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Canada is not on U.S. President Donald Trump's list of countries subject to 10 per cent ‘baseline' tariffs, but Trump says a separate 25 per cent levy on all foreign-made autos will hit at midnight on April 2. Power & Politics digs into Trump's 'Liberation Day' tariffs, with insights from Jean Charest, former Quebec premier and member of the Prime Minister's Canada-U.S. Council and Chuck Todd, American political analyst and former host of Meet the Press. And we have the latest from Washington with the CBC's Katie Simpson.
This week, Desmond and Tom look at Chad Ferrin's Lovecraft pastiche:HP Lovecraft's The Old Ones. Then, Desmond keeps the theme rolling with a look at the previous film in the trilogy: HP Lovecraft's The Deep Ones. The third film isn't out yet, but chances are you'll hear about it here. Songs included: "H.P. Lovecraft" by BloodHag, "Please God No" by The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets, "Deep Calleth Upon Deep" by Satyricon, and "Even Deeper" by Nine Inch Nails. Send feedback to: dreadmediapodcast@gmail.com. Follow @DevilDinosaurJr and @dreadmedia on Twitter! Join the Facebook group! Support the show at www.patreon.com/dreadmedia. Visit www.desmondreddick.com, www.stayscary.wordpress.com, www.dreadmedia.bandcamp.com, www.kccinephile.com, and www.dejasdomicileofdread.blogspot.com.
This week, Desmond and Tom look at Chad Ferrin's Lovecraft pastiche:HP Lovecraft's The Old Ones. Then, Desmond keeps the theme rolling with a look at the previous film in the trilogy: HP Lovecraft's The Deep Ones. The third film isn't out yet, but chances are you'll hear about it here. Songs included: "H.P. Lovecraft" by BloodHag, "Please God No" by The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets, "Deep Calleth Upon Deep" by Satyricon, and "Even Deeper" by Nine Inch Nails. Send feedback to: dreadmediapodcast@gmail.com. Follow @DevilDinosaurJr and @dreadmedia on Twitter! Join the Facebook group! Support the show at www.patreon.com/dreadmedia. Visit www.desmondreddick.com, www.stayscary.wordpress.com, www.dreadmedia.bandcamp.com, www.kccinephile.com, and www.dejasdomicileofdread.blogspot.com.
March 25, 2025 ~ Patrick Anderson, Founder and CEO of Anderson Economic Group discusses Donald Trump threatening new tariffs on countries that buy Venezuelan oil and the possibility of rolling back others.
Insurance investigator, John Trent (Sam Neill), checks himself into an asylum run by Dr. Saperstein (John Glover) as the fabric of society begins to tear. On the dark and stormy night he checks in, Dr. Wrenn (David Warner) arrives to hear the story of how he got there. When mysterious horror novelist, Sutter Cane (Jurgen Protchnow) goes missing in the lead up to the release of his latest work, agent Jackson Harglow (Charlton Heston) hires Trent to find him along with editor, Linda Styles (Julie Carmen). Together they head to the town of Hobbs End where the characters of Cane's novel come to life. Linda takes them straight to an inn that features in the stories run by Mrs. Pickman (Francis Bay) and find the Byzantine church that's been leaking the evil into the town, starting with the children. Soon, Sam can't tell if he's acting on his own or if that's just the way he's written and now he can't help himself from delivering the work that will allow the return of the Old Ones, Cane's latest and greatest, In the Mouth of Madness, this week on Doom Generation. Support this podcast at patreon.com/doomgeneration
Visiting Munich on his way to Transylvania, an Englishman ignores the warnings of the hotelier and coach driver in order to explore an abandoned village on the pagan festival of Walpurgis Night. This original recording is an audio presentation by Jasper L'Estrange for EnCrypted Horror. “DRACULA'S GUEST” by Bram Stoker (1897).
Oh wait, it's Auld Lang Syne! Happy New Year, everyone. Get ready for some BIG changes, or the same crazy, just a different year.
Hello to you listening in Lake Villa, Illinois!Coming to you from Whidbey Island, Washington this is Stories From Women Who Walk with 60 Seconds (and a bit more) for Thoughts on Thursday and your host, Diane Wyzga.As the old ones say, “If we are not grateful for what we have in this present moment, what makes us think we will be happy with more?” Maybe it's true and maybe it isn't but long ago and far away there lived a man in a small country village. He had everything he had ever asked for: friends, livelihood, wife, family - and yet and yet something was stirring in him: Looking around he asked himself, Is this all there is? Perhaps he was meant for something more. Perhaps he should go and seek it.One summer morning he left his home, carefully closed the garden gate behind him and walked away. He walked for miles and miles until he could no longer see where he had been. Night fell and he found himself deep in a dark forest. Having no other shelter he took off his shoes, spread his coat on the ground, and fell asleep against the trunk of a tree for he was very tired.Watching him sleep his angel shook her head at the folly of his adventure. But what could she do? She could turn his shoes around facing them back in the direction from which he came. And so she did.When the man awoke he pulled on his coat, put his feet into his shoes and began to walk. After many miles of walking the man began to see familiar fields, a few farmhouses, a village - all looking very much like what he had left; but how could that be? People in the village market greeted him as if he was familiar to them; but how could that be? Arriving at a cottage with a garden gate he was startled to be greeted by children and a woman as if he were their long lost father and husband; but how could that be? They welcomed him inside, took off his shoes, sat him at a table very much like one he knew, fed him food that tasted like home; but how could that be?To this very day the man lives with that family in that home in that village and wonders, if this isn't happiness, what is? Practical Tip: As the old ones say, “If we are not grateful for what we have in this present moment, what makes us think we will be happy with more?” 60 Seconds is your daily dose of hope, imagination, wisdom, stories, practical tips, and general riffing on this and that. This is the place to thrive together. Come for the stories - stay for the magic. Speaking of magic, I hope you'll subscribe, follow, share a nice shout out on your social media or podcast channel of choice, including Android, and join us next time! You're invited to stop by the website and subscribe to stay current with Diane, her journeys, her guests, as well as creativity, imagination, walking, stories, camaraderie, and so much more: Quarter Moon Story Arts✓ Check out Services I Offer,✓ Arrange your no-sales, Complimentary Coaching Consult,✓ Stay current with Diane as “Wyzga on Words” on Substack and on LinkedInStories From Women Who Walk Production TeamPodcaster: Diane F Wyzga & Quarter Moon Story ArtsMusic: Mer's Waltz from Crossing the Waters by Steve Schuch & Night Heron MusicAll content and image © 2019 to Present Quarter Moon Story Arts. All rights reserved.
Elizabeth O'Reilly of WEEE Ireland explains that old electrical products can get new life which helps the environment to PJ Coogan Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
We know that the linear way we build now – where materials make a one-way trip from the earth to landfill – is dangerously unsustainable.It assumes too many infinites: Infinite raw materials; infinite space for waste; and infinite capacity of the biosphere to absorb the greenhouse gases that the one-way trip produces.But what can we do? This month we explore the possibility of a so-called “circular” construction industry, one where high-value inputs are not thrown away but instead are repurposed for new structures.We speak to the authors of a seminal report from Cornell University on how one of the world's biggest economies, the State of New York, could jump off the “Conveyor Belt of Doom” by going circular with construction.We meet the team behind two landmark office-tower refurbishments that made material re-use a central goal in Brussels, a city that now requires developers to embrace “urban mining”.And we hear from a structural engineer involved in the redevelopment of London's Elephant & Castle, which used 96 tonnes of steel from existing buildings there, preventing around 125 tonnes of CO2 from going into the atmosphere and showing that even partial steps can have big impacts.We may not be at the tipping point where circularity becomes business as usual yet, but it's possible now to see what such a tipping point might look like.LinksCornell University report: Constructing a CircularEconomy in New York State: Deconstruction and Building Material Reuse. Download here.Happiness Barometer: Help us gauge happiness and attitudes to it for the next 21CC episode by filling out this short survey.
This lecture discusses key ideas from the early 20th century weird and horror story writer, H.P. Lovecraft's short story "The Call of Cthulhu", a classic work of cosmic horror and absolutely central to what will later come to be called the Cthulhu mythos. It focuses specifically on the entities called the Great Old Ones, of which Cthulhu is one, and even has a role as their "priest". Many of the great old ones are within the sunken city of R'lyeh in a state neither alive nor dead, and communicate with sensitive humans through their dreams To support my ongoing work, go to my Patreon site - www.patreon.com/sadler If you'd like to make a direct contribution, you can do so here - www.paypal.me/ReasonIO - or at BuyMeACoffee - www.buymeacoffee.com/A4quYdWoM You can find over 3000 philosophy videos in my main YouTube channel - www.youtube.com/user/gbisadler Read The Call of Cthulhu - https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/cc.aspx
This lecture discusses key ideas from the early 20th century weird and horror story writer, H.P. Lovecraft's short story "The Call of Cthulhu", a classic work of cosmic horror and absolutely central to what will later come to be called the Cthulhu mythos. It focuses specifically on what we learn of the cult of Cthulhu (and to a lesser extent) the other Great Old Ones, which according to the information provided by Castro, has existed among human beings from the start, spurred by communications in dreams from the Old Ones and the idols of them brought down from the stars. In the story, we learn of chapters of the cult existing in Greenland, Louisiana, the mountains of China, the south seas, the deserts of Arabia, and potentially other locations. To support my ongoing work, go to my Patreon site - www.patreon.com/sadler If you'd like to make a direct contribution, you can do so here - www.paypal.me/ReasonIO - or at BuyMeACoffee - www.buymeacoffee.com/A4quYdWoM You can find over 3000 philosophy videos in my main YouTube channel - www.youtube.com/user/gbisadler Read The Call of Cthulhu - https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/cc.aspx
This lecture discusses key ideas from the early 20th century weird and horror story writer, H.P. Lovecraft's short story "The Call of Cthulhu", a classic work of cosmic horror and absolutely central to what will later come to be called the Cthulhu mythos. It focuses specifically on the images of the Great Old One Cthulhu that appear in the story. Some of these are bas-reliefs produced by human beings who have been communicated with by Cthulhu in their dreams. Others are statuary of unearthly stone brought down from the stars by the Old Ones whose location was revealed to the members of the cult To support my ongoing work, go to my Patreon site - www.patreon.com/sadler If you'd like to make a direct contribution, you can do so here - www.paypal.me/ReasonIO - or at BuyMeACoffee - www.buymeacoffee.com/A4quYdWoM You can find over 3000 philosophy videos in my main YouTube channel - www.youtube.com/user/gbisadler Read The Call of Cthulhu - https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/cc.aspx
Join our group as we bring in some special guests for our halloween episode. Enjoy the totally creepy atmosphere. Jokes? Never heard of them. Special guests: Baylie, Eliza, Conner, and Young Dylan. If you want to contact us then send us an email at: thetavernoftales@gmail.com If you want your review to be read on the show then leave a five star review
