

 

"If you are grievously injured, please, allow a friend or family member to hang up for you."

 

"There, crystal clear? Great, explain it to me," Vicki says dryly to the other astounded kids. She skips backward in the same direction she had been headed, calling out, "Frannie needs help, I'm going there. I'm starving, terrified, I kind of really really want you to come, and at the same time, not so much because I feel like this is definitely going to get freaky, sooo..."

 

"Vicki, w... oh come on!" Roger stumbles after her.

 

"Is this night ever going to end?" Glinda complains, following suit.

 

Chris cocks his head, bringing up the rear of the pack. "Did she say Frannie? You mean that... weird girl she knows who never comes over to our table during-"

 

"It's best to not go there, Chris," came Roger's interjection.

 

"She's not weird, Christopher; it's something you just... you don't need to know," Glinda summarizes.

 

"Why do girls keep all these things hidden and then still expect a guy to be perfectly mindful of the subject?" Chris asks, not condescendingly but earnestly.

 

"Why do boys assume they're going to have something worthwhile to say if they did hear the whole story?" Glinda counters.

 

Chris and Roger slow as Vicki and Glinda keep up the pace. The boys share a look. "Huh."

  

***

  

"She's... Ed, she's coming out. Back porch."

 

Murr spies the girl, tromping out the screen door. She seats herself despondently on rickety wooden steps, oblivious to the men's presence yards away.

 

"And early enough that there's not a potential witness in sight. Here I was thinking we were going to have to work for this," George spits, still tugging at his gloves as a force of habit.

 

Murr speaks softly. "Circle around now, I'll stay here. We corner her. In case she's faster than she looks."

 

"Sheesh, would you look at this kid. Sitting out here at the crack of dawn like some depressed old lady. Being kidnapped might be a marked improvement."

 

"NOW."

 

"Loosen up, 'Distortionex'. We're about to be Cathan's favorites."

  

***

  

Vicki and her pursuers arrive at one final hill's crest, serving as the border of Frannie's back yard. There are but a hand-full of aspens obstructing their view of the residence.

 

"... and so we just took off," Chris pants, recapping for Vicki his account of the beings in the cornfield. "The guy in the armor barely touched the monster and it-"

 

"Blew up," Glinda quivers. "Some of it did, anyway."

 

Vicki stops dead in her tracks, the other three piling up at her back. She turns around timidly, not at all like herself.

 

"I made up my mind. You guys should stay away, if those goons are here. Nick and I barely got away the first time."

 

"Vicki, just pause for five seconds and tell us what's going on! Weird stuff went down last night, for ALL of us, and I for one want to know if and how it connects," Roger implores. "What exactly are we doing here?"

 

"I hope I'm doing nothing here. I hope-" Vicki doesn't finish, suddenly dropping to the ground. In her hurry she slides on wet leaves beneath her shoes, yanking Chris down with her behind a tree, and shushes him. Roger and Glinda do the same without instruction. Just a short sprint below them sits Frannie, seemingly meditating in the still air, unaware of a man clothed and masked in blue, easing toward her around the north side of her home.

 

"Stay. Here," Vicki mouths. She throws away the dial's cloth.

 

"What's Frannie DOI-" Chris mutters not so quietly, prompting Roger to slap a hand over his face.

 

The man was thirty feet from Frannie.

 

Vicki holds the phone up once again. "Phone guy? I need that help now!"

 

"If you wish to assume a new identity, please, end your current call and redial."

 

The man was twenty feet away.

 

"We have to warn her!" Glinda objects. Roger and Chris both look to Vicki questioningly.

 

"I haven't used you yet, why do I need to redial?" Vicki demands.

 

Glinda pulls her hair. "Who cares?? Dial!"

 

Fifteen feet.

 

The speaker crackles like a fire. "Please redial for another hero. Your H-Dial is still in use."

 

"Nick," Vicki realizes. What was going to happen to Nick if she...

 

Ten feet.

 

Roger pounds the tree with his palm. "Do it or I will!"

 

Vicki slams the phone down in its cradle, then slings it back up to her ear. The dial is emanating heat now, and magenta strands of electricity dance across the cord.

 

"Dial 'H'," it offers Vicki.

 

"Dial!" Glinda repeats.

 

A body-length separates Frannie from the menace.

 

Vicki dials.

  

***

  

A concussive blast of light and sound sizzles out from the woods, ripping Edward Murr off his feet. George Schneider, too, is taken by surprise, and cannot reach Frannie in time to nab her, as he is unceremoniously lifted headfirst into a drain pipe. Frannie tumbles off the porch, skipping a heartbeat or two as she recovers and scans all about the property. She recognizes Glinda, and two other boys she knew were Vicki's friends, standing in a now-cleared ring of smoldering grass. They were shielding themselves from a fourth figure within the haze: A lean woman, wearing striking blue over all but her mouth and hair.

 

"Who-"

 

"The hell is that supposed to be?" Murr finishes, wiping mulch off his helmet.

 

The heroine steps forward, one hand curled to make a fist and the elbow down at her side.

 

"If you evildoers think you have the run of the town, you're in for a little surprise! THUMBELINA is here!" she belts out.

 

"Uh," Roger adds.

 

The woman snaps out of the moment, now appearing thoroughly bewildered by her own voice. "Why did I just say that? Why... am I THIS TALL?"

 

A dumbfounded Glinda stares, mouth agape. "Vicki?!"

 

Frannie bolts for the door back to her kitchen, but from her right, a gleaming, gold netting zips past her nose and adheres to the frame and knob. George takes aim again with an index finger, nursing a lump on his temple with his free hand. His expression is, to say the least, unamused.

 

Vicki/"Thumbelina", larger than life and overflowing with untapped power, springs forth to stop the would-be assailant. "You could use some micromanaging, you ugly WHAT AM I SAYING?!"

 

"Okay," Murr accepts, pointing his knuckles at the woman rushing his ally. The air between his fingers ripples.

 

"Watch out!" Roger hollers. "Red guy!"

 

Vicki spots the second man. Her new form shrinks reflexively, closing the last bit of distance to George in a flying leap, and letting Murr's beam attack carry on careening through the yard. It impacts a tree, instantaneously reducing it to a brownish puddle, as Vicki executes a kick to George's upper arm, driving him against the wooden slats of the house; even at a fraction of her original size, she seemed to have lost no velocity nor mass. Frannie sees the opening and takes off again, now towards the kids who are still up the hill, scarcely comprehending the circumstances.

 

"Help, Glinda!" is Frannie's cry.

 

Murr unleashes another blast, this one aimed at Frannie. She tackles the grass in time to avoid the open air she had just been occupying hardening; it crinkles and squeaks like a crushed water bottle. Vicki leaves a doubly battered George to now take on Murr, while Chris notes something amidst the pandemonium.

 

"The dial slid down there!" he informs his two friends, steeling himself to get closer to the action to retrieve it.

 

"There's also some dude liquefying TREES down there!" Roger reports, as though Chris had missed this.

 

"And a vegetable monster almost pulverized you last night. So let's not-"

 

"Nothin' doin', Chris!"

 

Roger grips Chris' sweater, but not so tightly that Chris couldn't break free if he wanted. That was just it; Chris, despite his words, truly could not make himself take one step nearer to the dial, Frannie, or the metahuman powers whizzing left and right. He saw himself again in the corn field, fixed in place there in the mud, at the mercy of a threat his friends had been able to overcome when the chips were down. But not him. The thought of it ate through Chris like acid.

 

"Let's all go! All at once!" Glinda urges. "Come on, Frannie is-"

 

"Almost mine," Murr tells himself, having completely cut Frannie off from the far hill with pillars of solid air. Vicki lunges at him at one-twentieth her normal height, but the man directs a wide ray of energy into her. A jet of boiling water surrounds her, and she is flung clear through the nearby tool shed. Just then, police sirens blare beyond the row of houses, and Murr stays his hand long enough for Frannie to regain her footing. She faces him, unable to keep a few tears from escaping.

 

"We just want some answers, kid. Don't make a whole production out of this."

 

"Hey!"

