Spell & the Gypsy – Shop Nepenthe - Shop Bohemian Clothing

Hello everyone!
We're nearly at the end, so well done to everyone who has made it this far, including those of you who are reading these threads years after they have taken place. This thread was, like my comments, typed up on the Notepad app on my phone, which has a questionable spell-check function. As such, I'll be returning to the thread over the weekend to fix any spelling mistakes I might have missed. Also, because this thread was too long to post, the final part of it will be put into a comment below the main body.
SO WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR:
Section 70
The section begins with a return to teenage witch girl Geli Tripping, who is wandering the Zone in hopes of finding her lover, Tchitcherine. She plans on enacting some kind of elaborate spell, which involves the use of a few select items: "a few of Tchitcherine's toenail clippings, a graying hair, a piece of bedsheet with a trace of his sperm, and tied in a white silk kerchief, next to a bit of Adam and Eve root and loaf of bread baked from wheat she has rolled naked in and ground against the sun." The purpose of the spell will become clear in Section 72, but, for now, let's just talk briefly about one of the used items.
"Adam and Eve root," also known as Aplectrum, is a real plant - but it only grows in the United States. Obviously, the importance lies in the name - it calls to mind the imagery of the Tree of Knowledge, a mystic symbol which implies the forbidden enlightenment of experience, and how this evokes the wrath of authority (represented by God). By including this forbidden plant in her ritual, Geli demonstrates the anti-Christian freedom inherent to witchcraft, and therefore also points towards magic as an empowering alternative to the orthodox structures of belief, which is something you'd be wise to keep in mind throughout this thread. This is why there are hundreds of girls who are searching for Tchitcherine, but only she can find him - as a witch, she has escaped those orthodox structures, and is able to see the whole pattern from the outside.
She takes these items to a secluded farmhouse, where an older, wiser witch speaks to Geli over her morning Bauernfrühstück (which "is a warm German dish made from fried potatoes, eggs, onions, leeks or chives, and bacon or ham." From Wikipedia. It looks like an omelette.) Geli is unable to provide a picture of Tchitcherine for their spell, and suggests that she's sometimes able to find his face in tea leaves, but not often. The older witch responds: "But you're in love. Technique is just a substitute for when you get older." Geli wonders why, if that's the case, we don't simply stay in love forever. They make tea and nothing appears in the leaves.
There's a bunch of stuff going on in this short paragraph: First of all is the concept of tasseography, or tea-leaf reading. The basic concept behind this practise is that tea drunk without a tea bag will leave behind clumps of burnt leaves which will fall into a pattern, which can then be interpreted by fortune tellers. But this is exactly what Enzian has been talking about this whole time - that there are definite patterns in the universe which appear to us as random data clumps (represented by the "images" in the tea cup) but are really being drawn into their final position by unknown physical forces, beyond our capacity to understand (represented by the liquid that moves the leaves). It gets to the heart of a major theme of the novel - that true randomness, as a concept, does not exist. All we have are things that we understand, being influenced by things that we don't.
Furthermore, the idea that "technique is just a substitute" for the wisdom of experience draws to mind two further strains of magical thought. The first is that of the Tarot, specifically the image of The Hermit, embodied here by the older witch. She, like the figure in the tarot card, has rejected the life of the city, opting instead for farmland isolation, where she can focus on her inner-self, away from the restrictive rules and artifices that govern the way people act in the presence of other people. And, like the card, she represents the figure of a teacher, accepting an outsider into her house with hospitality so that they might leave her abode with some imparted wisdom. Though often portrayed in the Tarot as an old man, hermits have historically been shown as women, cast within a sort of three-way convergence between a Medieval hatred of women, the femininity of witchcraft, and the heresy implied by rejecting the values of contemporary society. The only way in which this older witch truly differs from The Hermit is that she is not an ascetic - remember, she is employed in the Hermit role whilst eating her Bauernfrühstück. Rather than follow the idea of Christian Europe that enlightenment can be achieved through suffering, this witch has achieved her wisdom through doing what she wants.
The second thought I have regarding this "technique" business is the idea that would come a decade after this novel was published: chaos magick. An important aspect of the chaos magician mindset is that magic is, essentially, a forcing into existence of your desires through sheer spiritual willpower, and that any and all "techniques" and rituals are founded in unnecessary, arbitrary symbol-systems, often directly descended from the Abrahamic faiths that they claim to be alternatives to. Geli's willpower is immediately identified by the wiser witch as her love for Tchitcherine. That Geli's ritual returns no results seems a disappointing conclusion (until you remember that her spell is eventually successful, as we find in Section 72).
Geli leaves and feels anxious about the Schwarzkommando leaving Nordhausen, which now "felt like a city of myth, under the threat of some special destruction." She knows for a fact that they are heading for Tchichterine. Behind her is the Hexes-Stadt, town of fellow witches, "full of too many spells, witch-rivalries, coven politics..." As Pynchon tells us, "you either come to the Brocken-complex with a bureaucratic career in mind, or you leave it, and choose the world. There are two distinct sorts of witch, and Geli is the World-choosing type."
But what is the World, and why is it suddenly capitalised? "Here is the World. She is wearing gray men's trousers rolled to the knee that flap around her thighs as she walks by the rye fields." Remember at the beginning of the section when Geli made that bread from the wheat she had been rolling around naked in? In the Tarot, The World is the final card of the Major Arcana. It represents a triumphant merging of the dualities of existence, expressed in the image of the male and female becoming one in the hermaphrodite. Here, we see Geli in men's clothing, with the rye fields reminding us of the bread embedded with her sexual essence, which Tchitcherine will consume in Section 72, making them One.
She travels farther, asking about Tchitcherine, finding out that he has built up a reputation as "The Red Doper" and that everyone is trying to kill him. They claim that he is "out at the edge" of something because of his connection to the Rocket. She sees a man creating a cross in the ground, which makes her feel something. She follows an eagle into the woods, where she feels the presence of Pan (a pagan forest god whom the modern image of Satan is based upon). What follows is a beautiful, psychedelic description of earliest Life, the Titans, who lived before the creation of Men. "Alive, it was a threat: it was Titans, was an overpeaking of life so clangorous and mad, such a green corona about Earth's body that some spoiler had to be brought in before it blew the Creation apart. So we, the crippled keepers, were sent out to multiply, to have dominion." In other words, God created Man to destroy Life. "It is our mission to promote death," Pynchon tells us. And, of course, we're actually doing a pretty good job.