Welcome to Dev Game Club, where this week we continue our series on 2001's Fatal Frame. We talk about the economy of the design, some sticky puzzles and usability thoughts, and mechanical considerations. Dev Game Club looks at classic video games and plays through them over several episodes, providing commentary. Sections played: A few more hours Issues covered: economy and discipline, the warbling space that signifies a ghost, a possible positive reinforcement loop and the score economy, making every ghost matter, high stakes camera use, unsettling your comfort, the disorienting movement and camera shifts popping out of combat, melodramatic and zany, the different movie eras these series connect to, the Mothman, Japanese making Western horrors, Buddhism vs Shintoism, playing croquet with the Old Ones, brute forcing a puzzle, "well there's a note," head-look, wanting a little more from the map, usability issues, the gap in the wall, mechanical inconsistency, seeing patterns that aren't there, the adventure game of it all, exponential vs linear, the talisman photos in your inventory, RTFM, various reminiscences of Father Beast on HOMM, discovery in HOMM. Games, people, and influences mentioned or discussed: Resident Evil (series), Clue, Capcom, Dead Rising, Unsolved Mysteries, Jen Longo, Silent Hill, Don't Look Now, Eternal Darkness, Day of the Tentacle, Father Beast, Heroes of Might and Magic, King's Bounty, Master of Magic, Archon, X-COM, Final Fantasy VI, Dave Wolinsky, Pippin Barr, Beyond Good and Evil, Kirk Hamilton, Aaron Evers, Mark Garcia. Next time: More Fatal Frame Twitch: timlongojr Discord DevGameClub@gmail.com
Chad Ferrin is back once again. This time around we talk about his film "H.P. Lovecraft's The Old Ones". We discuss the practical effects, the challenge of adapting Lovecraft to a movie and should a filmmaker worry about offending people or just tell the story they want to tell. "The Old Ones" will be showing on Saturday Oct 12th at the Sawdust City Fright Fest. Info for the fest listed below. Sawdust City Fright Fest: https://www.sawdustcityfrightfest.com --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/spoilerroompodcast/support
In this episode we have a brief look at the entire history of the 40K universe. We start with the C'tan and the Old Ones before diving into the Necrontyr, a down on their luck race from the radioactive Halo Stars. We look at their galactic expansion, their encounters with the Old Ones and their numerous succession wars. The War in Heaven is started and nearly lost by the Necrontyr before aid comes from the “Star Vampires” and their entire race becomes Bender Bending Rodriguez. We then follow their victory against the Old Ones, the Enslavers, the rise of the Aeldari, Krork and others before ending with a bit of a nap. Phew…. It's a lot. Show notes Patreon Merchandise Quartermaster
It's our Essen Preview show for 2024! This time, we look at the various games we're most excited to check out at Spiel in Essen. And when we're done with that, we dash through our Roses, Thorns, and Hula Hoops. 00:49 - Asking to Bring Something Back 02:16 - Tabletop Together and BGG's Preview List 03:16 - Priorities 08:58 - Where Will We Be? 12:09 - 7 Empires 12:50 - 365 Adventures 14:01 - Ada's Library 14:50 - Apiary: Expanding the Hive 15:26 - Backstories: Alone Under the Ice 16:23 - Bone Wars 18:16 - Cat Horror Costume 19:11 - Chants for the Old Ones 20:00 - Civolution 21:03 - Conservas 22:32 - Dead Cells 23:38 - Flatiron 25:22 - Galileo Galilei 26:20 - Lord of the Rings: Duel for Middle Earth 27:26 - Minos 28:04 - Paella Park 29:58 - Power Grid: Outpost 31:19 - SETI 32:52 - Similo: Jurrassic World, 10th Anniversary, and Games Decks 34:18 - Temple of Horrors 35:50 - Unconscious Mind 37:00 - Vampire Nights 38:01 - Witchcraft: Midnights Expansion 39:19 - Dice Tower Essentials: Floresta, Vegetable Stock, Video Game Champion, Ito 41:58 - Food in Essen 45:25 - Pixies 47:56 - Robo Rally Transformers 51:01 - Mind MGMT 55:37 - Cat and the Tower 59:22 - Dadada 1:01:51 - Stickers -- Tabletop Together: tabletoptogether.com/tool/ BGG's Essen Preview: boardgamegeek.com/geekpreview/68/spiel-essen-24-preview
We cognitively understand that we live in a world of left and right, up and down, young and old. In short, that everything has its opposite. We are born, we die. We win some, we lose some. Everyone knows this. Few choose to think about it much, at least when things are going well. As I've often said: “Nobody soul searches on a good day.” Rarely do we think about guardian angels coming with menacing devils to thwart us - at least in contemporary society, where we have white-washed evil as a superstition and espouse darkness as a mere lack of education. The traditional Old Ones always gave their fair warnings. We seem to think we are above that need now... Enter YOUR labyrinth at: BeWhoYouAre.com Request: I recorded this book for a podcast platform so that you can listen for free. Please rate, dowload, and share with a friend to help us help others with their stories. Thank you! About Me, Robin Rice: As an author and story philosopher, I know that the way a story is told changes the reality around it. My intention is to write books that stay with my readers long after they've closed the last chapter. As a story strategist, I have worked with bestselling authors to help them reach the Top-100-Of-The-Year lists, including Oprah, Time Magazine, and others. I also work with high-profile leaders who are effectively changing our world at scale. I have created social change projects that have traveled the globe, including #stopthebeautymadess and #yourholidaymom. Now, for the first time, I am sharing my personal story of awakening to greater consciousness. Like all impactful stories, it's really about you. Join me as a trustworthy guide on the journey to uncover your own rich truths. Together, we can shape the story you've been waiting to tell yourself and the world. Learn more about me at RobinRice.com.
The FULL Bob Rose Show for a Monday 9-9-24 on last minute debate preparations, Dems constant lowering of expectations for Kamala Harris, the incoherent Cheney family's anti-Trump endorsements, football weekend, and the report finally issued on the disastrous Afghanistan withdrawal three years
Habits have a way of sneaking up on us. They start can start out as momentary slip-up and transform into an established routine. Bad habits may be difficult to break because they become hardwired into our brains, but it's not impossible. To help you with that, here are a few ways to get rid of your bad habits and make better ones. If you're unsure which bad habits to change, we have a video on a few bad habits that might damage your brain: • 9 Habits That Damage Your Brain Writer: Sara Del Villar Script Editor: Morgan Franz Script Manager: Kelly Soong VO: Amanda Silvera Animator: Naphia YouTube Manager: Cindy Cheong References: http://bit.ly/3bU0Cnt If you have any topic requests or stories to share with us, feel free to email us at editorial@psych2go.net
Today on ShrinkChicks, Emmalee and Jen are talking about the very under-discussed topic of friendships and the difficulties that exist as we try to make new friends and nurture old friendships in adulthood. They start the episode off by sharing some interesting statistics on friendships. Then, they give us a glimpse into what their friendship was like in the early stages and how they struggled to be vulnerable with one another. Em and Jen discuss competition in female friendships, friends in different life stages, the high stakes in making new friends as an adult, and so much more! Tune in to gain insight, awareness, and action! And, come back next Monday for part two of this friendship series to learn about the core wounds that might be coming up in your friendships. PS: Fast forward to around 3:15 into their convo to skip the intro and get straight to today's content. Get Matched With One of Our Therapists at The Therapy Group! ShrinkChicks on Instagram Our Know Yourself Grow Yourself Journal!! Check out ShrinkChicks on YouTube by subscribing here! https://youtube.com/channel/UCrxuhDqoL4ML3UE8b2J2BBg A special thank you to this week's sponsors for supporting ShrinkChicks! We have these exclusive offers for our listeners: HungryRoot: Go to hungryroot.com/shrinkchicks to get 40% off your first delivery and get your free veggies MasterClass: Get an additional 15% off an annual membership at masterclass.com/shrinkchicks Quince: Go to quince.com/shrinkchicks for free shipping and 365-day returns on your next order Prose: Get 50% off your first subscription order at prose.com/shrinkchicks
Send us a Text Message.https://www.patreon.com/AdeptusRidiculoushttps://www.adeptusridiculous.com/https://twitter.com/AdRidiculoushttps://orchideight.com/collections/adeptus-ridiculousThe Lizardmen, sometimes known as the "Cold Ones" or the "Children of the Gods" among themselves, are an ancient, savage, and highly intelligent race of cold-blooded, reptilian humanoids that are the first and oldest civilisation of the Known World. Long before the rise of Men, Elves or Dwarfs, the empire of the Lizardmen ruled supreme. Alien, enigmatic, and without mercy, the Lizardmen were there when it all began and will be there when the mortal world draws its last, dying breath, never tiring nor relenting until order is finally restored to this uncaring, chaotic world. Such is what they were made to do, for they are the ancient servants and first creations of the Old Ones, the one, true protectors and shapers of the Known World.Support the Show.
A movie that The Terror Train has been waiting for for a good while, it's MAXXXINE. Chris, Germ, and Kelli break the new movie down, plus, Kelli goes to Dimension X, a RARE 5-Star movie from Chris, and Germ being a lovable silly goose. Movies Reviewed This Week: Mindripper (1995), House of Darkness (2022), Open Windows (2014), Storm Warning (2007), The Boys from Country Hell (2000), THEY (2002), Long Legs (2024), The Old Ones (2024), and Cigarette Burns (2005) Got a movie recommendation? Email us at ReelVilePodcast@gmail.com Follow the podcast on Facebook Follow the podcast on Instagram Check out the Reel Vile Podcast Shop Check out Ruthless Pro Wrestling Check out some of Germ's writings Logos done by Kelli Miller and Ecko Randy of Slam Death Metal Logos
Songs you voted here to play again, and some new/old ones. Jackie Hill Perry's has changed record labels and has a new song. Flashback track by Elle R.O.C. Hip hop for your soul! Playlist: "Bring it Back (ft. Datin)" by Aable "The Lion's Share (ft. The Praying Mantis, Nfors, Jonnie 3:16 & Grungy Boguez)" by Krosswerdz "360" by MotionPlus / MP Ancient "King (ft. J2 Simalonda)" by Village KNG "Tribe on the Move (ft. 1995 & Indie Tribe)" by DJ Mykael V "War" by TJay "Right My Wrongs (ft. Destiny Music Australia)" by Billz & BEKY "Hands Up (ft. Junyah, Uzo Buks & E.Man)" by The Plowman "Freedom (ft. Jenna Huggins)" by River Movement "Pulling Strings (ft. Malex)" by Sivion "Blessings (ft. Prophet)" by E.Man "Make Some Room" by CallHimD "Inhale 2 Exhale (ft. DJ Skillspinz)" by Elle R.O.C. "Woman" by Jackie Hill Perry "First Draft" by Jackie Hill Perry "Coming in Hot (ft. Lecrae)" by Andy Mineo "Stay Low (Remix) (ft. Wande, Jackie Hill Perry, Childlike CiCi, Reece Lache)" by Toyalove Vote on the playlist at www.definitionradio.com/show/906 Leave your requests/shout-outs on our socials www.facebook.com/DefinitionRadio www.instagram.com/DefinitionHH www.twitter.com/DefinitionHH www.krosswerdz.com
It's what literally everyone has been waiting for, the creme de la menthe of informed opinions Rachel and Graeme making their views on the Pentax 17 known. Finally the you can all stop holding the front pages! Not just that, but Rachel has been inspired by a noted influencer to buy a new camera, Graeme has been shooting with a new and interesting lens, the Big Film Photowalk has happened, an insulted man has provided a new cheap shots challenge theme and Clare is at the cinema! It's all kicking off, I hope your sitting down to listen!
In August Derleth's classic short story a man is forced to recall the lurking fear that dogged him and his friend in their childhood…the dark and unnameable horror that dwelt in the Lonesome Place. This original recording is an audio presentation by Jasper L'Estrange for EnCrypted Horror. “The Lonesome Place” by August Derleth (1948). You can hear me discuss this story by becoming a Patreon patron or YouTube channel member and listening to a future episode of The EnCrypted Postmortem. New episode recorded and ready to upload soon – PROMISE! (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7JYpOrSDoCfvPbjBn6DZGIXDlK-eOzpR).