 

Glinda, Roger and Chris, shoulder to shoulder, bounded to the base of the hill. To Frannie, none of them come across as the spitting image of confidence. Even so, the trio standing there rigidly, appearing as though they weren't sure what to do with their arms, gave Frannie an unusually warm feeling. Roger then commences to pick up the H-Dial.

 

"You must be looking for this, jackoff," Roger deduces. He and his companions back away a few inches, at Murr's face twisting with both rage and desperation.

 

The sirens continue to close in. George begins to stir on the porch, swearing and clutching his side. Vicki somersaults out of the wreckage of the shed, scalded but determined as ever.

 

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to minimize damages?" she berates Murr. Vicki groans her own instinctual pun, then waves a hand behind herself. The shed reconstructs in a flurry, rakes and shovels settling back onto their hooks with absolute precision. "... I can do that?"

 

"Drop the phone," Murr commands.

 

"Just ICE 'EM ALREADY!" George screams, loosing a slew of gilded, silk strands at the gathered kids.

 

Vicki wills several blades of grass to enlarge, swatting the projectiles out of the air, before focusing on Murr. George does not cease the barrage, forcing Roger and the others to duck and dodge along a clothesline. The hanging shirts provide minimal protection, with one of the webs snaring Glinda's shoelaces and pant leg, dragging her down. Roger and Chris purposely fall to their knees to stop their momentum, and scramble back to Glinda. All three pull hopelessly at the bonds, as George zeroes in.

 

Wrenching both of Murr's forearms in the crook of one leg, Vicki flips into a handstand on just one arm. Murr roars in pain, struggling to grab his opponent. His outstretched fingers arc and sputter with transmutative properties, licking at Vicki's scorched suit. Her unoccupied hand points at George, intending to shrink him. Her concentration shatters when Murr succeeds in tapping her lower leg, and a chunk of boot, skin and muscle evaporates. Vicki yowls; distracted, the hex she had meant for George only influences his mask. The disguise, significantly scaled down, immediately constricts his face. George joins the other superpowered persons' cries with his own distressed caterwaul. He claws at the taut latex around his jaw and eyelids.

 

Glinda remains stuck in spite of her friends' efforts. The sirens have stopped now. Police are shouting from the street.

 

Murr rams Vicki into the dirt using a plated shoulder. Inches from grasping her neck, something conks into his reinforced helmet. Paper-thin fractures spread over the glass guard, and he trips, as tiny crystal particles begin to infiltrate his tear ducts. A baseball rolls to a stop at Vicki's heel. Murr can't see it, only the blurry outline of a pink windbreaker worn by Frannie Nash, who slowly straightens from her pitch. Not realizing the man is effectively blinded, she backs up, nearly tripping herself, closer to where Glinda lay on the turf.

 

"Agh... Golden Web?" Murr stutters in the direction he believes George to be. "Get us out... of here."

 

The police were close enough for their radios' scratchy commands to be heard. George finally acknowledges the ticking clock and, still hindered by his mask, crawls to Murr's voice. He links their arms, and fires a web up and over the rear hill's trees. The blonde man drools like a feral dog; his face is red both from its inhibited movement, as well as no small amount of humiliation.

 

"I'll have your heads, brats. You and your super-friends... ALL your heads, on pikes!"

 

The pair of villains catapult over the ground on Golden Web's rope, until they are out of sight. Roger dives for Vicki the moment their adversaries have disappeared. Frannie maintains her distance.

 

"Vicki?! Hey!"

 

Roger's hands hover tentatively over her leg wound. Her eyes are cloudy, but she breathes plainly. Having retained the Operator's advice, Vicki indicates with a bloodied finger for him to present the H-Dial.

 

"Han- ... Hang up."

 

Roger does so without hesitation. A smoky vacuum effect develops between the heroine and the device. Her voluminous hair and the blue of her costume drain into the funnel of strange energies, and with a slight gust, the artificial storm vanishes entirely. The real Vicki, with only the minor scrapes and bruises she had earned before using the dial, rests in the grass, alert and speechless.

 

Glinda bites her lip and watches the sides of the house anxiously. "Vicki... run with it!"

 

All five kids use the last seconds, before the police arrive, to mull over their options. They didn't require any more time than was available. Five kids, who had just found a way to turn the tides, who had known little else besides barriers, a time and a place for everything, and childhoods sifting away all too soon... were not going to surrender this gift.

 

The verdict is reached unanimously, with no more than four nods, and an apprehensive gulp from Frannie. Vicki splits off for the treeline, toting the H-Dial once again.

 

"More running," she remarks laboriously. "Stellar."

  

***

  

"Help! My friend needs help, she's stuck!"

 

Chris runs directly towards the band of policemen approaching from the left of Frannie's home, as Roger does the same to those on the right. If they can just keep the officers busy for a few seconds, Vicki could sneak away with-

 

"Hold your fire! Hold!"

 

"Please, she's over there."

 

"Okay, son, stay right here; we're going to check it out and help your friend," the first officer assures Chris.

 

The boy sees Roger trying to shepherd every cop to Glinda's spot in the yard, but Vicki is already gone without a trace, rendering the diversion unnecessary. Frannie races up her porch's steps. Two of the officers attempt to call her back until her mother emerges from the doorway onto the stoop. She clings to Frannie, ushering her inside. Chris wonders briefly if Mrs. Nash will ignore the cops altogether, but she turns to engage their questions, once she and her daughter are behind the screen door.

 

"I guess Glinda and Roger know best," Chris concludes for himself. "If Frannie's mom is some kind of recluse, that's not my business."

 

All in all, he knew things had played out very fortunately for him and the others. As for the sit-down with parents and explanations for reckless behavior that were sure to come, Chris was holding onto the hope that he could at least make it home, and catch them off guard with the news. Rather than...

 

"Son."

 

This time it wasn't the geniality of a policeman that had earned Chris the title.

 

"Hi Dad."

 

Detective Greg King looks back at the squad cars parked alongside the curb, and his own unmarked vehicle, roosting majestically in the center of the Nash's flower garden. Chris' father composes himself, hands pushing his jacket aside to rest on his waist, eyes fixated on the end of his tie. "Good thing I was in the neighborhood."

 

"Yup."

 

"Let's go home, Chris. Your mother needs to kill you."

Lunch time comes around, and I make sure to avoid Flash and the rest of his goon squad as I make my way to the cafeteria. Upon entering, I spot Harry, Lana, and Cheyenne at a table in the corner of the room. It seems I got here before the lunchtime rush, as there aren't many people in here. I sit down beside Harry, and they notice me sit down.

 

"Hey Peter!" Lana says cheerfully.

 

"Oh hey Lana! What'd I miss?" I ask, stuttering somewhat.

 

"Not much Pete.. We were just talking about going rock climbing after school today.. As a friendship building exercise! You in?" Harry pipes up.

 

"Sorry Harry.. I have to go a fundraiser tonight hosted by Mrs. Hardy. Not sure why Aunt May wants us both to go, but I guess I should just to make sure Aunt May isn't alone out there.. She's still trying to set me up with Felicia as well.. So that will be just great..." I reply, with the last remark in a sarcastic tone..

 

"Dang dude. Sorry to hear that.. Though Felicia is quite the catch, even if her father is a murdering scumbag."

 

"Yeah well there's no way I'm dating the daughter of the man who killed my Uncle Ben." Saying it out loud makes me even angrier. My voice rises more and more as the sentence goes on.

 

Lana: "Oook then.. Let's talk about something else..." After a pause, she keeps talking.

"So Cheyenne, where did you live before here?"

 

"Honestly, due to business, my parents moved around a lot. Canada, Japan, Columbia, Denmark, Africa, other parts of the United States, and New Zealand to name a few. Some only for a couple of months, others for a few years." Wonder why she wastes her time stealing then, if her parents are loaded enough to travel the world.

 

Lana: "Wow!! That's awesome! I've always wanted to travel, just never had the time or money."

 

"Lana, you're missing out! It's settled then. We will all just have to take a trip sometime!" Harry replies with such enthusiasm.