In the valleys, "titans stir far below. They are all the presences we are not supposed to be seeing - wind gods, hilltop gods, sunset gods - that we train ourselves away from to keep from looking further even though enough of us do, leave Their electric voices behind in the twilight at the edge of town." Why would a person nowadays believe in pagan gods? Because worship of the old gods is an active rebellion, in which the mind can be literally reprogrammed with the forgotten values of a more colourful age, to escape the boundaries set upon us by Them and Their society. So there. Pan, in the form of the Rainbow Serpent, jumps into the sky.
The perspective then shifts to Gottfried, a small boy and sex slave to Captain Blicero. He describes how Thanatz and Margherita were Blicero's final links to reality, and that now that they have gone, "he is now always the same, awake or asleep - he never leaves the single dream, there are no differences between the worlds: they have become one for him." This introduces another form of magic: the Kabbalah. In Kabbalistic teachings, there is something called The Tree of Life, made up of a series of spheres, each representing a different aspect of existence. Between the spheres are 22 connecting lines, each of which corresponds to a card in the Tarot's Major Arcana. The bottom sphere, Malkuth, represents material reality. Above it is Yesod, representing the Imagination and dreams. The line connecting these two spheres, where reality and fiction blur and entwine corresponds to (yep, you guessed it) The World card. Blicero has run himself through the journey of the Major Arcana and this is the result - which, you might recall, is also exactly what happens to Slothrop. More on that in Monday's thread.
Gottfried goes into a surprisingly eloquent rant, for a child, about the relationship between sexual release, bodily abjection, and the journey into the afterlife, all the while, unbeknownst to him (or us, at this stage), that this is his final day on Earth. We are told that "his father uttered only commands, sentences, flat judgements. His mother was emotional, a great flow of love, frustration and secret terror," linking the boy himself to the World and the Tarot - he is the unified synthesis of the masculine Emperor card with the feminine Empress card.
Blicero makes a speech which presumably makes no sense at all to anyone present. "Sometimes I dream of discovering the edge of the World. Finding that there IS an end," he says. "America WAS the edge of the World [...] America was a gift from the invisible powers, a way of returning. But Europe refused it. It wasn't Europe's Original Sin - the latest name for that is Modern Analysis - but it happens that Subsequent Sin is harder to atone for." What Blicero is saying is that we almost, as a species, achieved the unity embodied in The World card, but that, as previously recounted in the William Slothrop episode, the settlers ruined their chance to create a unified society in America, instead focusing on building a world of Christian Death once more, but this time without any of the ancient paganism to fall back on to remind people that there are alternatives to this way of living. The comment on Modern Analysis is also interesting and brings up another magical concept - 'solve et coagula', or analysis and synthesis, whereby something must be continually deconstructed or 'analysed' (like The Fool in the Tarot being split into The Magician and The High Priestess) in order to be understood, and then reconstructed or 'synthesised' (as shown in The World) in order to be put to use once more. Blicero goes on, rather pathetically, about how the Moon is the next chance for synthesis, for a society founded on the ideas we have found through analysing current societies - the synthesis that we messed up with America, basically. Perhaps he is right, or perhaps, as subsequent real-life events have shown us, this is just more naïve rocket-apologism.
Blicero speaks of what might be death in Viking battle - "ascent, fire, failure, blood." He knows the Vikings weren't rocketeers, but thinks of how "their dreams were of rendezvous, of cosmic trapeze acts." He reiterates that he wants to escape the Death-cycle. He is scared, and jealous of the "stupid clarity" in Gottfried's eyes.
This section ends thusly: "If there is still hope for Gottfried here in this wind-beat moment, then there is hope elsewhere. The scene itself must be read as a card: what is to come. Whatever has happened to the figures in it [...] it is preserved, though it has no name, and, like The Fool, no agreed assignment in the deck." In case you don't know, The Fool, in the Tarot deck, is normally assigned as card Zero. It can be (and has been, many times) placed almost anywhere in the Major Arcana sequence and still make sense, but the orthodox approach, if that's the right word, is to place the card at the very beginning of the deck. It represents the universe moments before its journey began, in the same way that Gottfried, whose eyes have yet to be dulled or glazed over by the horrors of the world, represents the human being before they start to feel the effects of the parabola, AKA before they receive a fear of Death - before Gravity drags them down, basically. The rest of the Major Arcana is the analysis of The Fool, or the splitting up into dualities of all aspects of humanity, and The World, the final card, is the happy ending synthesis where it comes all comes together again. Though Gottfried dies, the moment of hope is preserved - his innocence is taken as direct evidence that The World can still be found.
Section 71
This section opens with the return of Enzian, who, with his Schwarzkommando buddies, have created their own doom: the 00001, the second S-Gerat. They entertain visions of the apocalypse, and find themselves asking "where will you go? What empires, what deserts?" and Enzian thinks back to a time without shame, to Test Stand VII, where the 00000 was fired, "the holy place."
Pynchon relates to us the tale of a photographer who died of mercury poisoning in 1856 from developing a photo of the Racketen-Stadt. Talk about suffering for your art. The photo shows the city's true shape: it is built in "mandalic form like a Herero village." There is construction all over the city - as we would expect, "for nothing here remains the same."
Enzian has a case of sudden onset stream of consciousness, in which he says this: "Of Course It Begins Infinitely Below The Earth And Goes On Infinitely Back Into The Earth it's only the peak that we are allowed to see, the break up through the surface, out of the other silent world." This is referring to the metaphysical force at work on the rocket: from our limited perspective, we can only see the rocket's parabolic arc, with a defined start, middle, and end. We do not have access to the "other silent world" beyond the material plane, in which we would see that the force controlling the rocket is not a parabola, but a sine wave, flowing up and down through infinity, forever.
We then learn a couple of things:
We learn about the Aether: "The assumption of a Vacuum in time tended to cut us off one from another. But an Aether sea to bear us world-to-world might bring us back a continuity." In other words, the Aether could have allowed us to show a kind of empathy to all peoples of all Times, (which were really the same Time, of course). Too bad it ended up being wrong.