Clover rushes help with the devastation in Ethos while Varien reluctantly lends a hand before they both find themselves facing shadows of their pasts. TW: gore, blood, medical horror/trauma, death, dead bodies, child endangerment, child abuse and domestic violence mentioned, trauma, disturbing images, horror, murder, graphic body horror, serious wounds and injuries caused by war and violence on both adults and children, grief, religious imagery and concepts, depictions of PTSD Kenon Pearce as GM Jordache Richardson as Varien Tyris and Justin Nikki Richardson as Clover Barrows ISHNAR/KALCRIN HOMEBREW SETTING (C) by Kenon Pearce Sound editing and design by Nikki Richardson JOIN US IN OUR DISCORD TO TALK TO US! CLICK THE LINK TO JOIN US! https://discord.gg/59axDYE3Sq Twitter/X and Bluesky: Kenon Pearce @mr_fugufish/mrfugufish Jordache Richardson @jdash24 Nikki Ri @thenikkiri Website: totrpodcast.com Twitter: @totrcast Studio Twitter: @whiteravenpods Facebook: @topoftheround Instagram: @topoftheround Bluesky: @totrpodcast Thank you to our Executive C2 Producers! HOLDEN RAY GERMAINE LIM Go to our website for MERCH! https://www.totrpodcast.com/merch.html#/ Support us on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/topoftheround Buy us a cup of coffee on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/topoftheround Join our Facebook Group! https://www.facebook.com/groups/476203760792265/ TOTR WIKIPEDIA! https://topoftheround.fandom.com/wiki/Top_of_the_Round_Wiki SEND US MAIL! White Raven Studios PO Box 603 Circle Pines MN 55014 SHADOWS OF THE DIVINE BY NICK HIGHAM https://www.nickjhigham.co.uk/ Music Courtesy of epidemicsound.com: A Shallow Grave by Wendel Scherer Crypt by Edward Karl Hanson Sahara Eye by Nylonia Nobody Bothers by Edward Joe Myers In the Black Lake by Gerard Franklin Coma Visions by Martin Klem For the Many by Jon Bjork We Are Nomads by Walt Adams The Dark Ages by Flouw Hecatomb by Jo Wandrini No Redemption by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen Lady in Black by Farrell Wooten No Shadow by Martin Klem Burned Letters by Johannes Bornlof Darkness Awaits by Bill Ferngren The Undefeated by Reynard Seidel Trivalve by Ethan Sloan Blind Trust by Heath Cantu Vacuum Sealer by Edward Karl Hanson Will He Hurt Me by Magnus Ringblom Enigma by David Celeste Where Are the Stars by Silver Maple For Every Child by Miles Avida Pollution by Craft Case Rattlesnake's Rest by Sage Oursler Rustling Reeds by Jon Bjork The Vice by Hampus Naeselius No One in Sight by Jon Bjork Oruc by Lennon Hutton Idle Grin by Jay Varton Seeking Shelter by Miles Avida Toxic Water by Jon Bjork Mars Landing by Yi Nantiro Adapted by Dark by Hampus Naeselius Why Can't It End by Etienne Roussel Ceres by Lennon Hutton Licensed through Universal Music for Creators/UMC: All That Is Left Behind Instrumental by Opus A New Chapter Instrumental by Opus Last Wish Instrumental by Frances Trevino Taking a Stand Instrumental by Elias Trevino Dark Spirits Instrumental by Bellissima Deadly Machine Instrumental by Maas Simple Fear Backing Vocals Only by Jones Small Mercies Instrumental by Reeves Beyond Reach Instrumental by Florres Gibbons Hunter Jr Scott Burning Witches Instrumental by Zero Licensed by Envato Elements License (CC BY 4.0): Cathedral Spires Crysis The following music was used for this media project: Music: Ingestion of Sorrows, Axes Denied, After the Blast, If Only I Had a Soul, The Turning, Chalkboard Daggers, Drowning Monas, The End, and Ganymede Invasion Party by Tim Kulig License (CC BY 4.0) The following music was used for this media project: Music: Blockbuster Atmosphere 6 (Horror) by Sascha Ende Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/137-blockbuster-atmosphere-6-horror License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Bent by Brian Holtz Music License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license "Welcome to HorrorLand" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ The following music was used for this media project: Music: Nothing Left by Dave Deville Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/8547-nothing-left License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license The Old Ones, The Summoning, Emergent, Never Dying, and Beyond These Walls by Scott Buckley License: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://www.scottbuckley.com.au/library/
M: 5.5. E: 6.
In this episode of the audionerds podcast the guys discuss whether or not new plugins are better than the older ones we used? Is pro tools stock eq still a more than powerful tool? Is fab filter due to give us Pro Q 4? Are visual EQs better than non visual or parametric? Are old compressor plugins all you need to get a good sound? Lets find out➡️➡️➡️ ➡️➡️➡️Get Baby Audio Plugins: https://link.babyaud.io/HMDUse Code "HMD15" For 15% OffPlease subscribe to our YouTube and rate our podcast it helps us a lot!➡️ https://linktr.ee/myaudionerdsFollow Ushttps://www.instagram.com/helpmedevvon➡️Join this channel to get access to perks:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCGyDjbX9F9ARt_8sgv5kGDg/joinFollow The CastDevvon Terrellhttps://instagram.com/helpmedevvonLJhttps://instagram.com/prodbyljeanHere is L.Jean channel! https://youtube.com/@LJean1Courtney Taylorhttps://instagram.com/officialcourtneytaylor#podcast #mixing #mastering
Geordie Rose said that his D-Wave quantum computers are able to summon a “Tsunami of Demons" or aliens that are the equivalent of the “Old Ones” spoken of by horror author H.P. Lovecraft. Additionally, the creator of D-Wave computers says that standing next to one is like standing at the altar of an alien God. These tools are pushing us ever so rapidly into creating, building, and what some tech leaders call “summoning” a race of super-intelligent AI.
The Straight Stitch: A Podcast About Sewing and Other Fiber Arts.
Send us feedback about this episode!Today's guest, JoJo Beazel, saw the opportunity for a new business during the pandemic and took it. What started as a fascination with sewing machines in general morphed into a love of industrial sewing machines, and from there, into a thriving business refurbishing these old workhorses. Seams Perfect Industrial and Vintage Sewing Machines in Fresno, CA, specializes in the restoration of industrial and commercial sewing machines. JoJo has a deep and abiding appreciation for these machines for their functionality as well as their artistic design. Join me for a conversation with JoJo about some of the machines that have graced the Seams Perfect workbench and how they have been restored to a useful life.
In this first installment of this popular radio show, Agnes Moorehead stars as an old lady who rents a room to a sick boarder but runs into problems when she receives his deathbed confession. CBS Radio Mystery Theater was a radio drama series created by Himan Brown that was broadcast on CBS Radio affiliates in the 70's and 80's. The host was E.G. Marshall, who provided commentary throughout. The episode topics range from mysteries to horror, science fiction, historical drama, and even westerns, all with a touch of the macabre added. In addition to original stories, you'll find adaptations of original tales by such writers as O.Henry, Ambrose Bierce, Algernon Blackwood, Wilkie Collins, Arthur Conan Doyle, Charles dickens, H. Rider Haggard, Henry James, Guy de Maupassant, Edgar Allen Poe, and many others. Get all of our shows at one website: https://.1001storiespodcast.com REVIEWS NEEDED . My email works as well for comments: 1001storiespodcast@gmail.com SUPPORT OUR SHOW BY BECOMING A PATRON! https://.patreon.com/1001storiesnetwork. Its time I started asking for support! Thank you. Its a few dollars a month OR a one time. (Any amount is appreciated). YOUR REVIEWS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS AT APPLE/ITUNES AND ALL ANDROID HOSTS ARE NEEDED AND APPRECIATED! LINKS BELOW... Open these links to enjoy our shows! APPLE USERS Catch 1001 Heroes on any Apple Device here (Free): https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-heroes-legends-histories-mysteries-podcast/id956154836?mt=2 Catch 1001 CLASSIC SHORT STORIES at Apple Podcast App Now: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-classic-short-stories-tales/id1078098622 Catch 1001 Stories for the Road at Apple Podcast now: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-stories-for-the-road/id1227478901 NEW Enjoy 1001 Greatest Love Stories on Apple Devices here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-greatest-love-stories/id1485751552 Catch 1001 RADIO DAYS now at Apple iTunes! https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-radio-days/id1405045413?mt=2 NEW 1001 Ghost Stories & Tales of the Macabre is now playing at Apple Podcasts! https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-ghost-stories-tales-of-the-macabre/id1516332327 NEW Enjoy 1001 History's Best Storytellers (Interviews) on Apple Devices here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-historys-best-storytellers/id1483649026 NEW Enjoy 1001 Sherlock Holmes Stories and The Best of Arthur Conan Doyle https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/1001-sherlock-holmes-stories-best-sir-arthur-conan/id1534427618 ANDROID USERS- 1001 Radio Days right here at Player.fm FREE: https://player.fm/series/1001-radio-days 1001 Classic Short Stories & Tales at Spotify https://open.spotify.com/show/6rzDb5uFdOhfw5X6P5lkWn 1001 Heroes, Legends, Histories & Mysteries: https://castbox.fm/channel/1001-Heroes%2C-Legends%2C-Histories-%26-Mysteries-Podcast-id1323418?country=us 1001 Stories for the Road on Stitcher https://www.stitcher.com/show/1001-stories-for-the-road Enjoy 1001 Greatest Love Stories on Stitcher here: https://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=479022&refid=stpr. 1001 Ghost Stories & Tales of the Macabre on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/5P4hV28LgpG89dRNMfSDKJ 1001 Sherlock Holmes Stories (& Tales from Arthur Conan Doyle) https://open.spotify.com/show/4dIgYvBwZVTN5ewF0JPaTK 1001 History's Best Storytellers: (interviews) on Stitcher https://www.stitcher.com/show/1001-historys-best-storytellers Catch ALL of our shows at one place by going to https://1001storiespodcast.com- our home website with Megaphone. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices
Flesh Wound Horror Live, with brand new reviews, news, and pandemonium. On this episode we tackle the Soska Sisters new zombie epic, FESTIVAL OF THE LIVING DEAD, the sequel to George A. Romero's original, Night Of The Living Dead. Also, we break down THE FIRST OMEN, H.P. Lovecraft's THE OLD ONES from director Chad Ferrin, the Shudder original, BAGHEAD, & the Dev Patel action flick, MONKEY MAN. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeWAO_PjLRg #FestivalOfTheLivingDead #FirstOmen #SoskaSisters #Baghead #HPLovecraftsTheOldOnes #GeorgeRomero #NightOfTheLivingDead #Shudder #Tubi #ChadFerrin #OldOnes #CosmicHorror #MonkeyMan #Zombies #ZombieApocalypse #ZombieInvasion #NellTigerFree #Satan #Antichrist #Cthulu #BillNighy #SoniaBraga #KelliMaroney #FreyaAllan #HorrorMovies #MutantFam #Lovecraft #horrorpodcast #horrormoviepodcast #DawnOfTheDead
Make a Donation to Forbidden Knowledge News http://supportfkn.comhttps://www.paypal.me/forbiddenknowledgeneNeed help losing weight? Book your FREE intro call with Christian Yordanov to see how he can help you do it in a safe, sustainable, and stress-free manner (WITHOUT fasting, low-carb/keto diets, or severe calorie restriction). Make sure you mention "FKN" when booking, and he will add extra free consultation sessions to your package if you decide to work with him: https://christianyordanov.com/weight-loss/Watch The Forbidden Documentary: Occult Louisiana now on Tubi!https://bit.ly/42RsfWCDownload the film https://www.buymeacoffee.com/forbiddendoc/e/179799pRent or purchase from our OTT site!https://fknproductions.vhx.tv/checkout/the-forbidden-documentary-series/purchaseThe Forbidden Documentary: Occult Louisiana Official Trailerhttps://youtu.be/mau8CbuyoQ8?si=4LuMN7XACnGRnAllJoin us at Expanding Reality Excursions: Befriending Bigfoot Eventhttps://expandingrealitypodcast.com/events/?fbclid=IwAR3617vKySHVs6FfoeFeKEfRecau6-nUeo-NzWuJSoNw8-C6PavkkNtZPXwFKN Link Treehttps://linktr.ee/ForbiddenKnowledgeNewsForbidden Knowledge Network https://forbiddenknowledge.news/Sign up on Rokfin!https://rokfin.com/fknplusPodcastshttps://www.spreaker.com/show/forbiddenAvailable on all platforms Support FKN on Spreaker https://spreaker.page.link/KoPgfbEq8kcsR5oj9FKN ON Rumblehttps://rumble.com/c/FKNC60 PurplePowerhttps://go.shopc60.com/FORBIDDEN10/or use coupon code knowledge10Get Cory Hughes Book!https://www.buymeacoffee.com/jfkbookhttps://www.amazon.com/Warning-History-Cory-Hughes/dp/B0CL14VQY6/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=72HEFZQA7TAP&keywords=a+warning+from+history+cory+hughes&qid=1698861279&sprefix=a+warning+fro%2Caps%2C121&sr=8-1https://coryhughes.org/Johnny Larson's artworkhttps://www.patreon.com/JohnnyLarsonYouTube https://youtube.com/@fknclipsBecome Self-Sufficient With A Food Forest!!https://foodforestabundance.com/get-started/?ref=CHRISTOPHERMATHUse coupon code: FORBIDDEN for discountsThe FKN Store!https://www.fknstore.net/Our Facebook pageshttps://www.facebook.com/forbiddenknowledgenewsconspiracy/https://www.facebook.com/FKNNetwork/Instagram @forbiddenknowledgenews1@forbiddenknowledgenetworkXhttps://x.com/ForbiddenKnow10?t=uO5AqEtDuHdF9fXYtCUtfw&s=09Email meforbiddenknowledgenews@gmail.comsome music thanks to:https://www.bensound.com/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/forbidden-knowledge-news--3589233/support.