 

"The only time you've been on vacation Harry was when you had to go with your dad that one time for a week. Besides, you told me you were stuck sitting in board meetings the whole week."

 

"Not cool Pete." Harry whispers to me in a joking tone.

"Dangit, you got me there Pete! Unfortunately, it's true... Which gives me all the reason more to go on a real vacation. Who better to go with than friends?"

 

I hear the bell ring, and instinctively get up.

 

"See you all later! And Peter, good luck man!" Harry says, as he grabs his backpack, and runs out of the cafeteria.

 

"Cya both tomorrow!" I say, as I'm about to head out for my next class. Lana and Cheyenne both say goodbye before going back to talking among themselves. You would think after learning more about Cheyenne it would make me trust her more. But there's just this feeling I can't shake. And no, it's not just that she spends her nights dressed up in tactical gear, stealing from major companies. Well whatever it is, I'll be sure to find it out next time she decides to steal. Wish I had more leads on 'Princess' as well. Oh right, I haven't called Gwen Stacy at all to tutor me either.. Guess I should be more worried about surviving tonight before I worry about all this other stuff.

 

The rest of the school day is pretty uneventful, with Sally Avril complaining once more in class, and with Flash Thompson trying to push my buttons during Biology. I zone him out though, as I keep to myself, writing down notes of the main points of today's lesson. When the last bell rings, I go to my locker, and grab the other textbooks I need. After that, I make my way onto the bus. After sitting down, I just look out the window, as we drive out of the school parking lot. The bus is somehow noisier than usual.. People gossiping about whose with who, and predictions for who'll get together. After 15 minutes of stopping and driving, we arrive at the bus stop on my street. I get up, and see Henry Jackson get out ahead of me. Once I get off the bus, I make my way across the street, and up the steps of the house.

 

Opening the door I say "Aunt May, I'm home!"

 

"Peter! I'm just making some dinner now. I found Ben's dress suit and pants from when he was your age. It's on a hanger in your room."

 

"Ok, thanks! I'll just be doing homework. Just let me know when dinner's ready and when we have to go to that fundraiser.."

 

"Will do. Just make sure you have a shower soon. Have to look your best for Felicia.."

 

"Yeah yeah ok.." Still stuck on trying to set me up.. Yay.. I take off my converse and drop off my backpack in my room, before going into the shower. Usually I like to stay in the shower for a pretty long time, but today, I really don't feel like it. After the shower I put on some clean clothes, before going into my room, and crashing onto the bed. I pull out one of many worksheets, and my textbook. I haven't even started yet, and I'm bored.. I doodle on the side of the worksheet, as my eyes try to read the textbook. How am I supposed to work on this when there's a whole slew of problems for both Peter Parker and Spider-Man? If only I could be Spider-Man full time... But that won't help Aunt May pay the bills.. Gah, let's get this over with..

 

BY WILFRED OWEN

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

 

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

 

This memorial was photographed at Lisle sur Tarn, a lovely village situated between Albi and Toulouse in the Tarn department.

Aiden rarely goes to the library but he knows where Adelaide likes to spend her time at. He sees her struggling to reach for the book thankfully his growth spurt has came in handy for this moment in need. He walks up behind her to grabs the book, "Here you are." as he smirks. He waited for a response but none was said. "Adelaide?" he was a little puzzled but finally she stuttered out. "Thank you."

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

Browning machine guns: COBI

105mm Howitzer design reverse-engineered from the Brickmania M2A1 Howitzer.

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

"I want an APB sent out immediately," Ira West shouted, rushing from his office to the CCPD breeding room. "Every available officer needs to be searching this city up and down, every damn apartment!"

 

Inside the room sat August, his eyes locked onto the floor. When paramedics arrived, he refused to be taken to the hospital, electing to have a quick patch up and be taken straight to the precinct. The gauze wrapped around his head was stained red, but it didn't bother him at the moment, his mind was occupied.

 

"Sir, everyone is already here," Patty replied with a frown. "The fire at Iron Heights was worse than Trickster's breakout; multiple wings were able to escape."

 

"Damnit…" the commissioner cursed, clenching his fist. "We need to contact Keystone, see if-"

 

"Ira!"

 

August's head final rose, looking towards the doorway. Joe stormed into the room, Flash following in behind him.

 

"What are the patrols looking like?" he demanded, his face flushed red. "Do we have any choppers out? Wh-"

 

"Joe, Joe!" Ira called out, interrupting his brother. "Take a breather, please."

 

"It's… but…" Joe mumbled, before stopping himself, breathing in deeply. "How ma… is this everyone?"

 

Ira frowned, nodding his head solemnly. "Everyone here is what we have available," he said. "Everyone else is dealing with the breakout."

 

"Ira… you… you know that- that he took him, right?" Joe whispered out, Flash placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Him."

 

"Yes, I do. And you know how much I want that fucker's head on a block, but I can't," Ira replied, gaze shifting to the new footage of Iron Heights. "He's my nephew. I want him home, safe, but I can't just drop everything for him. As Commissioner I need to th-"

 

August quietly stood, the group in the room not taking notice of him. August watched the Commissioner's mouth continue to move, but no words could be heard. The television was running a fast food ad, but the commercial was silent. August's eyes were fixated on Ira, his fist balling at his side. He could feel his breath pass through his teeth, gritting together tightly.

 

"He's some random dealer who got shot in an alleyway, it happens everyday. We aren't dropping everything going on right now just to start an investigation for him and that's final."

 

"Detective."

 

August flinched as a red-gloved hand was placed onto his shoulder. He quickly brushed the hand off, staring at the hero in front of him. He then noticed Joe, Ira, and Patty were all looking at him as well, causing him to unclench his fist.

 

"You okay, Detective?" Flash asked with a small, endearing smile on his face. "I know you and Daniel are close, if there's anything-"

 

"You can do to help?" August interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the hero. "How about stop standing around like everyone else and go find him."

  

Flash frowned, nodding. "I'm here to get CCPD's patrol routes," he explained, looking back at the group. "Once they start sending cars out, I'll know where is getting covered. It'll help us find him faster."

 

August stayed silent, nodding lightly before stepping past Flash and out the door. He paused as he reached the hallway, looking back into the room. "You should know by now…" he said, staring into Flash's eyes, "the right way isn't the right way… not always."

 

-^-

 

You must be swift as a coursing river, (Be a man!)

 

Blue lightning bounced off Wally's body as he slid to the right, dodging the cane strike.

 

With all the force of a great typhoon, (Be a man!)

 

The next strike came rushing at Wally's head, but the boy raised his arms to block the attack.

 

With all the strength of a raging fire…

 

Wally's other hand shot up, grabbing onto the cane and pulling it free from Eddie's hands.

 

Mysterious as the dark side of the moon!

 

Spinning the object, he pointed it at Eddie's face, panting lightly as the song on the radio ended. After a moment of silence, his eyes widened, reaching forward to catch Eddie as he stumbled backwards.

 

"I'm sorry Mr. Jones," he apologized, handing the man his cane back and guiding him to the chair. "I, uh, guess it got kinda intense back there."

 

Wally was surprised to see Eddie chuckle once more, sliding his sunglasses off and placing them next to the radio. "I'm not sure what you're apologizing for, Wallace," he said, turning the radio off. "If you didn't notice, you were able to stay in complete control for three whole minutes."

 

"I… huh," Wally mumbled, sitting down next to Eddie. "I guess I did… I did! What… prompted it? The music, I mean."

 

"Heh… well, would you believe me if I said it was you?" he asked, his smile falling slightly, but becoming evermore sincere. "Remember the day I met you? Christmas at your uncle's place?"

 

"I mean, yeah," Wally said, chuckling slightly. "August hit you in the head with a snowball and you decided to join us."

 

"Yeah that's it," he said with a nod. "That day, I hated you."

 

"Huh?"

 

"For three years I just… I didn't even like looking at you," he explained, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "When Barry told me what happened with Trickster, that we'd be training you… I wanted to opt out."

 

"Wait wait wait, go back a bit?" Wally asked, a confused frown on his face. "Why did you hate me? We hardly even saw each other."