We learn about the great Quarternion-Vector War of the 1880s, in which the quarternion mathematicians tried to use older, more formal forms of their art to come to some pretty mind-bending conclusions about the nature of space and time, whereas the newer, more radical vectorists promoted the much-different theory of understanding physics which we now utilise today. In the same paragraph, we see a three-way analytical dispute of the imagery of the Rocket from Gnostics, Kabbalists, and Manichaeans, who believe in rocket-twins: "a good Rocket to take us to the stars, an evil Rocket for the World's suicide." As Pynchon puts it, "Each will have his personal Rocket."
The text tells us the "objectives" of this adventure. How to learn the tracks of the railways, how to find alternatives to paths patrolled by the Allies, how to care for the fevered children "in the rains of early Virgo." Indeed, none of the objectives actually involve Death by Rocket - only the journey leading up to it. The rocket has literally given Enzian's life direction. We are told that the rocket is in pieces, and that each piece is to be delivered to the launch site separately.
Enzian and Christian have fallen into long arguments about the whole thing. "It comes as the Revealer," Enzian argues, "showing that no society can protect, never could - they are as foolish as shields of paper." His argument, basically, is that all human society is meant to defend against Death, and none of them can do it, so they have failed. "Before the Rocket we went on believing, because we wanted to. But the Rocket can penetrate, from the sky, at any given point. Nowhere is safe."
We are then told of Nazi plans to create a "sonic death-mirror" using a paraboloidal design to blow up their enemies. Enzian decides that he wants to build one, thinking that the desert would be a good place to try them out, as there are always optimal firing conditions. We then switch momentarily to Katje, who asks: "Who would fight for a desert?"
Anyway, we return to the Schwarzkommando to find that they are being followed by Ludwig, the insane German boy, who has found his lemming, Ursula, which is real. Lemmings that don't run off cliffs, children left homeless and wandering; "to expect any more, or less, of the Zone is to disagree with the terms of the Creation," implying a kind of Taoist ideal that the world should not be all 'good' but a perfect, constant and equal combination of good and bad, as it was in the beginning.
Sitting in the passenger side of his transport, Enzian, caught in a tired reverie, suddenly spots a black face in the road and demands that the driver make a U-turn. It is a very badly wounded comrade, Mieczislav Omuzire. We learn of the group's failures: "Orutyene dead. Okandio, Ekori, Omuzire wounded, Ekori critically." They decide to head for the railroad, "6 or 7 miles northwest." There, they come up with an insane plan to "ride the interface," to push their convoy through the edge of American and British zones on one side, and Russians on the other, hoping that the major players will be too cautious to start any trouble along a disputed border region. Before they go, Enzian and Andreas have an argument over who gets to take Christian with them.
On the road, Enzian considers the paradox of being a leader of the Preterite: "Who will believe that in his heart he wants to belong to them out there, the vast Humility sleepless, dying, in pain tonight throughout the Zone? the preterite he loves, knowing he's always to be a stranger... Chains rattle above him." He takes a tablet of desoxyephedrine and a stick of gum - gum chewing, we are told, was "developed during the late War by women, to keep from crying."
Enzian meets Ombindi of the Empty Ones, for the final time. The latter states his issue with Enzian's ideology: "Suicide is a freedom even the lowest enjoy. But you would deny that freedom to a people." When Enzian laughs this off as ideological nonsense, Ombindi makes it personal, revealing the selfishness of Enzian's entire plan: "You would deny YOUR people a freedom even YOU enjoy." Enzian gets Ombindi to back off by convincing him that Enzian jas gone insane, and believes Ombindi to be a death-wish hallucination. He stares Ombindi down until the issue is resolved.
The others around them realise that Enzian has never been willing to eradicate the Empty Ones, and that the Ombindi "issue" was never going to be resolved. The Schwarzkommando allow the Empty Ones to leave with their weapons and ammo - "No one has ever taken those away. There's no reason to. Enzian is no more vulnerable now than he ever was, which was plenty."
The section ends with Ludwig, "a fat glowworm in the mist," imagining a separate white army, but "he would never call them down. He would rather go on with the trek, invisible." He is the living dream of the freedom from the System that comes with total invisibility.
Section 72
In this short section preceding the grand finale, we finally find Tchitcherine again, who is now living under a bridge, like a troll or something. More importantly, he lives in the arch beneath the bridge - trapped inside the parabola. Sketched on the arch are a few lost messages, a drawing, and a game of hangman, bearing the unfinished word: "GE-RAT-" which is next to "the hanged body visible almost at the other end of the culvert, even this early in the day." This image immediately calls to mind another part of the Tarot: The Hanged Man, reversed, which you might recall is also a part of Slothrop's Tarot reading. In essence, when it is reversed, The Hanged Man symbolises a struggle to accept a basic part of yourself - it is the ego fighting against the world which it inhabits, though perhaps fruitlessly, because it cannot really escape those forces. This struggle is not just a metaphor for the idea of a "counterforce", but is also a symbol for every character in the novel who finds themselves fighting the descent of the parabola - which is basically everyone except for Blicero and Pudding.
And, as I said, there is also the drawing on the arch to consider: "a drawing, in Commando blackface-grease, of a man looking closely at a flower. In the distance, or smaller, appears to be a woman, approaching. Or some kind of elf, or something. The man isn't looking at her (or it). In the middle distance are haystacks. The flower is shaped like the cunt of a young girl. There is a luminary looking down from the sky, a face on it totally at peace, like the Buddha's." I'm sorry to say, but this, too, is a Tarot reference - this time, the card is The Lovers, but with certain key differences. Firstly, the mountain between The Lovers has been swapped out here for a haystack, a callback to Section 70's synthesis of the Male and Female in a wheat field. Similarly, in The Lovers, we see the man looking at the woman, while the woman is focused upwards on the face in the sky. This originally represented how the rational mind looks toward the sensual and unconscious for transcendence, but the unconscious itself is informed by spiritual knowledge. Here, the imagery is reversed: the woman looks at the man, who is looking downwards, at a cunt-flower. It's not an unusual image - I think it's a fair assumption that the rose has been symbolically tied to the vagina pretty much since the discovery of the vagina. Anyway, the reversal offers yet another synthesis of Male and Female - another step towards the edge of The World, and this is only reinforced in the reversed gaze as well - the duality of sky and earth collapses as the man in this drawing, instead of seeking spiritual enlightenment, seeks enlightenment through the material world.