Without Your Head Horror Podcast with Kelli Maroney!!! - Night of the Comet - popularity growth of the film - the upcoming Eclipse - possible sequel ideas - Chopping Mall - Mary Woronov - Portland Horror Film Festival - The Deep Ones and the Old Ones with Chad Ferrin - producing - Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama 2 - Brinke Stevens - Staycation - the upcoming Slashercise and more!!! Music of the Month L[u]Myia Dark supplying the tunes! #KelliMaroney #NightOfTheComet #Choppingmall #WomenInHorror #HorrorIcon #LumYiaDark #WithoutYourHead --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/withoutyourhead/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/withoutyourhead/support
Ah, the American Dream: a suburban home with a white picket fence, green grass, and the perfect nuclear family. Until… ding dong! It's the boogeyman! Filmmaker Emily Bennett (Alone With You) joins David and Devin to discuss false utopias, the repercussions of repression, and why you should always face your fears. The Dogs take on Freddy Kreuger once again in the original A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, written and directed by Wes Craven. And then tackle M. Night Shyamalan's classic THE VILLAGE - with a twist (obviously). . 00:05:50 - A Nightmare on Elm Street 00:42:08 - Get to know Emily! 00:50:00 - The Village 01:12:32 - Comparisons 01:22:37 - Bone Reviews . Find Emily Bennett at: instagram.com/emilyrbennett www.emilyreneebennett.com . Follow us at: instagram.com/cadaverdogspod twitter.com/cadaverdogspod tiktok.com/@cadaverdogspod . “Only A Dream?: Exploring the Unconscious in A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984)" by Matt Wrafter https://therockisdead.com/2021/10/17/only-a-dream-exploring-the-unconscious-in-a-nightmare-on-elm-street-1984/ . “Post 9-11 Fears and The Village” by Gwen https://www.horrorhomeroom.com/post-9-11-fears-and-the-village/ . Send us your film suggestions at: cadaverdogspodcast@gmail.com Cover art by Omri Kadim. Theme by Adaam James Levin Areddy. Featuring “Return to Hawkins” by Ludus Diaboli and “The Old Ones” by Scott Buckley.
This week the gang takes on low-budget HP Lovercraft-inspired creature feature The Old Ones! Hey, why not call us on our hotline? (724) 246-4669! Check out the other Compañeros Radio Network shows: Movie Melt Songs on Trial Get Soft with Dr Snuggles Ballbusters Movies About Girls Classic In Search of the Perfect Podcast
Viral Instagram and Tik Tok wonder Educator_Andrea joins this week to discuss how to properly support and retain the “good ones”, the teachers who are meant to be in the game for a long time, and how we as seasoned veterans can show them all how to make the journey “a good time”. Andrea discusses the best ways she has learned to support and develop the new generation of educators, while taking a note from their book on establishing boundaries at any stage of the game.
Book a FREE intro call to see how Christian Yordanov can help you restore your health. Mention FKN in the "where did you hear about us" field and you will receive free extra consultation sessions. Book your free session here: https://christianyordanov.com/health-consulting/Make a Donation to Forbidden Knowledge News http://supportfkn.comhttps://www.paypal.me/forbiddenknowledgeneWatch The Forbidden Documentary: Occult Louisiana now on Tubi!https://bit.ly/42RsfWCDownload the film https://www.buymeacoffee.com/forbiddendoc/e/179799pRent or purchase from our OTT site!https://fknproductions.vhx.tv/checkout/the-forbidden-documentary-series/purchaseThe Forbidden Documentary: Occult Louisiana Official Trailerhttps://youtu.be/mau8CbuyoQ8?si=4LuMN7XACnGRnAllJoin us at Expanding Reality Excursions: Befriending Bigfoot Eventhttps://expandingrealitypodcast.com/events/?fbclid=IwAR3617vKySHVs6FfoeFeKEfRecau6-nUeo-NzWuJSoNw8-C6PavkkNtZPXwFKN Link Treehttps://linktr.ee/ForbiddenKnowledgeNewsForbidden Knowledge Network https://forbiddenknowledge.news/Sign up on Rokfin!https://rokfin.com/fknplusPodcastshttps://www.spreaker.com/show/forbiddenAvailable on all platforms Support FKN on Spreaker https://spreaker.page.link/KoPgfbEq8kcsR5oj9FKN ON Rumblehttps://rumble.com/c/FKNGet Cory Hughes Book!https://www.buymeacoffee.com/jfkbookhttps://www.amazon.com/Warning-History-Cory-Hughes/dp/B0CL14VQY6/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=72HEFZQA7TAP&keywords=a+warning+from+history+cory+hughes&qid=1698861279&sprefix=a+warning+fro%2Caps%2C121&sr=8-1https://coryhughes.org/C60 PurplePowerhttps://go.shopc60.com/FORBIDDEN10/or use coupon code knowledge10Johnny Larson's artworkhttps://www.patreon.com/JohnnyLarsonGet your medicinal mushroom supplies here!!https://berthoudfarm.com/sporeswaps.com/vendors/bf-geneticsGet 15% off your order from Nutronics Labs!https://www.nutronicslabs.com/discount/FKN?redirect=%2F%3Fafmc%3DFKN%26utm_campaign%3DFKN%26utm_source%3Dleaddyno%26utm_medium%3DaffiliateOr use code FKN YouTube https://youtube.com/@fknclipsBecome Self-Sufficient With A Food Forest!!https://foodforestabundance.com/get-started/?ref=CHRISTOPHERMATHUse coupon code: FORBIDDEN for discountsThe FKN Store!https://www.fknstore.net/Our Facebook pageshttps://www.facebook.com/forbiddenknowledgenewsconspiracy/https://www.facebook.com/FKNNetwork/Instagram @forbiddenknowledgenews1@forbiddenknowledgenetworkXhttps://x.com/ForbiddenKnow10?t=uO5AqEtDuHdF9fXYtCUtfw&s=09Email meforbiddenknowledgenews@gmail.comsome music thanks to:https://www.bensound.com/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/forbidden-knowledge-news--3589233/support.
Remember these old restaurants? Headlines with a druggie wrecking people who were "bad drivers" on purpose Sports with various goings on and what not
On today's special episode of The No-Till Market Garden Podcast, Alex says goodbye to his old farm and embraces the change to running and setting up a brand new no-till site for Old City Acres. We chat with two special guests, co-founder Farmer Jackson, and first year farm partner Seth Torkelson-Regan, all about renting -vs- owning (can you afford it), setting up new beds, the emotional toll of owning your own land, and making hard business decisions on the farm with regard to your finances, time, and lifestyle. Folks who support The No-Till Market Garden Podcast... Join Organic Growers School for their Spring Conference in Western North Carolina March 8-10, 2024, with 60+ workshops organized into 13 themed tracks. Plus, I (Jesse Frost) will be there leading half-day workshops. High Mowing Organic Seeds for 100% organic, Non-GMO Project Verified vegetable, flower and herb seeds trialed for optimal performance in organic growing systems. Since 1972 Ohio earth food has been the go to source for the highest performing and most cost effective granular and liquid fertilizers, seed starting soils, foliar sprays and disease and insect controls. Feed your soil and let your soil feed the plants. Visit ohioearthfood.com. ... and, as always, our work is powered by the individual growers who support us every month over at patreon.com/notillgrowers. You can pick up a copy of The Living Soil Handbook if you don't have one already, as well as a No-Till Growers hat or other merch, check out our YouTube channel, and you can ask you questions or share your insights into ecological market gardening on our free growers forum at notillgrowers.community.chat Find Farmer Jesse at these upcoming workshops & conferences... The Rough Draft Workshop Farm Tour Dates & Tickets Grow Riverside & Beyond in CA
Oh my, don't be afraid. I mean, not of this show. It's not real, at least I don't think it is. My dear, just relax and listen. These ghosts, ghouls, monsters, murderers and more aren't really here to get you, but your ears may lie to you...
Without Your Head Horror Podcast director Chad Ferrin talking his new film "H.P. Lovecraft's The Old Ones" Zoe Wassman and Malachite Saaquya creators of "BAMPIRE: Not Your Grandma's Bambi"!http://www.bampiremovie.com Nasty Neal & Annabelle Lecter went over Boston Underground Film Festival line up and more! @BostonUnderground Music of the Month Tricie and the Phantom Punks of We Are Horror Records supplying the tunes! @wearehorrorrecords #ChadFerrin #TheOldOnes #Lovecraft #Bampire #CosmicHorror #HorrorMovies #ScaryMovie #WithoutYourHead --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/withoutyourhead/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/withoutyourhead/support
Join us today as we share a recent prophetic dream of the Lord dealing with man's structures in the earth and His rebuilding new structures for His Kingdom people.