 

"I know. I made sure of that," he said, taking a deep breath. "I… I hated you because you just… you remind me of her, so much."

 

"Her?"

 

"My daughter, Colly," Eddie mumbled with his eyes closed. "Your kindness, your sass, your carefree attitude, your ability to get knocked down and get back up laughing… it was like her ghost was haunting me."

 

"That's why you call me-" Wally began, stopping as Eddie nodded. "So… so what changed? I mean, I assume you don't hate me now?"

 

"You're still a pain in the ass, but I don't…" he said smiling again. "When Barry and Jay asked for my help with that fake Clariss, when I had to use my power for the first time since she… it was like a fog in my mind cleared. You aren't some spectre looming over me with the spirit of my baby girl held hostage. You're a reminder of her. Her heart, her brain… her soul. I told Barry he was the reason I broke out of my solitude and was able to smile again. You though? You gave me something worth more than a thousand smiles, so thank you, Wally. Thank you for being you."

 

"I uh… I'm not sure exactly what to say," Wally chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

"Well I say, we head upstairs and get some grub," Eddie said, brushing away a tear before putting his glasses back on. "Once we eat, I've got something special to show you, I think you'll really like it."

 

-^-

 

The crowd roared as a man in robes performed a roundhouse kick, knocking the other to the floor with a thud. The man was quickly back on his feet, throwing a wild uppercut at his opponent. August stood in the entrance to the club, the music blasting loud and the building reeking of sweat and alcohol.

 

Goldrush: An underground night-fight club located just outside the city border. Its owner, Damion Poitier, had run the club for a decade now under the alias of Bling. Through the years Poitier accumulated wealth and power through Goldrush, making a name for himself and dipping his fingers into the CCPD as well as the KCPD.

 

August began to survey the room, searching for the head of the establishment. Poitier, more than anything, was a businessman. A businessman who made sure he knew what went on in the gem cities at all times.

 

It was a long shot, but August had no other options.

 

As he searched the dancefloor, his eyes were drawn to the bar, narrowing as he spotted the bartender. 'Is that…' he thought to himself, pushing through the crowd, confirming his suspicions as he approached the bar and taking a seat.

 

"And what will it be f-" the woman started, before gasping. "August?"

 

"Didn't know you worked here, Becky," he said, staring at the woman, dressed in a white button down with a crimson vest.

 

"Well, things happen after you don't talk to someone for five years," she responded, a slight venom in her words. "I don't think you really should know, either. What's one of CCPD's finest doing here?"

 

"I-"

 

"And that is round two, we have had a great fight on our hands so far ladies and gentlemen, it shall continue shortly!"

 

"I need information," August said, noticing the unphased look on Becky's face. "If you could point me in the direction of your boss, I'll be out of your hair."

 

"Pretty ballsy to walk in here demanding to speak to Bling," she said with a coy smirk, leaning forward on the counter. "I'm not too sure he'd enjoy me sending a cop to his doorstep."

 

"I'm not playing games, not today," August growled, causing Becky to frown. "Tell me where he is, or I'll make sure this club comes crashing down."

 

Becky sighed, crossing her arms as she pulled back from the counter. "You're not much fun anymore," she mumbled, jutting her thumb to the side. "Door behind me, it'll take you to the VIP lounge. If they ask, say you threatened me with a knife or something, 'kay?"

 

August didn't respond, stepping through the opening and past Becky through the door. He quickly made his way up the carpeted stairs, finding himself on a balcony positioned to view the arena and dance floor.

 

August spotted a plethora of mobsters, CEOs, and high ranking officials sitting at the various tables lining the balcony. It didn't take long to find his target, however, as he sat at the largest of them all. August approached the table with a quickness, his eyes locking onto Poitier's.

 

"Well, well, well," Poitier said, an invisible smile forming under his mask, "what an interesting turnup we have here. Never expected to see you in here, Detective Heart."

 

August stared at the man, who sat on the couch of the VIP lounge, scantily clad men sat around him. He was dressed in a crisp white suit, arms splayed across the back of the couch as he chuckled, a drink in one hand.

 

"Bling," August said, narrowing his eyes. "I don't have time for any bullshit, I need information."

 

"I do like someone who can cut to the chase," he said, raising his glass to August before sticking the straw through his mask and taking a sip. "You need information, I've likely got it."

 

"Eradicator, where is he?" August asked, crossing his arms, watching the man's golden eyes narrow.

 

"Eradicator…" Poitier mumbled, bringing his free hand to his chin. "Ah yes, Eradicator, good old Mr. Phillips."

 

"Well?"

 

"Well?"

 

"Where is he!?" August shouted, his fists clenching.

 

Poitier was silent for a moment, his eyes staring into August's. Then suddenly, he began to cackle, throwing his head back and holding his stomach. "Oh… oh that… that's rich," he wheezed, trying to contain his laughter. "Yo- ha. Do you think you're Batman or something? Why in the hell would I be afraid of you?"

 

"Do you want to find out!" August shouted, reaching forward and grabbing onto the man's collar. "I'm not playing around, Poitier! My family is-"

 

Suddenly, a large hand clasped onto August's shoulder, tearing him from Poitier and lifting him into the air. August began to struggle, but the grip tightened, making him groan in pain. A cold blade was pressed against his throat, the edge pressing into his skin. August's eyes shifted slightly, eyeing the man that held him up.

 

He stood tall, much taller than August's own frame. He was clad in a blue suit, pieces of silver armor covering his body. His face was rough and mean, a scar running from his cheek through his lips. The blade pressed against August's neck was attached to the man's gauntlets, the silver stained red.

 

"It seems I forgot to introduce you two," Poitier smirked, slipping the straw through his mask once more. "Razor, meet Detective Heart. Detective Heart, meet Razor, my personal bodyguard."

 

Poitier gave a slight nod, causing the large man to drop August to the ground. "You've got a supervillain working for you?" August grunted, rubbing his shoulder.

 

"I've got supervillains working for me," Poitier corrected, shooing the strippers away as he leaned forward. "Razor's good at his job, earns his paycheck and then some. Now, you wanna try being a good boy and continue our conversation?"

 

"I need to know where he is," August said, standing up from the ground. "I don't have time for your games. He has my… my brother."

 

"Yes, I know," Poitier said, nodding his head. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to Daniel. Here's the thing though, Detective. I am a businessman," he explained, placing his glass onto the table and bringing his right leg over his left. "When I do something for someone, I get something in return. If I just started handing out things, all of this wouldn't last."

 

"And Crowbar goes down! Your winner for the match, the beastly, Kung!"

 

"I've got an uneven amount of fighters tonight," Poitier said, raising his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a stack of cash. "If someone were willing to, say… help me fill that spot…" the man's eyes narrowed, "well, let's just say I like to help my employees with their troubles."

 

August stared at Poitier, his own eyes narrowing.

 

"I can't lose anyone else either."

 

-^-

 

"Get ready folks, you won't want to miss this next matchup!" the announcer shouted, riling the crowd up.

 

August sat in the small locker room located in the back of the club. His jacket, shirt, and gun were all placed in the locker Poitier had given him. He stared at his gauzed wrapped hands, mind flooding with the events that occurred earlier that night. Eradicator beating him effortlessly, Daniel being dragged out of the house after trying to save him. His teeth grit, hard.

 

"You've seen him here before," the announcer returned, introducing his opponent. "He strikes like a winter wind, give it up for… Chillblaine!"

 

August turned to see his opponent discarding an aviator jacket into the locker. The man smacked his head a few times, before turning towards the arena.

 

"Get ready to die, piggy," Blaine said with a devious smirk before rushing out into the arena, earning a roar of applause.

 

August looked down to the bench he sat on, lifting his badge from the seat.

 

"If having this badge means I can't even help a child in need, then maybe I shouldn't have it."

 

"Facing off against Chillblaine," the announcer began, causing August to stand, throwing the badge into the locker before slamming it shut, "he's a never before seen fighter here at Goldrush. Taken straight from the other side, Detective August Heart!"