The scene around the bridge reminds us of what the material world really is: "Trees creak in sorrow for the engineered wound through their terrain, their terrenity or earthood." Interestingly, The Secret Life of Plants, the book that introduced the scientific world to the idea of plant sentience, was released in 1973, a few months after Gravity's Rainbow. And there's also this: "High up the slope, someone is swinging an ax-blade into a living tree..." A rather brutal and unfortunately commonplace image of Man's destruction of the Earth's flora, intended here to illustrate our often completely unnecessary disruption and alteration of the natural world.
So, the actual story here is that Geli Tripping has blinded Tchitcherine through the use of a voodoo doll: the text describes "the eyes of the doll, his eyes, Eastern and liquid, though they'd been only sketched on clay with her only long fingernail", which is interesting for a few reasons. First of all, voodoo dolls were actually used historically to fight back AGAINST witches, which means that this Pynchon guy must be some sort of idiot. More importantly though is the idea raised by voodoo itself, the next form of magic in the text: the idea of controlling the life of a person through the use of forces beyond their comprehension is one of the major themes of the novel. The voodoo doll carriers of our reality are not witches, probably, but rather the faceless, bodiless Elite clubs and agencies that influence our lives without us ever becoming privy to their existence. That the voodoo doll in the text is crafted out of clay adds a secondary, spiritual layer to the concept; in the Book of Genesis, and other Jewish writings, we are told that God sculpted Man out of clay. The myth of Prometheus is sometimes told as a story of Prometheus not just bringing fire to Man, but actually using that fire to create Man from the primordial clay. So, perhaps, just as Geli has ruined Tchitcherine's life, a God or parabola is also working behind the scenes to ruin all of ours.
Also, Geli's spell on the doll calls upon "the Angels Melchidael, Yahoel, Anafiel, and the great Metatron," who are all apocalyptic angels. There is one apocryphal source (I think it's the Book of Enoch) that describes Anafiel as the tallest angel in Heaven, which would link the angels to the King Kong quote from Part II - has the whole novel been an attempt to bring forth the apocalypse, the epilogue to which, in the Tarot, is The World?
The section ends with the moment we've all been waiting for - Enzian and Tchitcherine, the two brothers fated to kill each other, meet. "Tchitcherine manages to hustle half a pack of American cigarettes and three raw potatoes." Oh. Neither one recognises the other. So, instead, what we get is a small act of human kindness shared between two utterly defeated men. And this, we are told, "this is magic. Sure - but not necessarily fantasy. Certainly not the first time a man has passed his brother by, at the edge of the evening, often forever, without knowing." Interesting phrasing there, by the way - does a man often pass his brothers by forever, or is a man forever at the edge of the evening?
Section 73
The final section of Gravity's Rainbow is mostly split into different mini-sections, with the exception of the very first part, which makes up one third of the total length of it. This opening section begins with a depiction of a fictional city which has "grown so tall that elevators are long-haul affairs, with lounges inside." It is difficult not to draw comparisons with the crystal city mentioned on the opening page of the novel. A tour guide on one of these elevator trips, Mindy Bloth of Carbon City, Illinois, "dreamy and practical as the Queen of Cups," lets passengers know how the world used to be before "the Vertical Solution" - "all transport was, in effect, two dimensional." As someone tries to call her out, she explains that airplane flight is different from this, because of a "common aerodynamic effect" whereby gateways are different in shape before and after one travels through them. Lord only knows what that's supposed to be referring to.
Nearby is the performance of the tightly leather-clad Lübeck Hitler Youth Glee Club (now known as 'The Lederhoseners'). In the audience are Thanatz and Ludwig, who initially discuss the mother's legs as a security symbol, followed up with an argument about S&M. "Why are we taught to feel reflexive shame whenever the subject comes up?" asks Ludwig. "Why will the Structure allow every other kind of submission but not THAT one? Because submission and dominance are resources it needs for its very survival. [...] If S and M could be established universally, at the family level, the State would wither away." Here, Pynchon tells us that S&M is a political statement - that it has been co-opted by the government as a form of maintaining its power, and that it is in its own interest to retain that power by keeping S&M a shameful act. Otherwise, people would begin to feel pleasure from the Structure's fucking of them, which would diminish its power, as this power primarily rests in causing fear and discomfort.
We then turn to the Lüneberg Heath, where construction of the 00001, or second S-Gerat is under way. Pynchon relates the parable of the boy who hated kreplach - The boy's mother took him to a therapist, who suggested that the fear of the kreplach is the fear of the unknown, and that making the kreplach in front of the boy would cure the hatred. So, the mother did just that, and the boy loved watching the process of its creation. Then, as it finally took shape, the boy recognised the kreplach, screamed, and ran away. The point of this is that, in a similar way, the S-Gerat and its creation are two completely separate events, whereby the Schwarzkommando feel obliged to create the rocket, because it represents their Life, but once it has been made, they will fear it, because it represents their Death.
Pynchon tells us about "some secrets" given to Gypsies, Kabbalists, the Templars, the Rosicrucians, and so on, "to preserve against centrifugal History." What does that mean? Well, have you asked yourself what the "force" is in the "counterforce"? Since we're near the end of the group reading, I'll tell you: it's magic. Magic is the force with which we must fight back against Them. Every act of transgression, from Mexico's impromptu vomit party, to Byron the Bulb causing the serviceman below him to get his throat cut, to Slothrop escaping Their eyes forever, every single act has been caused by a willing into existence of their deepest desires. In following the teachings of magic, we allow ourselves to abandon the teachings of Their traditions, and we find ourselves unbound.
We then get part of Slothrop's Tarot, "laid down, Celtic style, in the order suggested by Mr. A. E. Waite": The 3 of Pentacles, and The Hanged Man (Reversed). He is also associated with The Fool, which is apparently the name of an English rock group whose album cover he appeared on. On trying to identify which one is him, Pynchon says: "knowing his Tarot, we would expect to look among the Humility, among the gray and preterite souls, to look for him adrift in the hostile light of the sky, the darkness of the sea..." So, how do we interpret his Tarot? The 3 of Pentacles represents a path to enlightenment through regular work. The Hanged Man reversed, as stated previously, represents a struggle against allowing the self to surrender to outside forces. The Fool represents the emptiness before the Big Bang, the chaotic freedom prior to the creation of Structure in the universe. It all seems a little depressing, suggesting that he will work forever to escape Their sight. But then, what is Slothrop's final fate, really? Didn't he escape? Isn't it true that no one is looking for him anymore? That he has attained complete freedom from the System that no one else in the novel gets to experience? In my own, possibly controversial opinion, Slothrop does get a happy ending. His was a battle against Law and Order, and, for better or worse, he received the freedom of Chaos in the end. Twenty years later, a group of children in America would find a psychiatrist who would give them sympathetic advice on dealing with the racial hatred growing in their neighbourhood against their black friend. The psychiatrist was called Slothrop. This is recounted in "The Secret Integration," a short story that Pynchon wrote in 1964, around the time that he started Gravity's Rainbow.