Welcome back friends! Today we're continuing our Palladium Books Retrospective series in another chat with Kevin himself. Join us to hear more delightful stories about the creation, concepts, and publication of the original Palladium Roleplaying Game, aka Palladium Fantasy. Drop us a line! You can follow us (sporadically) on Facebook, and we'd love to see you on our Discord Channel too. And let us know your thoughts by leaving a review on iTunes or any other podcast aggregate sites. For even more info and options, check out our main website or our low-bandwidth alternative feed site. Links of Note: Palladium Fantasy RPG 1st Edition Commemorative hardcover Palladium Fantasy RPG 1st Edition, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 2: Old Ones 1st Edition, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 3: Adventures on the High Seas 1st Edition, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 4: Adventures in the Northern Wilderness, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 5: Further Adventures in the Northern Wilderness, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 6: Island at the Edge of the World, Digital Palladium Fantasy RPG Book 7: Yin-Sloth Jungles, Digital Credits: Hosts: NPC, Matthew Gray, and Just Jacob Guests: Kevin Siembieda Music: Opening is "8-Bit bass & lead" by Furbyguy, Closing is "Caravana" by Phillip Gross Episode Length (We support chapters!): 02:02:57 Glitter Boys, Rifts, the Megaverse, and all other such topics are the property of Kevin Siembieda and Palladium Books. Please buy all their stuff and help keep them in print and making more games! You can order directly at palladiumbooks.com, and their entire catalog is available digitally at Drive-Thru RPG as well. We release all of our episodes simultaneously on: Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCuc8KbdMqx8ajWfm2OUTs7A Audio RSS: https://breakfastpuppies.com/feed/glitterbois Want to help us pay for hosting? We have a few options: Drop us a one-time donation or a recurring membership at our Ko-Fi page Follow this link to our Pinecast Tip Jar We've got a merch store if you're looking for some sweet Glitterbois swag. Check out our affiliate store and buy some of the various products we endorse. Support The Glitterbois by contributing to their tip jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/the-glitterbois Send us your feedback online: https://pinecast.com/feedback/the-glitterbois/361103b0-2687-487f-8b81-86120de1f22c This podcast is powered by Pinecast. Try Pinecast for free, forever, no credit card required. If you decide to upgrade, use coupon code r-66e5ee for 40% off for 4 months, and support The Glitterbois.
NASA expects the asteroid, Nereus, to be at its closest point to Earth over a 20-year period on December 11. Asteroids and comets became bearded sea dragons and were used as symbols of looming apocalyptic doom during the Enlightenment Period. Today, we are met with a new set of narratives by the technocratic oligarchs - the blueprint of the Eschaton as the Greek mythological names are being revived in order to deeply program into our subconscious, the Old Ones. Tonight on Ground Zero, Clyde Lewis talks with NASA researcher and author, Richard C. Hoagland about NEREUS - THE DROWNING ECHO.Originally Broadcast On 12/2/21
In the hopes of launching 2024 with some auspicious beginnings, we're presenting a trio of first episodes from classic radio series! Our mysterious listener Glenn starts us out by celebrating 50 years of CBS Radio Mystery Theater with the series' debut episode, “The Old Ones are Hard to Kill!” Agnes Moorehead stars as a kindly old woman whose lodger confesses to a murder on his deathbed, and tells her that the man convicted of the crime is innocent. She begins to investigate, hoping to clear the name of the wrongly convicted man, but soon discovers that sinister forces are still at work! What is the truth behind this murder? What was it that made her lodger sick in the first place? What are we throwing at thrift stores as we drive by? Listen for yourself and find out! Then vote and let us know what you think!
The Haunter of the Dark By H. P. Lovecraft (Dedicated to Robert Bloch) I have seen the dark universe yawning Where the black planets roll without aim— Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge or lustre or name. —Nemesis. Cautious investigators will hesitate to challenge the common belief that Robert Blake was killed by lightning, or by some profound nervous shock derived from an electrical discharge. It is true that the window he faced was unbroken, but Nature has shewn herself capable of many freakish performances. The expression on his face may easily have arisen from some obscure muscular source unrelated to anything he saw, while the entries in his diary are clearly the result of a fantastic imagination aroused by certain local superstitions and by certain old matters he had uncovered. As for the anomalous conditions at the deserted church on Federal Hill—the shrewd analyst is not slow in attributing them to some charlatanry, conscious or unconscious, with at least some of which Blake was secretly connected. For after all, the victim was a writer and painter wholly devoted to the field of myth, dream, terror, and superstition, and avid in his quest for scenes and effects of a bizarre, spectral sort. His earlier stay in the city—a visit to a strange old man as deeply given to occult and forbidden lore as he—had ended amidst death and flame, and it must have been some morbid instinct which drew him back from his home in Milwaukee. He may have known of the old stories despite his statements to the contrary in the diary, and his death may have nipped in the bud some stupendous hoax destined to have a literary reflection. Among those, however, who have examined and correlated all this evidence, there remain several who cling to less rational and commonplace theories. They are inclined to take much of Blake's diary at its face value, and point significantly to certain facts such as the undoubted genuineness of the old church record, the verified existence of the disliked and unorthodox Starry Wisdom sect prior to 1877, the recorded disappearance of an inquisitive reporter named Edwin M. Lillibridge in 1893, and—above all—the look of monstrous, transfiguring fear on the face of the young writer when he died. It was one of these believers who, moved to fanatical extremes, threw into the bay the curiously angled stone and its strangely adorned metal box found in the old church steeple—the black windowless steeple, and not the tower where Blake's diary said those things originally were. Though widely censured both officially and unofficially, this man—a reputable physician with a taste for odd folklore—averred that he had rid the earth of something too dangerous to rest upon it. Between these two schools of opinion the reader must judge for himself. The papers have given the tangible details from a sceptical angle, leaving for others the drawing of the picture as Robert Blake saw it—or thought he saw it—or pretended to see it. Now, studying the diary closely, dispassionately, and at leisure, let us summarise the dark chain of events from the expressed point of view of their chief actor. Young Blake returned to Providence in the winter of 1934–5, taking the upper floor of a venerable dwelling in a grassy court off College Street—on the crest of the great eastward hill near the Brown University campus and behind the marble John Hay Library. It was a cosy and fascinating place, in a little garden oasis of village-like antiquity where huge, friendly cats sunned themselves atop a convenient shed. The square Georgian house had a monitor roof, classic doorway with fan carving, small-paned windows, and all the other earmarks of early nineteenth-century workmanship. Inside were six-panelled doors, wide floor-boards, a curving colonial staircase, white Adam-period mantels, and a rear set of rooms three steps below the general level. Blake's study, a large southwest chamber, overlooked the front garden on one side, while its west windows—before one of which he had his desk—faced off from the brow of the hill and commanded a splendid view of the lower town's outspread roofs and of the mystical sunsets that flamed behind them. On the far horizon were the open countryside's purple slopes. Against these, some two miles away, rose the spectral hump of Federal Hill, bristling with huddled roofs and steeples whose remote outlines wavered mysteriously, taking fantastic forms as the smoke of the city swirled up and enmeshed them. Blake had a curious sense that he was looking upon some unknown, ethereal world which might or might not vanish in dream if ever he tried to seek it out and enter it in person. Having sent home for most of his books, Blake bought some antique furniture suitable to his quarters and settled down to write and paint—living alone, and attending to the simple housework himself. His studio was in a north attic room, where the panes of the monitor roof furnished admirable lighting. During that first winter he produced five of his best-known short stories—“The Burrower Beneath”, “The Stairs in the Crypt”, “Shaggai”, “In the Vale of Pnath”, and “The Feaster from the Stars”—and painted seven canvases; studies of nameless, unhuman monsters, and profoundly alien, non-terrestrial landscapes. At sunset he would often sit at his desk and gaze dreamily off at the outspread west—the dark towers of Memorial Hall just below, the Georgian court-house belfry, the lofty pinnacles of the downtown section, and that shimmering, spire-crowned mound in the distance whose unknown streets and labyrinthine gables so potently provoked his fancy. From his few local acquaintances he learned that the far-off slope was a vast Italian quarter, though most of the houses were remnants of older Yankee and Irish days. Now and then he would train his field-glasses on that spectral, unreachable world beyond the curling smoke; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries they might house. Even with optical aid Federal Hill seemed somehow alien, half fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of Blake's own tales and pictures. The feeling would persist long after the hill had faded into the violet, lamp-starred twilight, and the court-house floodlights and the red Industrial Trust beacon had blazed up to make the night grotesque. Of all the distant objects on Federal Hill, a certain huge, dark church most fascinated Blake. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the flaming sky. It seemed to rest on especially high ground; for the grimy facade, and the obliquely seen north side with sloping roof and the tops of great pointed windows, rose boldly above the tangle of surrounding ridgepoles and chimney-pots. Peculiarly grim and austere, it appeared to be built of stone, stained and weathered with the smoke and storms of a century and more. The style, so far as the glass could shew, was that earliest experimental form of Gothic revival which preceded the stately Upjohn period and held over some of the outlines and proportions of the Georgian age. Perhaps it was reared around 1810 or 1815. As months passed, Blake watched the far-off, forbidding structure with an oddly mounting interest. Since the vast windows were never lighted, he knew that it must be vacant. The longer he watched, the more his imagination worked, till at length he began to fancy curious things. He believed that a vague, singular aura of desolation hovered over the place, so that even the pigeons and swallows shunned its smoky eaves. Around other towers and belfries his glass would reveal great flocks of birds, but here they never rested. At least, that is what he thought and set down in his diary. He pointed the place out to several friends, but none of them had even been on Federal Hill or possessed the faintest notion of what the church was or had been. In the spring a deep restlessness gripped Blake. He had begun his long-planned novel—based on a supposed survival of the witch-cult in Maine—but was strangely unable to make progress with it. More and more he would sit at his westward window and gaze at the distant hill and the black, frowning steeple shunned by the birds. When the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs the world was filled with a new beauty, but Blake's restlessness was merely increased. It was then that he first thought of crossing the city and climbing bodily up that fabulous slope into the smoke-wreathed world of dream. Late in April, just before the aeon-shadowed Walpurgis time, Blake made his first trip into the unknown. Plodding through the endless downtown streets and the bleak, decayed squares beyond, he came finally upon the ascending avenue of century-worn steps, sagging Doric porches, and blear-paned cupolas which he felt must lead up to the long-known, unreachable world beyond the mists. There were dingy blue-and-white street signs which meant nothing to him, and presently he noted the strange, dark faces of the drifting crowds, and the foreign signs over curious shops in brown, decade-weathered buildings. Nowhere could he find any of the objects he had seen from afar; so that once more he half fancied that the Federal Hill of that distant view was a dream-world never to be trod by living human feet. Now and then a battered church facade or crumbling spire came in sight, but never the blackened pile that he sought. When he asked a shopkeeper about a great stone church the man smiled and shook his head, though he spoke English freely. As Blake climbed higher, the region seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding brown alleys leading eternally off to the south. He crossed two or three broad avenues, and once thought he glimpsed a familiar tower. Again he asked a merchant about the massive church of stone, and this time he could have sworn that the plea of ignorance was feigned. The dark man's face had a look of fear which he tried to hide, and Blake saw him make a curious sign with his right hand. Then suddenly a black spire stood out against the cloudy sky on his left, above the tiers of brown roofs lining the tangled southerly alleys. Blake knew at once what it was, and plunged toward it through the squalid, unpaved lanes that climbed from the avenue. Twice he lost his way, but he somehow dared not ask any of the patriarchs or housewives who sat on their doorsteps, or any of the children who shouted