 

As August exited the locker room, he was met by a barrage of negativity. Food was thrown at him, hands tried to grab ahold of him, and insults were loud enough to drown out the music. His head stayed down, eyes locked onto the stage in front of him.

 

They could think whatever they wanted. He was here for one reason, their words didn't matter.

 

Stepping into the cage, the door was slammed shut behind him. As the lock ticked, the ref mumbled out a threat, but August was unable to decipher it. Blaine stood across from him, chatting with a woman outside the cage.

 

"Are… you… ready!?" The announcer asked, earning another roar from the crowd. "Alright! Let's get ready to rumble!"

 

The sound of a bell ringing caused Blaine to turn. August kept his head straight, eyes locked onto Blaine. He readied his fists and began to sidestep around the cage.

 

"I'm gonna kill you in here," Blaine said, taking a similar stance to August and following his movements. "Filthy fucking pig ruining my night."

 

August didn't speak, the events from earlier once again flashing through his mind. 'Powerless,' he thought to himself, narrowing his eyes.

 

Blaine charged forward with a quick jab, one August was able to block with his forearm. The man followed up quickly with a low hook, connecting with Blaine's abdomen. Blaine easily tanked the hit, responding with another two jabs, one right one left. August attempted to use the opening, but was met with a rising knee to the stomach, the force causing him to stumble. Blaine didn't let up on the attack, rushing forward with another jab and a right hook. August was able to block the first strike, but the second connected with his skull, putting him into a daze.

 

"How you like that, hog!?" Blaine shouted, sending another hook into August's head, knocking him to the ground. "Gonna be joining old Jorgy soon, fucker!"

 

Blaine brought his foot down, smashing it against August's abs, vomit spilling from the detective's mouth.

 

"Screw dad, he's not family, not real family, I mean."

 

Another stomp was against his chest, causing August's vision to darken.

 

"Real family is… well, it's the people who you care about. Not just like friends, but people who've changed and impacted your life so much that… that you'd do anything for them. People who you'd steal for, kill for… and even die for. That's what a real family is."

 

August laid on the arena's floor, Blaine's foot tauntingly hovering above his face. Blood trickled down his face, from new wounds and his cut from earlier reopened. As he watched Blaine taunt, the image of Daniel passed through his mind once more, causing a guttural cry to be ripped from his stomach.

 

August grabbed Blaine's foot in one hand and leg in the other. With all the force he could muster, he pushed in opposite directions until he heard a pop, as well as a cry from his opponent. Stumbling to a stand, he still held Blaine's now broken foot, panting. His body rushed forward as fast as it could, slamming Blaine's back against the cage. Once there, he brought his elbow crashing down onto his opponent's kneecap, attempting to break it. Blaine was quick enough to bend his knee, stopping the attempt, but drawing August in closer in the process.

 

Still holding onto Blaine's foot, August slammed his free fist into Blaine's abdomen. Blaine doubled over at the strike, allowing August to let the man's foot fall and perform a devastating uppercut. August then sent his fist into Blaine's face, smashing the blond's nose and slamming his head back into the cage. A second strike connected with his upper jaw, with a third again hitting the bridge of his nose.

 

Grabbing him by the hair, August hit him with two more quick head punches before throwing him to the ground. August quickly straddled the man's hips, his breathing erratic. Blaine raised his hands in a weak defense, but August pushed them aside, bringing his fist down. He began pounding the man's face, each strike causing another crunch, every hit staining his wraps a deeper red.

 

"Please…"

 

August paused with his fist ready to strike again. He panted heavily, a concoction of blood and sweat dripping from his chin. His eyes widened as he truly looked at the man beneath him.

 

His head was smothered in crimson, his skin torn all along his bruised face. Blood was pooling underneath him, coloring his blond hair an orange-y red. His nose was broken, his bottom lip split open, and his right eye was sealed shut.

 

With uneven breaths, placing a hand on his knee, August pulled himself to a stand. It was only now when he noticed the crowd, completely silent.

 

"A-a-and… I'm sorry," the announcer stuttered, gulping audibly. "Your winner, Detective August Heart!"

 

August looked up to the balcony as the crowd began to roar. Poitier was looking down at him, slowly clapping his hands. August could tell, even with the mask over his face, the man was smiling.

 

'It was for Daniel,' August thought, looking up into the blinding lights as he panted. 'It was for Daniel… anything for family.'

 

-^-

 

"That was a spectacular fight," Poitier said, his feet kicked up on the table, clapping as August entered the VIP lounge. "I'd say the best we've had in this place in years, at least since that blond kid with a temper came in a few years back."

 

August stood across from the man, his wounds crudely wrapped in gauze and his jacket laid over his shoulder. "Eradicator..." he mumbled, "where is he?"

 

Poitier sighed, dropping his feet to the floor. "A deal... is a deal," he said, pulling out the same stack of bills from before. "I had one of my informants follow them after they took down that building. Apparently, he and the fire fella are heading to the northern power plant. What for, beats me, but you should find them there."

 

August stared at the Poitier, the stack of cash, then back at Poitier. "Keep your damn money," he mumbled, turning away from the man.

 

"You're welcome to step into the cage again anytime, detective," Poitier called out, causing August to stop.

 

"When all of this passes," he mumbled, looking over his shoulder, "I'll be back to shut this place down."

 

"I cannot wait to see you try," Poitier chuckled, as August left Goldrush

 

-^-

 

"Nothing… we've got nothing," Joe said, slamming his fist against the wall. "What are we supposed to do!?"

 

"Joe, calm down," Barry said, placing his hand atop his shoulder. "We'll head back to CCPD and check in with Patty, I'm sure they've got some updates."

 

"I should've brought him to the station…" Joe said, his voice wobbly. "If he was there instead of home-"

 

"Nothing would've changed, Joe," Barry said, causing Joe to look at the blond. "What would've been different if you had him at CCPD instead of home?"

 

"I… I could've…"

 

"Nothing," Barry continued, giving Joe a sad smile. "You… you have to accept the things you can't change… it's the only way you can make real change."

 

"I… Yeah… I just-"

 

bzzt bzzt bzzt bzzt

 

Barry looked at Joe, confused, before tapping the wing on his cowl. "Hello?"

 

"I found Daniel, get to the Northern Power Plant, now."

 

"A-August? Wait, what? How did you? A-alright, I'll text Joe and-"

 

"Cut the act, Barry," August responded, a drive Barry had never heard before in his voice. "I know you're him. Bring Joe if you want, but get here, now."

 

As the line cut, Barry was frozen in shock. Before he could let the reveal get to him, he turned to Joe, a small, but hopeful smile on his face.

 

"August found him."

 

----------------------------

 

NEXT TIME: Faceoff! The Flash vs The Eradicator!

A late-teen Girl kept padlocked in leg braces and in school uniform as part of a psychology experiment - by Angela Fox, inspired by a tale written by Garth Toyntanen (INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3) toyntanen.blogspot.co.uk/ note the padlocks used to secure the leg braces and the card marked "stutterer" hanging around the girl's neck.

 

Here psychological pressure is going to be applied in an attempt to deliberately induce stammering as part of a residential experimental psychology study the poor thing has been fooled into volunteering for by her scheming stepmother.

 

More of Angela Fox's artwork can be found on Garth Toyntanen's website beyondthebarredwindow.weebly.com/ and her books on LULU, for example www.lulu.com/shop/angela-fox/the-wardress/ebook/product-2...

 

Had great hopes for this location, but in the end, it became a confused mess in fading light. However, nice idea to take the steam train to the beach.

 

The bathers must have wondered what was happening as thirty-odd (odd) elderly men arrived wearing anoraks and sensible shoes in the tropical heat, and commenced to bark out 'pleasantries' such as "You're in the shot!".

 

The luxury Mount Lavinia hotel overwhelms the “B1a” class loco and train making its stuttering way back to Colombo from Galle.

 

Sri Lanka. February 2020. © David Hill

Yellow-belled Sapsuckers perch upright on trees like this Jamaican dogwood (Piscidia piscipula), leaning on their tails like other woodpeckers. They feed at sapwells—neat rows of shallow holes they drill in tree bark. They lap up the sugary sap along with any insects that may get caught there. Sapsuckers drum on trees and metal objects in a distinctive stuttering pattern.