There is a part also here in which it is claimed that Jamf, the mad scientist who dragged Slothrop into this mess by conditioning him, is actually a work of fiction, "to help him explain what he felt so terribly [...] that he might be in love, in sexual love, with his, and his race's, death." Following this, we immediately jump into an interview with "a spokesman for the Counterforce," who describes what Slothrop is meant to represent, and a whole school of thought known as the "Microcosmists." What's happening here is interesting: Slothrop is being analysed, literally deconstructed as a fictional character, and not one of his 'analysts' is willing to put him back together again, to reconstruct him into something useful. When the scene shifts to Bodine's last major memory of Slothrop, Bodine is called "one of the few who can still see Slothrop as any sort of integral creature any more. Most of the others have given up long ago trying to hold him together, even as a concept." Slothrop is literally being analysed to death.
Bodine gives Slothrop a piece of clothing to remember him by - a shirt soaked in John Dillinger's blood. We are briefly told that Bodine has begun to dress in Magda's clothing - Magda being, noticeably, a woman. "It is a transvestism of caring, and the first time in his life it's happened," implying that this event (the loss of Slothrop) has caused a major upheaval in Bodine's life. Here is how Bodine described Dillinger's influence on him: "What we need isn't right reasons, but just that GRACE. The physical grave to keep it working. Courage, brains, sure, O.K., but without that grace? forget it." Here is another Tarot fact for you - there is a card called The Tower, which features a solid Structure being torn down in a moment of violent upheaval. Located in the flames falling from the Tower, you find the first letter of God's name: yod. Yod, just so you know, represents Grace.
What is the moral of Slothrop's story? "The object of life is to make sure you die a weird death. To make sure that however it finds you, it will find you under very weird circumstances." You cannot escape Death, but you can escape its Systems - people die ordinary deaths, deaths approved as regular within the society They have set up, all the time. But people who die weird deaths must have done so by living outside of Their rules and boundaries. Those who die a weird death have not escaped Death, but they have escaped the fear of Death that prohibits and supresses so many of our most imaginative desires at the benefit of fitting into proper society. In other words, they have lived a Life which they can truly call their own. And in dying a weird death, they also live on as a memory, which is a form of escaping the cycle because it represents immortality.
This part ends with Dzabajev, Tchitcherine's ex-right hand man, living the good life throughout the Zone, and deciding that tonight he will shoot up. With wine. And why? "A wine rush is defying gravity, finding yourself on the elevator ceiling as it rockets upward, and no way to get down. You separate in two, the basic Two, and each self is aware of the other." So, he is trying to escape from Gravity through intoxication. He finds himself transported to the elevator city from the beginning of this section, separated into a duality from which, he hopes, he will never come down.
The Occupation of Mingeborough
We begin the final flash of scenes with a brief trip into the American Dream, in the middle-class suburbia of Mingeborough, where, sitting beneath a tree, "with anyone else but Slothrop, is a barelegged girl, blond and brown as honey." We are told that life here will go on as normal, "occupation of not, without or without Uncle Tyrone." We hear about yellow busses, automobiles, old black ladies with housecats, soliders returned home and selecting beef cuts from the freezer at Pizzini's general store. We are told that this is Slothrop's town, and the text provides directions on how to get to his house using these reference points, "but it is the occupation. They may already have interdicted the kids' short cuts along with the grown-up routes. It may be too late to get home." In other words, this is a final vision of Slothrop lost in the Zone, yearning, like many Americans today, to return to an idyllic pre-war past that never existed.
Back in der Platz
Gustav and André, wacky musicians from long ago in the novel, have made a hashpipe from a kazoo, which, as it turns out, is already the exact optimal shape for use in hash consumption. "Another odd thing about the kazoo: the kunckle-thread above the reed there is exactly the same as a thread in a light-bulb socket." Gustav points this out with his own light-bulb, which turns out to be "none other than our friend Byron," the sentient bulb who is currently thinking that the link was somehow intentionally crafted by the bulbs, "a declaration of brotherhood by the Kazoo for all the captive and oppressed light bulbs." Here, the connection between Byron and the kazoo seems to have been done to connect the idea of drug use as a form of psychic subversion of the regime.
The two men are watching a film by von Göll (der Springer) entitled New Dope. It is about a new form of dope, one that you cannot remember after taking, so that it is not you who finds the dope, but rather "it is the dope that finds you." Different titles flash on the screen at intervals, starting with:
Gerhardt von Göll Becomes Sodium Amytal Freak!
True to title, we now turn to von Göll himself, in the midst of a kind of glossolalia, inspired no doubt by the Sodium Amytal: "No not for roguery until the monitors are there in blashing sheets of earth to mate" and so on. Interestingly, Sodium Amytal is supposed to be a truth serum, so perhaps von Göll's speech is actually deeper than we initially think; perhaps he is, in fact, in touch with a primal aspect of pure language that is rising to the surface as the drug dissolves the boundaries set by regular speech.
We are told that because of things like this, the film is mostly only popular amongst old friends and "devotees of the I Ching." This introduces a new form of magic; the I Ching is a spiritual Chinese text, written as a series of short, seemingly unrelated, almost surrealist paragraphs. The idea is that any pattern can be applied to the book, any reading order assigned for the individual paragraphs, and it will still result in a series of statements that describe the present and future of the individual creating the pattern. In this sense, it's a very, very complicated version of Tarot magic. These same people are under constant threat from other, blacker types of magic: "visits from Qlippoth, Ouija-board jokesters, poltergeists, all kinds of astral-plane tankers and feebs," because, apparently, these things are swarming the Zone these days. An angel, who is supposed to be responsible for watching these things, looks down from his vantage point, laughing.
(Check out my comment below for the rest of the thread).