and played in the mud of the shadowy lanes. At last he saw the tower plain against the southwest, and a huge stone bulk rose darkly at the end of an alley. Presently he stood in a windswept open square, quaintly cobblestoned, with a high bank wall on the farther side. This was the end of his quest; for upon the wide, iron-railed, weed-grown plateau which the wall supported—a separate, lesser world raised fully six feet above the surrounding streets—there stood a grim, titan bulk whose identity, despite Blake's new perspective, was beyond dispute. The vacant church was in a state of great decrepitude. Some of the high stone buttresses had fallen, and several delicate finials lay half lost among the brown, neglected weeds and grasses. The sooty Gothic windows were largely unbroken, though many of the stone mullions were missing. Blake wondered how the obscurely painted panes could have survived so well, in view of the known habits of small boys the world over. The massive doors were intact and tightly closed. Around the top of the bank wall, fully enclosing the grounds, was a rusty iron fence whose gate—at the head of a flight of steps from the square—was visibly padlocked. The path from the gate to the building was completely overgrown. Desolation and decay hung like a pall above the place, and in the birdless eaves and black, ivyless walls Blake felt a touch of the dimly sinister beyond his power to define. There were very few people in the square, but Blake saw a policeman at the northerly end and approached him with questions about the church. He was a great wholesome Irishman, and it seemed odd that he would do little more than make the sign of the cross and mutter that people never spoke of that building. When Blake pressed him he said very hurriedly that the Italian priests warned everybody against it, vowing that a monstrous evil had once dwelt there and left its mark. He himself had heard dark whispers of it from his father, who recalled certain sounds and rumours from his boyhood. There had been a bad sect there in the ould days—an outlaw sect that called up awful things from some unknown gulf of night. It had taken a good priest to exorcise what had come, though there did be those who said that merely the light could do it. If Father O'Malley were alive there would be many the thing he could tell. But now there was nothing to do but let it alone. It hurt nobody now, and those that owned it were dead or far away. They had run away like rats after the threatening talk in '77, when people began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the neighbourhood. Some day the city would step in and take the property for lack of heirs, but little good would come of anybody's touching it. Better it be left alone for the years to topple, lest things be stirred that ought to rest forever in their black abyss. After the policeman had gone Blake stood staring at the sullen steepled pile. It excited him to find that the structure seemed as sinister to others as to him, and he wondered what grain of truth might lie behind the old tales the bluecoat had repeated. Probably they were mere legends evoked by the evil look of the place, but even so, they were like a strange coming to life of one of his own stories. The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the stained, sooty walls of the old temple that towered on its high plateau. It was odd that the green of spring had not touched the brown, withered growths in the raised, iron-fenced yard. Blake found himself edging nearer the raised area and examining the bank wall and rusted fence for possible avenues of ingress. There was a terrible lure about the blackened fane which was not to be resisted. The fence had no opening near the steps, but around on the north side were some missing bars. He could go up the steps and walk around on the narrow coping outside the fence till he came to the gap. If the people feared the place so wildly, he would encounter no interference. He was on the embankment and almost inside the fence before anyone noticed him. Then, looking down, he saw the few people in the square edging away and making the same sign with their right hands that the shopkeeper in the avenue had made. Several windows were slammed down, and a fat woman darted into the street and pulled some small children inside a rickety, unpainted house. The gap in the fence was very easy to pass through, and before long Blake found himself wading amidst the rotting, tangled growths of the deserted yard. Here and there the worn stump of a headstone told him that there had once been burials in this field; but that, he saw, must have been very long ago. The sheer bulk of the church was oppressive now that he was close to it, but he conquered his mood and approached to try the three great doors in the facade. All were securely locked, so he began a circuit of the Cyclopean building in quest of some minor and more penetrable opening. Even then he could not be sure that he wished to enter that haunt of desertion and shadow, yet the pull of its strangeness dragged him on automatically. A yawning and unprotected cellar window in the rear furnished the needed aperture. Peering in, Blake saw a subterrene gulf of cobwebs and dust faintly litten by the western sun's filtered rays. Debris, old barrels, and ruined boxes and furniture of numerous sorts met his eye, though over everything lay a shroud of dust which softened all sharp outlines. The rusted remains of a hot-air furnace shewed that the building had been used and kept in shape as late as mid-Victorian times. Acting almost without conscious initiative, Blake crawled through the window and let himself down to the dust-carpeted and debris-strown concrete floor. The vaulted cellar was a vast one, without partitions; and in a corner far to the right, amid dense shadows, he saw a black archway evidently leading upstairs. He felt a peculiar sense of oppression at being actually within the great spectral building, but kept it in check as he cautiously scouted about—finding a still-intact barrel amid the dust, and rolling it over to the open window to provide for his exit. Then, bracing himself, he crossed the wide, cobweb-festooned space toward the arch. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, and covered with ghostly gossamer fibres, he reached and began to climb the worn stone steps which rose into the darkness. He had no light, but groped carefully with his hands. After a sharp turn he felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it he saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with worm-eaten panelling. Once on the ground floor, Blake began exploring in a rapid fashion. All the inner doors were unlocked, so that he freely passed from room to room. The colossal nave was an almost eldritch place with its drifts and mountains of dust over box pews, altar, hourglass pulpit, and sounding-board, and its titanic ropes of cobweb stretching among the pointed arches of the gallery and entwining the clustered Gothic columns. Over all this hushed desolation played a hideous leaden light as the declining afternoon sun sent its rays through the strange, half-blackened panes of the great apsidal windows. The paintings on those windows were so obscured by soot that Blake could scarcely decipher what they had represented, but from the little he could make out he did not like them. The designs were largely conventional, and his knowledge of obscure symbolism told him much concerning some of the ancient patterns. The few saints depicted bore expressions distinctly open to criticism, while one of the windows seemed to shew merely a dark space with spirals of curious luminosity scattered about in it. Turning away from the windows, Blake noticed that the cobwebbed cross above the altar was not of the ordinary kind, but resembled the primordial ankh or crux ansata of shadowy Egypt. In a rear vestry room beside the apse Blake found a rotting desk and ceiling-high shelves of mildewed, disintegrating books. Here for the first time he received a positive shock of objective horror, for the titles of those books told him much. They were the black, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; the banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have trickled down the stream of time from the days of man's youth, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. He had himself read many of them—a Latin version of the abhorred Necronomicon, the sinister Liber Ivonis, the infamous Cultes des Goules of Comte d'Erlette, the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and old Ludvig Prinn's hellish De Vermis Mysteriis. But there were others he had known merely by reputation or not at all—the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Book of Dzyan, and a crumbling volume in wholly unidentifiable characters yet with certain symbols and diagrams shudderingly recognisable to the occult student. Clearly, the lingering local rumours had not lied. This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe. In the ruined desk was a small leather-bound record-book filled with entries in some odd cryptographic medium. The manuscript writing consisted of the common traditional symbols used today in astronomy and anciently in alchemy, astrology, and other dubious arts—the devices of the sun, moon, planets, aspects, and zodiacal signs—here massed in solid pages of text, with divisions and paragraphings suggesting that each symbol answered to some alphabetical letter. In the hope of later solving the cryptogram, Blake bore off this volume in his coat pocket. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated him unutterably, and he felt tempted to borrow them at some later time. He wondered how they could have remained undisturbed so long. Was he the first to conquer the clutching, pervasive fear which had for nearly sixty years protected this deserted place from visitors? Having now thoroughly explored the ground floor, Blake ploughed again through the dust of the spectral nave to the front vestibule, where he had seen a door and staircase presumably leading up to the blackened tower and steeple—objects so long familiar to him at a distance. The ascent was a choking experience, for dust lay thick, while the spiders had done their worst in this constricted place. The staircase was a spiral with high, narrow wooden treads, and now and then Blake passed a clouded window looking dizzily out over the city. Though he had seen no ropes below, he expected to find a bell or peal of bells in the tower whose narrow, louver-boarded lancet windows his field-glass had studied so often. Here he was doomed to disappointment; for when he attained the top of the stairs he found the tower chamber vacant of chimes, and clearly devoted to vastly different purposes. The room, about fifteen feet square, was faintly lighted by four lancet windows, one on each side, which were glazed within their screening of decayed louver-boards. These had been further fitted with tight, opaque screens, but the latter were now largely rotted away. In the centre of the dust-laden floor rose a curiously angled stone pillar some four feet in height and two in average diameter, covered on each side with bizarre, crudely incised, and wholly unrecognisable hieroglyphs. On this pillar rested a metal box of peculiarly asymmetrical form; its hinged lid thrown back, and its interior holding what looked beneath the decade-deep dust to be an egg-shaped or irregularly spherical object some four inches through. Around the pillar in a rough circle were seven high-backed Gothic chairs still largely intact, while behind them, ranging along the dark-panelled walls, were seven colossal images of crumbling, black-painted plaster, resembling more than anything else the cryptic carven megaliths of mysterious Easter Island. In one corner of the cobwebbed chamber a ladder was built into the wall, leading up to the closed trap-door of the windowless steeple above. As Blake grew accustomed to the feeble light he noticed odd bas-reliefs on the strange open box of yellowish metal. Approaching, he tried to clear the dust away with his hands and handkerchief, and saw that the figurings were of a monstrous and utterly alien kind; depicting entities which, though seemingly alive, resembled no known life-form ever evolved on this planet. The four-inch seeming sphere turned out to be a nearly black, red-striated polyhedron with many irregular flat surfaces; either a very remarkable crystal of some sort, or an artificial object of carved and highly polished mineral matter. It did not touch the bottom of the box, but was held suspended by means of a metal band around its centre, with seven queerly designed supports extending horizontally to angles of the box's inner wall near the top. This stone, once exposed, exerted upon Blake an almost alarming fascination. He could scarcely tear his eyes from it, and as he looked at its glistening surfaces he almost fancied it was transparent, with half-formed worlds of wonder within. Into his mind floated pictures of alien orbs with great stone towers, and other orbs with titan mountains and no mark of life, and still remoter spaces where only a stirring in vague blacknesses told of the presence of consciousness and will. When he did look away, it was to notice a somewhat singular mound of dust in the far corner near the ladder to the steeple. Just why it took his attention he could not tell, but something in its contours carried a message to his unconscious mind. Ploughing toward it, and brushing aside the hanging cobwebs as he went, he began to discern something grim about it. Hand and handkerchief soon revealed the truth, and Blake gasped with a baffling mixture of emotions. It was a human skeleton, and it must have been there for a very long time. The clothing was in shreds, but some buttons and fragments of cloth bespoke a man's grey suit. There were other bits of evidence—shoes, metal clasps, huge buttons for round cuffs, a stickpin of bygone pattern, a reporter's badge with the name of the old Providence Telegram, and a crumbling leather pocketbook. Blake examined the latter with care, finding within it several bills of antiquated issue, a celluloid advertising calendar for 1893, some cards with the name “Edwin M. Lillibridge”, and a paper covered with pencilled memoranda. This paper held much of a puzzling nature, and Blake read it carefully at the dim westward window. Its disjointed text included such phrases as the following: “Prof. Enoch Bowen home from Egypt May 1844—buys old Free-Will Church in July—his archaeological work & studies in occult well known.” “Dr. Drowne of 4th Baptist warns against Starry Wisdom in sermon Dec. 29, 1844.” “Congregation 97 by end of '45.” “1846—3 disappearances—first mention of Shining Trapezohedron.” “7 disappearances 1848—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “Investigation 1853 comes to nothing—stories of sounds.” “Fr. O'Malley tells of devil-worship with box found in great Egyptian ruins—says they call up something that can't exist in light. Flees a little light, and banished by strong light. Then has to be summoned again. Probably got this from deathbed confession of Francis X. Feeney, who had joined Starry Wisdom in '49. These people say the Shining Trapezohedron shews them heaven & other worlds, & that the Haunter of the Dark tells them secrets in some way.” “Story of Orrin B. Eddy 1857. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, & have a secret language of their own.” “200 or more in cong. 1863, exclusive of men at front.” “Irish boys mob church in 1869 after Patrick Regan's disappearance.” “Veiled article in J. March 14, '72, but people don't talk about it.” “6 disappearances 1876—secret committee calls on Mayor Doyle.” “Action promised Feb. 1877—church closes in April.” “Gang—Federal Hill Boys—threaten Dr. —— and vestrymen in May.” “181 persons leave city before end of '77—mention no names.” “Ghost stories begin around 1880—try to ascertain truth of report that no human being has entered church since 1877.” “Ask Lanigan for photograph of place taken 1851.” . . . Restoring the paper to the pocketbook and placing the latter in his coat, Blake turned to look down at the skeleton in the dust. The implications of the notes were clear, and there could be no doubt but that this man had come to the deserted edifice forty-two years before in quest of a newspaper sensation which no one else had been bold enough to attempt. Perhaps no one else had known of his plan—who could tell? But he had never returned to his paper. Had some bravely suppressed fear risen to overcome him and bring on sudden heart-failure? Blake stooped over the gleaming bones and noted their peculiar state. Some of them were badly scattered, and a few seemed oddly dissolved at the ends. Others were strangely yellowed, with vague suggestions of charring. This charring extended to some of the fragments of clothing. The skull was in a very peculiar state—stained yellow, and with a charred aperture in the top as if some powerful acid had eaten through the solid bone. What had happened to the skeleton during its four decades of silent entombment here Blake could not imagine. Before he realised it, he was looking at the stone again, and letting its curious influence call up a nebulous pageantry in his mind. He saw processions of robed, hooded figures whose outlines were not human, and looked on endless leagues of desert lined with carved, sky-reaching monoliths. He saw towers and walls in nighted depths under the sea, and vortices of space where wisps of black mist floated before thin shimmerings of cold purple haze. And beyond all else he glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness, where solid and semi-solid forms were known only by their windy stirrings, and cloudy patterns of force seemed to superimpose order on chaos and hold forth a key to all the paradoxes and arcana of the worlds we know. Then all at once the spell was broken by an access of gnawing, indeterminate panic fear. Blake choked and turned away from the stone, conscious of some formless alien presence close to him and watching him with horrible intentness. He felt entangled with something—something which was not in the stone, but which had looked through it at him—something which would ceaselessly follow him with a cognition that was not physical sight. Plainly, the place was getting on his nerves—as well it might in view of his gruesome find. The light was waning, too, and since he had no illuminant with him he knew he would have to be leaving soon. It was then, in the gathering twilight, that he thought he saw a faint trace of luminosity in the crazily angled stone. He had tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew his eyes back. Was there a subtle phosphorescence of radio-activity about the thing? What was it that the dead man's notes had said concerning a Shining Trapezohedron? What, anyway, was this abandoned lair of cosmic evil? What had been done here, and what might still be lurking in the bird-shunned shadows? It seemed now as if an elusive touch of foetor had arisen somewhere close by, though its source was not apparent. Blake seized the cover of the long-open box and snapped it down. It moved easily on its alien hinges, and closed completely over the unmistakably glowing stone. At the sharp click of that closing a soft stirring sound seemed to come from the steeple's eternal blackness overhead, beyond the trap-door. Rats, without question—the only living things to reveal their presence in this accursed pile since he had entered it. And yet that stirring in the steeple frightened him horribly, so that he plunged almost wildly down the spiral stairs, across the ghoulish nave, into the vaulted basement, out amidst the gathering dusk of the deserted square, and down through the teeming, fear-haunted alleys and avenues of Federal Hill toward the sane central streets and the home-like brick sidewalks of the college district. During the days which followed, Blake told no one of his expedition. Instead, he read much in certain books, examined long years of newspaper files downtown, and worked feverishly at the cryptogram in that leather volume from the cobwebbed vestry room. The cipher, he soon saw, was no simple one; and after a long period of endeavour he felt sure that its language could not be English, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Italian, or German. Evidently he would have to draw upon the deepest wells of his strange erudition. Every evening the old impulse to gaze westward returned, and he saw the black steeple as of yore amongst the bristling roofs of a distant and half-fabulous world. But now it held a fresh note of terror for him. He knew the heritage of evil lore it masked, and with the knowledge his vision ran riot in queer new ways. The birds of spring were returning, and as he watched their sunset flights he fancied they avoided the gaunt, lone spire as never before. When a flock of them approached it, he thought, they would wheel and scatter in panic confusion—and he could guess at the wild twitterings which failed to reach him across the intervening miles. It was in June that Blake's diary told of his victory over the cryptogram. The text was, he found, in the dark Aklo language used by certain cults of evil antiquity, and known to him in a halting way through previous researches. The diary is strangely reticent about what Blake deciphered, but he was patently awed and disconcerted by his results. There are references to a Haunter of the Dark awaked by gazing into the Shining Trapezohedron, and insane conjectures about the black gulfs of chaos from which it was called. The being is spoken of as holding all knowledge, and demanding monstrous sacrifices. Some of Blake's entries shew fear lest the thing, which he seemed to regard as summoned, stalk abroad; though he adds that the street-lights form a bulwark which cannot be crossed. Of the Shining Trapezohedron he speaks often, calling it a window on all time and space, and tracing its history from the days it was fashioned on dark Yuggoth, before ever the Old Ones brought it to earth. It was treasured and placed in its curious box by the crinoid things of Antarctica, salvaged from their ruins by the serpent-men of Valusia, and peered at aeons later in Lemuria by the first human beings. It crossed strange lands and stranger seas, and sank with Atlantis before a Minoan fisher meshed it in his net and sold it to swarthy merchants from nighted Khem. The Pharaoh Nephren-Ka built around it a temple with a windowless crypt, and did that which caused his name to be stricken from all monuments and records. Then it slept in the ruins of that evil fane which the priests and the new Pharaoh destroyed, till the delver's spade once more brought it forth to curse mankind. Early in July the newspapers oddly supplement Blake's entries, though in so brief and casual a way that only the diary has called general attention to their contribution. It appears that a new fear had been growing on Federal Hill since a stranger had entered the dreaded church. The Italians whispered of unaccustomed stirrings and bumpings and scrapings in the dark windowless steeple, and called on their priests to banish an entity which haunted their dreams. Something, they said, was constantly watching at a door to see if it were dark enough to venture forth. Press items mentioned the long-standing local superstitions, but failed to shed much light on the earlier background of the horror. It was obvious that the young reporters of today are no antiquarians. In writing of these things in his diary, Blake expresses a curious kind of remorse, and talks of the duty of burying the Shining Trapezohedron and of banishing what he had evoked by letting daylight into the hideous jutting spire. At the same time, however, he displays the dangerous extent of his fascination, and admits a morbid longing—pervading even his dreams—to visit the accursed tower and gaze again into the cosmic secrets of the glowing stone. Then something in the Journal on the morning of July 17 threw the diarist into a veritable fever of horror. It was only a variant of the other half-humorous items about the Federal Hill restlessness, but to Blake it was somehow very terrible indeed. In the night a thunderstorm had put the city's lighting-system out of commission for a full hour, and in that black interval the Italians had nearly gone mad with fright. Those living near the dreaded church had sworn that the thing in the steeple had taken advantage of the street-lamps' absence and gone down into the body of the church, flopping and bumping around in a viscous, altogether dreadful way. Toward the last it had bumped up to the tower, where there were sounds of the shattering of glass. It could go wherever the darkness reached, but light would always send it fleeing. When the current blazed on again there had been a shocking commotion in the tower, for even the feeble light trickling through the grime-blackened, louver-boarded windows was too much for the thing. It had bumped and slithered up into its tenebrous steeple just in time—for a long dose of light would have sent it back into the abyss whence the crazy stranger had called it. During the dark hour praying crowds had clustered round the church in the rain with lighted candles and lamps somehow shielded with folded paper and umbrellas—a guard of light to save the city from the nightmare that stalks in darkness. Once, those nearest the church declared, the outer door had rattled hideously. But even this was not the worst. That evening in the Bulletin Blake read of what the reporters had found. Aroused at last to the whimsical news value of the scare, a pair of them had defied the frantic crowds of Italians and crawled into the church through the cellar window after trying the doors in vain. They found the dust of the vestibule and of the spectral nave ploughed up in a singular way, with bits of rotted cushions and satin pew-linings scattered curiously around. There was a bad odour everywhere, and here and there were bits of yellow stain and patches of what looked like charring. Opening the door to the tower, and pausing a moment at the suspicion of a scraping sound above, they found the narrow spiral stairs wiped roughly clean. In the tower itself a similarly half-swept condition existed. They spoke of the heptagonal stone pillar, the overturned Gothic chairs, and the bizarre plaster images; though strangely enough the metal box and the old mutilated skeleton were not mentioned. What disturbed Blake the most—except for the hints of stains and charring and bad odours—was the final detail that explained the crashing glass. Every one of the tower's lancet windows was broken, and two of them had been darkened in a crude and hurried way by the stuffing of satin pew-linings and cushion-horsehair into the spaces between the slanting exterior louver-boards. More satin fragments and bunches of horsehair lay scattered around the newly swept floor, as if someone had been interrupted in the act of restoring the tower to the absolute blackness of its tightly curtained days. Yellowish stains and charred patches were found on the ladder to the windowless spire, but when a reporter climbed up, opened the horizontally sliding trap-door, and shot a feeble flashlight beam into the black and strangely foetid space, he saw nothing but darkness, and an heterogeneous litter of shapeless fragments near the aperture. The verdict, of course, was charlatanry. Somebody had played a joke on the superstitious hill-dwellers, or else some fanatic had striven to bolster up their fears for their own supposed good. Or perhaps some of the younger and more sophisticated dwellers had staged an elaborate hoax on the outside world. There was an amusing aftermath when the police sent an officer to verify the reports. Three men in succession found ways of evading the assignment, and the fourth went very reluctantly and returned very soon without adding to the account given by the reporters. From this point onward Blake's diary shews a mounting tide of insidious horror and nervous apprehension. He upbraids himself for not doing something, and speculates wildly on the consequences of another electrical breakdown. It has been verified that on three occasions—during thunderstorms—he telephoned the electric light company in a frantic vein and asked that desperate precautions against a lapse of power be taken. Now and then his entries shew concern over the failure of the reporters to find the metal box and stone, and the strangely marred old skeleton, when they explored the shadowy tower room. He assumed that these things had been removed—whither, and by whom or what, he could only guess. But his worst fears concerned himself, and the kind of unholy rapport he felt to exist between his mind and that lurking horror in the distant steeple—that monstrous thing