 

Little Torch Key, Florida

TW: This issue contains depictions of self-harm and drug addiction, as well as mentions of murder. Read with caution.

  

A tophat is thrown haphazardly beneath a bookshelf.

 

It’s been thirty minutes since the death of Alan Dell. The butterflies are gone, but the body is still there.

 

John paces in circles around the room. Zatanna is rolled up into a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth - she scratches the back of her neck, leaving marks so deep she’s close to bleeding.

 

“Jesus fuck… What to do… What to do…” John itches the stubble on his chin. “Whoever did this is a bloody asshole - we can’t call the cops, we’d be put on trial… We can’t send the body to a void, that’d just be discourteous… Shit! Bet the bastard gets off on it, this… Twisted, murderous, manipulative… Hey, you don’t think they’re watching us right now, do you?”

 

John stops pacing, turns to Zatanna - she’s silent, still rocking. He tilts his head, notices her scratching.

 

“Hey!” John rushes to her, kneels, slaps her hand way. “Stop that!”

 

She looks up, teeth clenched, and tears spilling from her ducts. She’s stopped rocking. She swiftly extends her wand toward her sweater, which is draped over a wooden chair. “Gnirb em eht etteragic!” The thin, two-toned cylinder that once sat in her pocket flies into her hand. She brings it to her lips. “Eting-“

 

John smacks the cigarette from her grasp, before clutching her upper-arm with one hand, and extending the index finger of his other - pointing it toward her face. “No.”

 

“You gave it to me,” Zatanna stutters.

 

“I know what I did, I wish I didn’t, and I’m sorry. Just… Take a deep breath, everything’s gonna be okay.” John sits at Zatanna’s left, with a grunt followed by a sigh. “Fuck. Not very good at this, am I?” He lights his own cigarette and blows it to the side opposite Zatanna, as to not let smoke get near her - that isn’t how smoke works, but she finds it thoughtful.

 

“Better than you used to be…” Zatanna wipes her eye, but the tears have not yet finished pouring. “Why do you stop me, but not yourself? From smoking.”

 

“I’m long dead. You’re not.”

 

“Hm,” she snickers. “Edgy.”

 

He snickers too. “Yeah.” he pauses. “Don’t think I ever told you, that I had lung cancer.”

 

Zatanna’s demeanour changes as she turns her head. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine - I did say ‘had’ - swindled the ol Prince of Darkness into curing it for me. But…” John’s smirk shifts straight. “Even after pleading, begging to not die, and getting what I wanted, I haven’t stopped feeling the same - like I’m at the brink of death at every moment… And I haven’t stopped smoking either, obviously. Dangerous habit, hard thing to beat.” The two make eye contact. “Without all the glitz, that’s my raw answer to your question: I don’t want you to go through what I’m never gonna stop going through. Ciggies don’t solve any problems - they’ve given me a fuckton - I’m just too far gone now.”

 

“That’s not true,” says Zatanna, after a pause - she’s still yet to finish crying, but past that, a classic glimmer of hope is back in her eyes. “It’s never too late. You could always go to a rehab, a therapist…” She pauses again. “Even a good friend can help a lot.”

 

“I guess.” John sighs. “Y’know, you really should heal yourself. Neck’s not lookin’ too great. You should say, uh… La… Laeh…” he waves a hand nonchalantly. “Whatever ‘heal myself’ is in backwards, you should say that.”

 

Instant silence, ridden with hope diminishment - like a yellow bird once flying, now shot in the wing.

 

“…It’s not your fault, what happened to Alan - if that is what’s on your mind” John assures.

 

Still silent, as she turns her head away.

 

“We did everything we could’ve done, Zee.”

 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she mumbles.

 

“Hm?”

 

She turns back, with an exhale. “I said it doesn’t feel like it. Honestly, it feels like we caused this. I mean - we brought him here, tied him up in chains, forced him to answer questions, and then he just… Died! Right in front of us! Seems to me like we killed him - and really, what other explanation is there?”

 

“If it helps, I actually think I’ve got a pretty good theory about what happened. ‘Been piecing it together in the back of my mind - I’m getting pretty good at multitasking.”

 

“You’ve still been doing detective shit this whole time?”

 

“Yeah? I mean, your pain’s valid, ‘course, sorry again - but the longer we wait, more people out there are gonna die. Best we make use of the time we got.”

 

Zatanna pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fair point, I guess - what’s your theory?”

 

“Okay, so,” John quickly stands up, struts to the desk, grabs his briefcase before coming back to the wall and sitting back down. He opens the briefcase, quickly jots down the name ‘Delevingne’ with pen on a sticky note, and puts it beside the other sticky note phrases and police photographs on the case’s beige inside. “I bet Delevingne’s a front for an illegal operation, like, a black market, if you will, for sorcerous weaponry - which, would pro’lly make it the place the late Alan Dell first got his hands on the Enchantress artifact. Can’t say I have too much of a hunch when it comes to who might be running the biz, beyond it being the same wanker as Dell’s mysterious ‘family friend’ - who, is also the one that killed him! That’s the part I’m especially sure of, the timing just makes it obvious. And,” John stands up, walks toward Alan’s body. “I realize now there’s no way someone like that, some mystical lowlife, is watching us outright - bet they just put bugs on their buyers, heard one was was about to snitch, and then…” John hesitates at the notice of Zatanna’s frown. “…Well, you know the rest.” He takes a knee beside the corpse. “Cónrahuud,” a flashlight appears in his hand. He uses it for inspection. “Aha, yep, just as I suspected,” he tugs a circular, golden object from the roof of Alan’s mouth, and holds it up for Zatanna to see.

 

“What is that?”

 

“It’s called a ‘DITO’, or… ‘Dispos…itivo dI Tras...missione Ora’-”

 

“You mean ‘dispositivo di trasmissione orale’. ‘Oral transmission device’.”

 

“Ah, you know Italian?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“…Oh, right, right, yeah.”

 

“So, does this ‘DITO’ sorta act like a wire?” asks Zatanna, before casting a spell to cause a tissue to appear in her hand. She uses it to first wipe her eye, then her nose.

 

“Precisely! Ancient equivalent to a wire, with sorcerous properties and a shit name - I get it, it’s like ‘ditto’, but the acronym’s rubbish, and that’s not even mentioning the sexual connotation-”

 

“There has been a magic microphone in this room all night, listening to us talk about the case, and you’re not freaking out about that?”

 

“Well, you see: a DITO automatically shuts down once their wearer pops their clogs - or ‘kicks the bucket’, as ‘y’all’ say in ‘Murica-”

 

“Alright,” Zatanna puts her hand on her forehead, “thanks for letting me know, but I reaaaally don’t think this is the right time for jokes - especially ones about death.”

 

“Hm. I thought it might cheer you up, but my apologies.”

 

Zatanna stays in that facepalm position for a moment, her only movement being to use the tissue again - but, after a while, her eye opens. She looks to the briefcase on the floor. She picks it up, brings it to her lap, looks at the photographs - her eyes follow from image to image as she tries to think of ways to extend upon John’s theories. “Hmmm. Wait, I have an idea.” She reaches for her wand once again, points it at her bookshelf. “Gnirb em ehT aidepolcycnE fo suorecroS snopaeW dna seciveD, yrtne ytnewt-evif!” An encyclopedia flies to her grasp. She opens it, presses her wand against the first page. “Piks ot noitces D fo eht elbat fo stnetnoc!”

 

“With the miss of just one syllable, that ‘backwards magic’ of yours could completely backfire - yet it never does, least not when you use it. That won’t ever cease to amaze me.”

 

Zatanna smiles at John. “Thanks.” She looks back to the pages, parts some hair behind her ear to keep it from her eyes. “Okay… The Deception Sceptre… The Dial of Divination… Aha, DITO…”

 

“Got any new info?”

 

“‘The energy used to power a DITO is taken from the wearer… thus deactivation occurs once the device is no longer powered… deactivation cannot be reversed’, shit, there goes my idea.”