Chapter 1

"You want to buy what?"
Spotty boy in the dark overcrowded shop looked at Lucia with great surprise.
"Awe and Wonder Quest Beta, the device" she said with difficulty. This was so embarracing.
"Are you kidding me, lady?" Very predictable. He shook his big head and disappeared between shelves of cables, monitors and computer entrails, goggles, headsets, and gloves. After a few minutes the youth was back, grinning, with a worn out wide metallic wrist cuff, adorned with a few buttons and cables. This wasn't an accessory she'd expected coming with the new but "banned even before the official release" game.
"Well, try it on"
Lucia attached cold lightweight metal to her left hand. The device blinked with small turquoise blue light.
"You are in luck. I heard very few people actually are compatible".
She paid a ridicules price, looking over her shoulders, almost expecting police sirens.
"How do I begin?"
"Just click it on and walk around."
She fastened the cuff and suddenly felt how something on the inside pocked through her skin.
"Wait till it find a nerve and attaches to it. Then the game starts, I guess. How am I suppose to know? Just do not get caught using the damn thing, for your own sake!"

She walked along the boulevard still feeling pain in her forearm. Then the cuff, hidden under her sleeve, started vibrating and ringing. Lucia pressed it in a few places until a young woman appeared floating in the thin air. She was bright eyed, good looking and very smartly dressed, high flying business type. Obviously a hologram, as she was slightly transparent. But still very life-like and, certainly, Lucia has never seen any 3D projection of this quality. She thought that it probably was a projection inside her brain (she read somewhere that this was just made possible), and nobody else would see the woman.
"Good afternoon, Lucia" said the woman with a melodic accent. Her face stayed calm, but the voice was full of emotion.
"I am a knight-agent Mara Mercier and on behalf of the Gateway Bureau, I congratulate you for contacting us. The world really needs you help".
So far so good. She liked that name, Mara Mercier. The woman looked like someone you would beg for mercy but in wain. Lucia looked around, the street was empty. She could just stand there and stare into nowhere a bit longer.
"For hundreds of years the Bureau was hiring brave volunteers like yourself and teaching them to track and fight so called Scouts, outlaws who, with the stolen technology open the gateways between the worlds of our multiverse. What they are doing is very damaging and highly dangerous for ordinary people: they smuggle items of heritage, contaminate worlds, kidnap, plunder and kill. My own beautiful Earth was scorched, destroyed by their arrogant actions, every living creature burned to death..."
She sighted and shaked her head.
"This should never happen again. My operatives will contact you soon and escort you to our local headquarters where you will learn more. I am looking forward meeting you in person!"
She nodded and disappeared.
Lucia went home without any more holograms talking to her. The cuff stayed firmly attached to her forearm, silent, the pain receded. She tried to read the news only to feel anger and boredom at the same time. She searched for "Awe & Wonder Quest" online, but no more articles were published. There only ever were three. That extended reality game was deemed too dangerous and forbidden, not much explanation given.

She walked around her apartment. Mitch workshop, empty. Roberts bedroom, empty. Her massive unfinished mosaic just collecting dust for a few years...

She thought of going out to the neighbours for tea. Should she? They have been terrific friends as kids but since having kids of their own, they "settled down". Crazy ideas, adventures, strange books and guitars all gone, the conversations now revolved only around new sofas, cars, desserts, holidays, schools... Usual stuff. Maybe once a year she would collect all her courage and try to say something slightly uncommon, complex or even controversial but it this would fall into deaf ears and all would go back to discussing earthly matters.
Maybe this evening it finally will be different!

Lucia changed into more comfortable clothes and vent out again. She only walked for a couple of minutes along the empty boulevard, bathing in evening sun, when she heard a police car approaching. Immediately she remembered about that illegal gaming cuff and pulled her sleeve further down. They stopped right next to her, two officers in the car looked at her through inpenetrarable shades.
"Lucia Praentiony?"
Her heart was about to explode.
"Yes"
"You have to go with us. "
She tried to say "What's the matter?" but her usually quiet voice drowned in sudden ear-piercing roar of motobikes. Two appeared from around the bend moving with incredible speed and stopped abruptly, wheels screeching and burning out, just next to the police car.

She new nothing about bikers, but was wondering, should they be wearing helmets? Also she never seen any bikes like that: massive, mean dark machines, obviously damaged and patched great many times.
A slender man in denim jumped of his bike and briskly walked closer, while a tall red haired woman with weird pale kid on the back seat stayed where they are. The kid was wearing wooly hat despite the hot summery weather. Both of them were in some kind of black "bank robbing" garb but without masks. Smiling and winking to Lucia, the kid pulled a gun and pointed it at policemen through car's open window. The male biker swiftly jumped behind Lucia and grabbed her arms. She tried to fight but the grip was unbelivably strong and skilful. Then she felt cold metal pressing against her temple.
"Careful, lads, or he will do it" said the woman with a deep voice.
"Relax, its fine" whispered the biker into her ear. "You do want to get back your son, don't you?"
The melodic accent sounded familiar. Of course, Mara Mercier from the Bureau... Lucia is in the game! But how is this even possible? What kind of technology are they using, that she can't distinguish it from the reality at all? Was she currently interacting with AI, actors or other players?
"Now, love, I want you to sit behind me and hold on to your dear life. Because if you fall you probably will die. Or will hurt yourself really bad".
Is he serious? He sounded serious.
He pushed her towards his bike, hid the gun and mounted. She climbed at the back, unsure of anything, not knowing what was real any more, gripping two small handles and putting her feet on footpegs like the biker showed her.
"Please be careful with her, Frost, she looks so unsteady even before we roll, " said the woman.
"I will"
The strange boy was still aiming at police and still smiling.
They rushed forward with mighty roar and a whiff of strangely smelling bluish fumes, going round the corners, turning right and left, probably to loose the police. Kidnapped by two middle aged bikers and a strange child. What a mad game, if that what it was!

On the edge of the town they stopped and Frost attached a small device to her cuff, muffling "un-tracker" and gave her from his saddle bag some goggles looking like they were pulled from a dead body of the first ever aviator. Then the aviator's much used jacket.
Lucia felt she needs to say something. This wasn't real life, she was constantly telling herself, and because of that she became much more relaxed with strangers.
"Thank you. You are Mara Mercier's agents, right?"
They all turned and looked at her wide eyed.
"How do you even know about her? Did she talked to you?" asked Frost after a while.
"Yes, as soon as I put that cuff on, there was a hologram... She said her agents will take me somewhere. "
"Those policemen were her people, all of them are. The Bureau kidnapped your son and now came for you too, love. We are saving your, believe or not."
"Are you Scouts then?"
"Yes, you may say that".
Lucia remembered that when she was young, there was that very early augmented reality game, where you had to choose a warring side. Maybe in this one she can switch sides later? That's would be interesting.