of night which his rashness had called out of the ultimate black spaces. He seemed to feel a constant tugging at his will, and callers of that period remember how he would sit abstractedly at his desk and stare out of the west window at that far-off, spire-bristling mound beyond the swirling smoke of the city. His entries dwell monotonously on certain terrible dreams, and of a strengthening of the unholy rapport in his sleep. There is mention of a night when he awaked to find himself fully dressed, outdoors, and headed automatically down College Hill toward the west. Again and again he dwells on the fact that the thing in the steeple knows where to find him. The week following July 30 is recalled as the time of Blake's partial breakdown. He did not dress, and ordered all his food by telephone. Visitors remarked the cords he kept near his bed, and he said that sleep-walking had forced him to bind his ankles every night with knots which would probably hold or else waken him with the labour of untying. In his diary he told of the hideous experience which had brought the collapse. After retiring on the night of the 30th he had suddenly found himself groping about in an almost black space. All he could see were short, faint, horizontal streaks of bluish light, but he could smell an overpowering foetor and hear a curious jumble of soft, furtive sounds above him. Whenever he moved he stumbled over something, and at each noise there would come a sort of answering sound from above—a vague stirring, mixed with the cautious sliding of wood on wood. Once his groping hands encountered a pillar of stone with a vacant top, whilst later he found himself clutching the rungs of a ladder built into the wall, and fumbling his uncertain way upward toward some region of intenser stench where a hot, searing blast beat down against him. Before his eyes a kaleidoscopic range of phantasmal images played, all of them dissolving at intervals into the picture of a vast, unplumbed abyss of night wherein whirled suns and worlds of an even profounder blackness. He thought of the ancient legends of Ultimate Chaos, at whose centre sprawls the blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, and lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws. Then a sharp report from the outer world broke through his stupor and roused him to the unutterable horror of his position. What it was, he never knew—perhaps it was some belated peal from the fireworks heard all summer on Federal Hill as the dwellers hail their various patron saints, or the saints of their native villages in Italy. In any event he shrieked aloud, dropped frantically from the ladder, and stumbled blindly across the obstructed floor of the almost lightless chamber that encompassed him. He knew instantly where he was, and plunged recklessly down the narrow spiral staircase, tripping and bruising himself at every turn. There was a nightmare flight through a vast cobwebbed nave whose ghostly arches reached up to realms of leering shadow, a sightless scramble through a littered basement, a climb to regions of air and street-lights outside, and a mad racing down a spectral hill of gibbering gables, across a grim, silent city of tall black towers, and up the steep eastward precipice to his own ancient door. On regaining consciousness in the morning he found himself lying on his study floor fully dressed. Dirt and cobwebs covered him, and every inch of his body seemed sore and bruised. When he faced the mirror he saw that his hair was badly scorched, while a trace of strange, evil odour seemed to cling to his upper outer clothing. It was then that his nerves broke down. Thereafter, lounging exhaustedly about in a dressing-gown, he did little but stare from his west window, shiver at the threat of thunder, and make wild entries in his diary. The great storm broke just before midnight on August 8th. Lightning struck repeatedly in all parts of the city, and two remarkable fireballs were reported. The rain was torrential, while a constant fusillade of thunder brought sleeplessness to thousands. Blake was utterly frantic in his fear for the lighting system, and tried to telephone the company around 1 a.m., though by that time service had been temporarily cut off in the interest of safety. He recorded everything in his diary—the large, nervous, and often undecipherable hieroglyphs telling their own story of growing frenzy and despair, and of entries scrawled blindly in the dark. He had to keep the house dark in order to see out the window, and it appears that most of his time was spent at his desk, peering anxiously through the rain across the glistening miles of downtown roofs at the constellation of distant lights marking Federal Hill. Now and then he would fumblingly make an entry in his diary, so that detached phrases such as “The lights must not go”; “It knows where I am”; “I must destroy it”; and “It is calling to me, but perhaps it means no injury this time”; are found scattered down two of the pages. Then the lights went out all over the city. It happened at 2:12 a.m. according to power-house records, but Blake's diary gives no indication of the time. The entry is merely, “Lights out—God help me.” On Federal Hill there were watchers as anxious as he, and rain-soaked knots of men paraded the square and alleys around the evil church with umbrella-shaded candles, electric flashlights, oil lanterns, crucifixes, and obscure charms of the many sorts common to southern Italy. They blessed each flash of lightning, and made cryptical signs of fear with their right hands when a turn in the storm caused the flashes to lessen and finally to cease altogether. A rising wind blew out most of the candles, so that the scene grew threateningly dark. Someone roused Father Merluzzo of Spirito Santo Church, and he hastened to the dismal square to pronounce whatever helpful syllables he could. Of the restless and curious sounds in the blackened tower, there could be no doubt whatever. For what happened at 2:35 we have the testimony of the priest, a young, intelligent, and well-educated person; of Patrolman William J. Monahan of the Central Station, an officer of the highest reliability who had paused at that part of his beat to inspect the crowd; and of most of the seventy-eight men who had gathered around the church's high bank wall—especially those in the square where the eastward facade was visible. Of course there was nothing which can be proved as being outside the order of Nature. The possible causes of such an event are many. No one can speak with certainty of the obscure chemical processes arising in a vast, ancient, ill-aired, and long-deserted building of heterogeneous contents. Mephitic vapours—spontaneous combustion—pressure of gases born of long decay—any one of numberless phenomena might be responsible. And then, of course, the factor of conscious charlatanry can by no means be excluded. The thing was really quite simple in itself, and covered less than three minutes of actual time. Father Merluzzo, always a precise man, looked at his watch repeatedly. It started with a definite swelling of the dull fumbling sounds inside the black tower. There had for some time been a vague exhalation of strange, evil odours from the church, and this had now become emphatic and offensive. Then at last there was a sound of splintering wood, and a large, heavy object crashed down in the yard beneath the frowning easterly facade. The tower was invisible now that the candles would not burn, but as the object neared the ground the people knew that it was the smoke-grimed louver-boarding of that tower's east window. Immediately afterward an utterly unbearable foetor welled forth from the unseen heights, choking and sickening the trembling watchers, and almost prostrating those in the square. At the same time the air trembled with a vibration as of flapping wings, and a sudden east-blowing wind more violent than any previous blast snatched off the hats and wrenched the dripping umbrellas of the crowd. Nothing definite could be seen in the candleless night, though some upward-looking spectators thought they glimpsed a great spreading blur of denser blackness against the inky sky—something like a formless cloud of smoke that shot with meteor-like speed toward the east. That was all. The watchers were half numbed with fright, awe, and discomfort, and scarcely knew what to do, or whether to do anything at all. Not knowing what had happened, they did not relax their vigil; and a moment later they sent up a prayer as a sharp flash of belated lightning, followed by an earsplitting crash of sound, rent the flooded heavens. Half an hour later the rain stopped, and in fifteen minutes more the street-lights sprang on again, sending the weary, bedraggled watchers relievedly back to their homes. The next day's papers gave these matters minor mention in connexion with the general storm reports. It seems that the great lightning flash and deafening explosion which followed the Federal Hill occurrence were even more tremendous farther east, where a burst of the singular foetor was likewise noticed. The phenomenon was most marked over College Hill, where the crash awaked all the sleeping inhabitants and led to a bewildered round of speculations. Of those who were already awake only a few saw the anomalous blaze of light near the top of the hill, or noticed the inexplicable upward rush of air which almost stripped the leaves from the trees and blasted the plants in the gardens. It was agreed that the lone, sudden lightning-bolt must have struck somewhere in this neighbourhood, though no trace of its striking could afterward be found. A youth in the Tau Omega fraternity house thought he saw a grotesque and hideous mass of smoke in the air just as the preliminary flash burst, but his observation has not been verified. All of the few observers, however, agree as to the violent gust from the west and the flood of intolerable stench which preceded the belated stroke; whilst evidence concerning the momentary burned odour after the stroke is equally general. These points were discussed very carefully because of their probable connexion with the death of Robert Blake. Students in the Psi Delta house, whose upper rear windows looked into Blake's study, noticed the blurred white face at the westward window on the morning of the 9th, and wondered what was wrong with the expression. When they saw the same face in the same position that evening, they felt worried, and watched for the lights to come up in his apartment. Later they rang the bell of the darkened flat, and finally had a policeman force the door. The rigid body sat bolt upright at the desk by the window, and when the intruders saw the glassy, bulging eyes, and the marks of stark, convulsive fright on the twisted features, they turned away in sickened dismay. Shortly afterward the coroner's physician made an examination, and despite the unbroken window reported electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by electrical discharge, as the cause of death. The hideous expression he ignored altogether, deeming it a not improbable result of the profound shock as experienced by a person of such abnormal imagination and unbalanced emotions. He deduced these latter qualities from the books, paintings, and manuscripts found in the apartment, and from the blindly scrawled entries in the diary on the desk. Blake had prolonged his frenzied jottings to the last, and the broken-pointed pencil was found clutched in his spasmodically contracted right hand. The entries after the failure of the lights were highly disjointed, and legible only in part. From them certain investigators have drawn conclusions differing greatly from the materialistic official verdict, but such speculations have little chance for belief among the conservative. The case of these imaginative theorists has not been helped by the action of superstitious Dr. Dexter, who threw the curious box and angled stone—an object certainly self-luminous as seen in the black windowless steeple where it was found—into the deepest channel of Narragansett Bay. Excessive imagination and neurotic unbalance on Blake's part, aggravated by knowledge of the evil bygone cult whose startling traces he had uncovered, form the dominant interpretation given those final frenzied jottings. These are the entries—or all that can be made of them. “Lights still out—must be five minutes now. Everything depends on lightning. Yaddith grant it will keep up! . . . Some influence seems beating through it. . . . Rain and thunder and wind deafen. . . . The thing is taking hold of my mind. . . . “Trouble with memory. I see things I never knew before. Other worlds and other galaxies . . . Dark . . . The lightning seems dark and the darkness seems light. . . . “It cannot be the real hill and church that I see in the pitch-darkness. Must be retinal impression left by flashes. Heaven grant the Italians are out with their candles if the lightning stops! “What am I afraid of? Is it not an avatar of Nyarlathotep, who in antique and shadowy Khem even took the form of man? I remember Yuggoth, and more distant Shaggai, and the ultimate void of the black planets. . . . “The long, winging flight through the void . . . cannot cross the universe of light . . . re-created by the thoughts caught in the Shining Trapezohedron . . . send it through the horrible abysses of radiance. . . . “My name is Blake—Robert Harrison Blake of 620 East Knapp Street, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. . . . I am on this planet. . . . “Azathoth have mercy!—the lightning no longer flashes—horrible—I can see everything with a monstrous sense that is not sight—light is dark and dark is light . . . those people on the hill . . . guard . . . candles and charms . . . their priests. . . . “Sense of distance gone—far is near and near is far. No light—no glass—see that steeple—that tower—window—can hear—Roderick Usher—am mad or going mad—the thing is stirring and fumbling in the tower—I am it and it is I—I want to get out . . . must get out and unify the forces. . . . It knows where I am. . . . “I am Robert Blake, but I see the tower in the dark. There is a monstrous odour . . . senses transfigured . . . boarding at that tower window cracking and giving way. . . . Iä . . . ngai . . . ygg. . . . “I see it—coming here—hell-wind—titan blur—black wings—Yog-Sothoth save me—the three-lobed burning eye. . . .”
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