 

“You were gonna reactivate it and track the transmission’s other end, I’m guessing.”

 

“Mhm...” she continues reading.

 

John turns to an analog clock over the kitchen’s archway - it’s forty-six minutes past midnight, thus the first hour of October 30th. “Hey,” he turns to the opposite side of the room, at Zatanna’s bedroom door. “How’s about you get some rest?”

 

“But you said ‘the longer we wait, more people out there are gonna die’, and ‘best we make use of the time we got’-“

 

“We both said a lotta things, Zee. And we’re still human - humans need sleep. I’ll take the sofa, ‘kay?”

 

“Hm… Okay. Yeah. Might be a good idea.” Zatanna closes the book, puts it beside herself. She then casually points her wand between the grey sweater on the chair, the crimson long-sleeve draped underneath it, and the leopard print pajama pants that lay on the floor. “Hctiws ym sehtolc!” In a poof of rose coloured smoke, Zatanna’s clad once again in said sleepwear. She stands, enters her bedroom. She smiles slightly, past few rebel tears, at the poster above and beside her bed - the advertisement for her 2003 magic show. ‘Those were the days’, she thinks to herself, wishing things could revert to the way they were back then. She then lays down, pulls the duvet over herself. She rests her head on the pillow, one arm bent and beneath it. She closes her eyes, but they open again at the sound of light laughter. She sits up, sees John standing in the doorframe, admiring the same poster she was just looking at.

 

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

 

“Oh, I’m just reminiscing about the good ol’ days - y’know, John and Zee, the magic couple, duking it out with, I dunno, the Demons Three… Whatever happened? When did everything get so… Real?”

 

Zatanna stares blankly. It is now, upon hearing the words from his mouth, she’s hit with a realization: “I grew up, John.”

 

John’s pupils dilate. Then look to the corner. Then his lids half-close. He replies, “…right…”, and closes the door.

 

Zatanna lays back down, but on the other side of the door, John falls to the floorboards. His back is pressed against the wall as he takes another puff of his cigarette, only now beginning to cry.

American postcard by Classico San Francisco, no. 233/01. Photo: Universal Pictures. Boris Karloff in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931).

 

British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades, he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.

 

Boris Karloff was born William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’ never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service and had virtually abandoned his family in far-off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-year-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was distraught that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. which performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. While trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).

 

A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed before Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride of Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni.. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.

 

Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music, told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone-chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among the young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while the graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. In early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.

 

Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.

A nice male Stuttering frog photographed on the Central coast.

Soundtrack // Bande-son: GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS ("Uncertian Country"): www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajm4eYcv5oU&t=5s

"Static in the frame, and with a stutter... Not in flight, on the road, on foot... Can’t reach it... UNCERTAIN COUNTRY... Uncertain country..;"

 

Sur la route menant de Timbaki à Agia Galini, sur le littoral sud du district régional de Réthymnon (Crète).

Sure enough, just as I reach the end of the mine shaft leading outside, my powers fail me, sending me crashing into the gravel in front of me. Owwh! I try flying, but no dice. No constructs either.. Strange.. Haven't had this happen before . I check on the pod kids, to make sure they're alright. Other then some being completely freaked out, they're fine. Can't say I blame them. Being stuck in a pod and getting experimented on. Nothing good comes from that. Hard to believe that was me once. Along with Detonator, and a few others. Honestly, it's still a lot for me to fully process. I take this time to call the public Archon number. Within a matter of minutes, there they are, dropping out of their jet. Archon ! It's a weird feeling, seeing them all face to face, especially after losing a key member of their team in Big Time. Titanic, Paragon, Brightstar, Shockwave, and a newer face that I don't quite recognize. Guess they've got a new member.

 

"He-y, thanks for coming! Record time too!" I say, stuttering throughout, clearly nervous. I mean, these are the cities biggest heroes, after all. I give them a brief rundown on everything I know of what went down here, with plenty of uhms, and likes throughout, trying to regain my thoughts. Of course I didn't say anything about my flashbacks. Wouldn't want them locking me away or something..

 

"You should probably head home. Thanks for the help and everything, but we've got this now." The newest member replies after my rundown is over.

 

"Yeah, about that.. Would I be able to get a ride? My uhm powers are kind of malfunctioning on me.." I say with a shrug. This causes Shockwave and newbie to chuckle.

 

"Right.. Hey Brightstar, this bloke here needs a ride home. Fly him home, alright? I'll send you the coordinates." By the way Shockwave phrased it, it was more of an order than a request. Rather than rolling her eyes like I thought she would, she just nodded, and smiled.

 

"Sounds good."

 

"Wait, how do you even know-?" I give a look of confusion, as Shockwave gives me a sly smirk.

 

"Facial rec software in the visor. Not hard to pinpoint where ya live after that. Should defo consider getting yourself a helmet, or some goggles if you don't want people recognizing ya, mate. Assuming you keep getting yourself into trouble like this. Can't say we're too keen on that idea, but we can't be everywhere." Shockwave interrupts me mid sentence, the smirk still there, as he continues to talk with his thick Australian accent.

 

"That's not scary at all..." I say with a slight pause, before continuing. "But thanks, I appreciate the advice, and safe passage home!" It's then that Brightstar lifts me up into her arms, and flies off. Can't say this is how I was expecting the night to end, but there's no way I'm complaining.

 

--------------------------------------

It didn't take long for her to fly me home. I give a quick thank you, before she flies off. That's just great. Now all of Archon, not just the Judgement branch, knows who I am. In addition to Watchman, Detonator, Architect.. The list goes on. Wow, I'm really bad at this secret identity thing. Like Shockwave said, I really need to invest in some headgear. As I step through the front door, I notice my parents watching the news. No surprises here, there's already a report on Cooper's Landing's experiments. Dad turns around, and sees me walk in

 

"Where have you been?" He questions, noticing I'm in costume.

 

"Well, you're looking at it." I say, pointing to the TV.

 

"You were there? Why?" My mom pipes in.

 

"Recently, I've got these headaches, along with these occasional flashes. Still images, of things that at the time, I had no recollection of. One of which was of Cooper's Landing itself. I figured if I went down there, I'd get some answers. I didn't really want to bring it up, cause I knew it'd only cause you more grief."

 

"Of course we would be worried! You should have told us! That way we could've helped."

 

"Olivia, please.. Yelling at our boy won't do anything now... All that should matter right now is that our Andy is back." Is all my dad says, trying to console my mom. After a few seconds, he speaks up again. "So? Did you get any answers?"

 

"Thank you, dad. Yeah, I did. It all started with the time I went missing as a child." It's then I told them everything that I remembered from my repressed memories. How I was kidnapped, and experimented on by the Watchman, and his scientists. The greyish liquid, and how it was the source of my abilities. Project Beacon. How it all happened on Cooper's Landing, and that I was eventually saved by the man in the black and white costume. The story caught them off guard, and got them emotional. Which of course, got me emotional. They stood up, silent, and just pulled me into the group hug. We just stood there in silence, occasionally tearing up. As satisfying as it was to find the answers I've been looking for, it's even better getting to share in this moment with my parents. We finally know the full story of what happened. We can almost close that chapter of my life, and move forward. There's two questions that I still haven't gotten full answers to. Who is Detonator? And who is the Watchman? That's not even including the recent power malfunction either. It's a lot to think about, but I'll leave that for tomorrow. Right now, I need some sleep.

Halloween 2 PJL

  

————————————————————————————————

  

Scarlet pulled up her glove to complete her costume as Jason stepped into the room using his hand to cover where she stood.

  

“You finished getting ready?” He asked. Smirking, Scarlet answered,

  

“Yes, I am.” Jason dropped his hand to see her costume and nodded while saying,

  

“Well, you look…” He searched for a word to say that wouldn’t directly give away his new affection for her before settling on, “…accurate.”

  

“Accurate?” Scarlet said with a laugh as she adjusted her boots and exited the room with Jason.

  

“Yeah, accurate. I mean, I never saw or read Watchmen but from the posters online…”

  

“You look great.” Scarlet said, cutting off Jason’s stuttering as she examined his Nite Owl costume.