"More talking later, " said the red haired woman, - "The Wrens are waiting for the gate on 45th".
"Let's go".
They went along country roads. Twilight was turning into the night, tall dark trees on both sides, stars above. She only seen other cars maybe twice since they left the town. The sound and vibration of the wheels and the engine suddenly changed, got much smoother, trees were moving even faster. Both motorbikes went now without headlights and Lucia had no idea how the bikers manage to see where they are going.
"Be careful now" shouted Frost over to her.
He waved his left hand and lightning like purple flashes of light ignited all around them. Only then Lucia seen that the bikes were rushing a meter or so above the road, not touching it. The flashes went off and for a minute she couldn't see anything. She felt falling down. Then far in front of them appeared some warm lights, flickering live flames of many campfires.

They stopped on the edge of a clearing and got off. There probably were about fifty people sitting by the fire, eating, drinking, playing lively music, dancing, embracing, gambling or forune telling. Seeing the new arrivals, many of them went forward, saying hi to her companions. Some also waved to her. Lucia figured out that the tall woman's name was Zoi and the boy was called Alfred or Alf. Frost got the most attention: everyone wanted to tell him something, to invite to sit with them, to hug, to give him a drink.

There were people from all ends of the earth, as far as she could tell, some looking quite exotic. Friendly as they seem to be, Lucia couldn't stop thinking that they (if they were real) would scare her: vagabonds, bikers, gypsies, outlaws, migrants, travellers, nomads, smugglers, hippies, refugees... Any of those would be from a Universe very far from her own, her cursed but safe normality of a sleepy town. She had no idea how to behave towards those people and what to expect from them.

Frost, Zoi and Alf got a campfire of their own and beaconed her to join. Frost got out a bottle of pills and swallowed quite a few before getting into barbecued meat someone passed to them. Alf stretched his legs, took a deep breath and pulled his hat of revealing pointy ears and a mop of spiky blue-black hair.
"What?" he caught Lucia's surprise. "I am not an elf despite what they might say to you. And I am not a child. No one here can even say my name, so for you, I am Alfred, at your service."
He was speaking while munching on some fire roasted vegetables with his strangely narrow teeth. His companions were chuckling.
"And I am more like you, Lucia, from the same Universe, just from quite different part of it." He waived his slim hand pointing somewhere up and away. "And unlike those two big ugly alien loosers I am stuck with, I can digest your food without their piles of enzymes. I actually can digest broccoli!"
"Oh, you are really good at this digestion business, Alf" said Zoi. "Your speciality".
Lucia felt not being here. Like in a dream. But it wasn't a nightmare.
Frost passed her a plate.
"Eat something and have plenty of water, we still have a long way to go. You will faint and fall off without food."
"I haven't brought a spare pressure suit" said Zoi casually. "We could ask around".
"No" replied Frost, "we can take the long route this once".
Lucia looked at two of them and suddenly realised what was so odd about their faces. When she was little she broke her nose and it was a bit irregular ever since. Frost and Zoi, looking different in age, gender, temperament and ethnicity, had both noses just like hers. Glitch in the game? None of this made any sense.

"Listen, love, tell us how your son disappeared and we will think how we can help."
Should she trust them? Isn't her family situation too personal to be a part of a mere game? How did they found out? Are those people even exist? Yet they looked so real, Frost, Zoi and Alf. So attentive. Empathic. So unlike the lukewarm folks form her town. She took the plunge.
"Robert told me a few months ago that he found this amazing new game, "Awe and Wonder Quest Beta", and then I started to see him less and less, and he looked very absent. Then he didn't came home one night and I called the police. They told me my son was fine but placed in a shelter for his own protection and they cannot tell me anything else. My colleagues and friends think he just going through a phase, not surprisingly after his father death. I don't think so. This is why I bought the cuff and joined the game, to find him, or at least what could happen to him."
"I see. Can I?" Frost pointed at her cuff.
"Of course".
He hold her cuff with her forearm for a while, trapping on it and listening to something. Then looked into her eyes. His pupils looked large, making the dark eyes even darker. She thought she felt some quet humming in the air.
"Yeah, she's got it" He said to Zoi and Alf with some sadness in the voice. "Potentially a road opener, like her son."
"Wow" said Alf.
"Poor girl" whispered Zoi.
Frost turned to Lucia.
"You've got some hidden talents. Extremely rare and valuable both for us and for the Bureau. We can't stay here for long, so we'll take you to our safe house, test again and decide what to do next."
"No, I have to go to work tomorrow..."
Frost shook his head.
"Gateways Bureau won't leave you alone, ever. They will arrest you the moment you step back into your town. They brainwash you and force to work for them. They will do the same with your son and probably won't even allow you to see each other."
This game hasn't had an exit button...
He looked around.
"We have to move."