  

“This old thing?” Jason asked, looking up and down his suit, “Found part of it in a trash can. It’s not the best or accurate but, you know.” As they spoke, John and Landon approached in their costumes causing Scarlet to burst into laughter.

  

“I couldn’t find that weird black thong Manhattan wears so this had to do.” John said as Jason raised his eyebrows while mouthing the word ‘bulge’ to Landon. The latter nodded before saying,

  

“I don’t think my voice is raspy enough for Rorschach.” Jason shrugged before asking,

  

“So…should we get this show on the road?” The group nodded as they all exited their hideout and joined a crowd of various boys and girls in different costumes.

  

“What is it with people dressing as supervillains?” Scarlet asked as they passed two children dressed as Sinestro and Captain Cold, “Doesn’t that put their egos into hyperdrive?”

  

“They’re a product as long as they’re out of the spotlight I guess,” Jason answered before stepping towards the first apartment and saying, “Trick or treat.” A man in a skeleton mask handed the group candy before Jason turned to Landon to ask, “How’s it going with the Sionis lead?”

  

“Alright,” Landon said as he made a ‘so-so’ gesture with his hand, “He’s just hired some kids called the Skull twins. Hear they’ll be pulling off a series of major heist in the next few months.”

  

“Any word on his connection with you-know-who?” Realizing Jason was referencing the Joker caused Landon’s heart to skip a beat in remembering exactly what the man meant to him.

  

“None. But Sionis is definitely hiding something. Something he knows about the clown.” Jason smiled,

  

“At least we have that.” All of a sudden, a figure leapt out from behind a row of bushes nearby, yelling,

  

“Boo!” Scarlet screamed, as she was the closest to the figure, prompting Jason to quickly retrieve his pistol and aim it at the new person’s head. It turned out they were just a kid in a costume, who immediately began to cry and run away as Jason lowered his weapon. In the rush of everything that had just happened, he had not noticed that his other hand had ended up wrapped in Scarlet’s, whose body was now pressed to his. Noticing this as well, she moved away slightly, but left her hand in Jason’s as John and Landon both whistled in between bouts of laughter. Jason and Scarlet continued to walk ahead of the group to the next apartment before the latter moved the former’s arm around her shoulder, bringing them close together again as they said,

  

“Happy Halloween Scarlet.”

  

“Happy Halloween Jason.”

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sorry that took much longer than I had anticipated (as I wrapped the first part of the special yesterday my friends showed up at my house and we ended up out and about until about midnight so it took until now to upload the last two parts). That being said, this will be the last Red Hood released for a little while (at least until Chris' Batman and my Robin catch up) because all of our stories need to be at the same time as this new arc starts for fear of spoilers. In the meantime, the last issue in the first volume of my Robin reboot will end tomorrow most likely and the second issue (which will lead directly into the end of the year event) will begin some time this week. I hope you enjoyed this and had a Happy and spoopy Halloween, but either way thanks for reading!

"The moth stutters,

stares, voracious,

knots staying,

cloud, cloud.

Silhouette

of the cold,

bat,

tides,

relamps

pride,

cricket, cricket.

Night

lightnings,

fireworks

in a jar,

floods

its river

with an iris."

 

© 1999, George Mario Angel Quintero

From: Tentenelaire

Publisher: Editorial Párpado, Medellín, 2006

  

© Translation: 1999, George Mario Angel Quintero

   

Overhead shot showing the printed floor tiles from Citizen Brick.

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

For More Photos, please visit my site...

 

www.rafiamar.com/reptiles-insects

I hadn't lowered the resolution before recording the video for this, so the low framerate and stuttering caused some issues.

A junction of copings provide the basis for a multiple exposure.

 

Hand-held nine frame ICM multiple exposure. Frames exposed in a short sharp upward sweep, following the line in the left of the frame. Big amends in Lightroom.

 

ChunkaChunkaChunka at Pelcomb Portraits.

- Thank you everyone for comments and 2880 views :D

   

Stuttering - The Friday Night Boys ♫

Festination is the rapid stuttering walk that people with Parkinson's, like the prof, sometimes adopt, especially when stopping or turning corners. These new Birkenstocks make it harder to festinate and they discourage corns too. It's a pity they're more expensive since we left the EU.

 

uploaded with Uploader for Flickr for Android

Otto grabs Norman in one of his tentacles! "What in the-" Norman is interrupted... "Shut up! You idiotic moron! I am stronger, smarter and more powerful then ever! And definitely more powerful then you will ever be, Osborn!!!" Otto shouts. "I- I made a mistake, Otto!" Norman stutters... "DON'T CALL ME THAT!!!! From now on... I AM DOCTOR OCTOPUS!!!" Otto yells, in triumph...

~Scarecrow

Tuyll van Serooskerkenweg 17/07/2021 17h27

Bartje from Drenthe in Amsterdam South next to the Stadionweg in the street with the most impossible name: Van Tuyll van Serooskerkenweg. Written stuttering advanced!

Bartje Bartels is the main character in a series of Dutch books written by Anne de Vries from 1935 on.

In 1972 Willy van Hemert adapted the stories as a drama series for television. The series aired on the NCRV in seven episodes, beginning on December 26, 1972.

 

BARTJE [2019]

original by Suze Boschma-Berkhout (1922-1997)

 

ArtZuid

ARTZUID is an international large-scale sculpture exhibition which takes place every two years in Amsterdam.

ARTZUID was established in 2008.The initiative came from United Art Consult led by Cintha van Heeswijck. From 2009 on, the exhibition takes place every odd year in the monumental Art-Deco district in Amsterdam, designed in 1917 by Hendrik P. Berlage. ARTZUID sculpture route starts at the Museum Square in front of the Rijksmuseum and stretches for 2,5 kilometers south along the Minervalaan, the Apollolaan and Churchilllaan and finally up to the Station Zuid.

Over a period of 4 months, 60 sculptures of established and emerging artists form an eye-catching spectacle. The biennale is attended by the average number of visitors of 375,000.

ArtZuid 2021 is from 1 July to 17 October, under the direction of curator Ralph Keuning. [ Wikipedia ]

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

* GMC CCKW Maintenance/Recovery Truck

* GMC CCKW Dump Truck with M2A1 105mm Howitzer (latter reverse-engineered from Brickmania)

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

In case of technical problems (movies on flickr tend to stutter), just find a better copy at youtube.com - I'm dmaclego there as well.

 

About the mechanized Panther: it works but I would say the Tiger was a little better, for several reasons. First of all, front wheels drive may be a good idea in a real tank but not here. Secondly, front wheels in my Panther tend to slide, since they work outside of the tracks' grooves. The turret is another story - I had to restore the extra layer of plates, a sort of turntable, to reduce friction. The barrel, filled with metal axles, is quite heavy and only one stud connects the turret to the micromotor, so obviously it's not the toughest connection....

 

But still - as you can see, it works :) .

 

Edit: I have no idea why, but the movie was clipped by flickr. Youtube version is slightly longer.

 

There were Mods and Rockers , Punks and Skins

And the guy who sang Elvis as he emptied our bin

Outside City Hall on a Saturday they`d congregate

Abusing each other with words of anger and hate

 

The council wanted them moved on from outside their gates

But the police in those days had enough on their plates

It was late `77 or perhaps `78

When I first heard S.L.F. and to them I could relate

 

Their songs of love for this wee land

Never heard before , I could understand

Suspect Device left us stuttering thrice

While Alternative Ulster made you blood flow with ice

 

We have Danny Boy and Ireland`s Call

Anthems that won`t cause a brawl

But the opening bars of Alternative Ulster it has to be

The national anthem for an old punk like me

 

Just think for a minute of how it would be

At an International event the opposition would flee

On hearing the start of that lone guitar

The minds and spirits would forever carry a scar

 

................. Copyright (c) Rodney Harrison 2014

 

Alternative Ulster Can be heard Here

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Mixophyes australis

Watagan Mountains

Mixophyes balbus. Dorrigo National Park, Dorrigo, NSW.