Lucia noticed that almost all of the campfires were extinguished, and scouts packed their saddle bags on the many bike-like vehicles. They were patiently waiting looking in their direction.
Frost rose up and walked in front of everybody, lifted his left hand. Icy turquoise sparkling glow appeared around it, then extended forward and formed a vertical disk. Cold blue green flashes lit many exited faces. Lucia was wondering if they called him "Frost" because of what he just did, or was it his frosty looking untidy hair and a bit of the beard. The tribe of Wrens started the engines, lifted up from the ground and one by one went through shimmering light, waving and disappearing, some all suited up and helmets down, others in shorts and t-shirts. Maybe their ways parted here.
Then there were just four of them. Zoi and Alf got ready, Frost sat quietly for a few minutes, eyes closed, presumably collecting his strength.
He jumped up on his feet when they heard the roar of many engines getting closer from the direction of the road.
Alf shouted some unearthly swearings.
"Only breath through your nose, sit steady, love," Frost said quickly to Lucia, mounting the bike. "Don't let go and if you feel too dizzy, hit me on the back."
They lifted off and rushed in oppozite direction from the noise. Alf somehow turned backwards and started shooting. It was some kids of laser gun, Lucia turned her head and seen a dosen or so dark crafts lightless approaching them. Something exploded. The pursuers did not shoot. Wanted at least some of them alive?
"One down", shouted Alf. "But they are fast and about to surround us".
"Hold on everybody", said Frost. "We are going to do some skipping"
"Goodness Gracious" whispered Zoi.
Blue green spikes started to grow around Frost, extending further and further. Lucia felt a wave of cold electricity overhelming her, stiffling her breath. She tried not to open her mouth. Now the sparks were around both bikes. She still could see the darkness and stars far away. She felt falling. And then it was a glorious crisp day and two yellow suns shone on purple waves of the endless sea, strange looking sailing boat nearby. Pursuers, black bikes, black gear, still followed, but maybe not all of them. Flying in a cloud of turquoise sparks they appeared in a huge city, Lucia never imagined buildings of this size would exist, the air was stale, the canyon streets were full of flying cars, almost colliding with Zoi and Frost's bikes. Then there was red moonlight, also maybe some black dunes. Alfred was shooting back from time to time and congratulating himself. Lucia started to get lightheaded and didn't dare to look back any more. Her fingers couldn't hold the handles and she had to hold onto her driver. She could feel him desperately gasping for air more and more.
"Ok, I think we lost them" - finally said Alf. Lucia hardly could hear anything now, eardrumms damaged by many changes of pressure.
Bikes were gliding over a frozen sea, ice and snow sparkling in the light of a low distant sun and turquoise transition glow around the travelers. Huge icebergs towering everywhere right and left. Three thin crescent moons high above. Lucia realised she was now crying, full of joy, awe and wonder she never experienced before. The merciless and beautiful Universe was unravelling in front of her, its cold breath tearing her skin, bursting her ears and entering her lungs while changing her forever. And she liked this.

There was grey twilight and some trees when they stopped.
"Bloody hell Frost, are we even alive? Are we even in one piece?" shouted Alfred, got off and throw up. Frost just quietly said "Blimey". He was shaking, his denim jacket soaked in sweat. Only Zoi looked almost fine, just very pale. Lucia felt the stony ground rushing towards her and hitting her very hard on the head.

The Dhampir

I found this among my grandfather's papers after he died. He was a writer and historian who dealt in the supernatural. He had many artifacts from around the world, most of which we donated. This was in a leatherbound notebook.

It would be a lie to say that curiosity alone drove me from America in the summer of 1937. My ancestral lineage had always intrigued me, but something darker brought about this idle exercise. Even though I would not have admitted it then, I was fleeing my increasingly inactive pen. My firm mind and abilities had somehow softened, and I found myself stricken when set before a blank page. I would spend horrible hours doing little more than scribbling; my wastebasket overflowed and debilitating terror was setting in. lying to myself, saying that my study had become unbearably stuffy, I would rush out of the house and walk the moon washed streets of Richmond like a damned soul, my mind grim.
It was after the dry, horrid winter and spring of '36-'37 that I first began to seriously consider tracing my roots. I knew of some relatives in small, faraway lands, and only had to contact them to begin.
What could have been done by mail I chose to do in person.
After a long stay in London visiting with a young artist just beginning his study into the art of the nightmare, I left England on a nasty day in November.
For the better part of a year I investigated my family and the places and experience from whence they came, starting on my mother's side: French and Belgian. Then slowly, after I had met my distant relatives and had seen the hometowns of my race, I moved onto my father's side: German. The main concentration lived in Berlin and Hamburg, with others in Hanover and parts of Switzerland.
Soon, the respite was coming to an end. I had met all whom I could meet and I had seen all that I could see. I had visited graves, read yellowed papers in Courthouses all across the Continent and knew like my ABCs everyone in my family's once murky history. But thankfully, several nights before I was forced to return to America to face the cold, hard facts, a newspaper article caught my eye and my interest.
It seemed that a mini wave of vampyre hysteria had swept through the small neighboring country of Liechtenstein. Several people had mysteriously died of apparent tuberculosis in two villages, Helsnflt and Kauftenyzysburg, and there were complaints of bodies being exhumed and mutilated.
Seeing that my trip was near expiration, and feeling that such an atmosphere of dread and terror would be conductive to my morbid imagination, I decided to visit one of the villages the next day. I consulted my cousin Klaus and discovered that the town of Kauftenyzysburg was only a drive of no more than one-hundred miles from Flugen, the village where he and his family lived.
I set out the next day going south; it was warm at first but soon the sky turned cloudy and threatening. At the border I was held up by damned Nazis for nearly an hour before they bumblingly established that I was not a Jewish child to be picked on and allowed me to leave the country.
The land that I soon found myself in was, to say the least, breathtaking and bizarre. The pine forests flanking the highway overhung it, thus it was twilight even at noon, and the ancient rocky hills and pristine lakes in the east brooded in dark majesty. I soon became convinced, perhaps from the lack of other motor vehicle on the highway and the absences of human habitations, that I had fallen into a dimensional warp and had traveled back to medieval times.
Finally, nailed to the twisted trunk of an immortal pine growing close to the road, I saw a crooked sign that indicated Kauftenyzysburg was less than ten miles away.
For the next half an hour, though, I sped along in the dark, blurry forest, disorientated and growing panicked.
Thankfully, before long I saw the sign that actually welcomed one to Kauftenyzysburg
The village sat atop an island rising from the dark, primal forest, the spire of its single church seemingly a beacon to all who sought refuge from the modern world. The town comprised a line of tasteful wood and brick buildings clustered along a single stone street which to the summit was dirt. It was dark cast against the somber sky.
Flecks of dirt and grit plumed around me and found their way into my mouth, nose and eyes. I cursed myself for not pulling up the top.
The motor had a difficult time ascending the steep incline, which passed by a series of farms on the left and by a stone-encircled cemetery, the alleged abode of the vampyres, on the right.
Sputtering and jerking, the car limped up the lane. Shortly I was embraced by the wise Germanic buildings and welcomed by the paved street. The grade leveled out, and I was in the town. Charming and warm from afar, it now affected a cold, drab air. On either side the gray stone walls were unbroken save by glassless windows and unmolested archways. The raspy wheeze of my car echoed off of the surrounding canyons, seemingly many times amplified. Forms bathed in shadows appeared in some of the windows and then bled secretly away.
Queerly uneasy, I pulled to the curb and quickly killed the engine, plunging the town once again into its primordial silence. Looking almost cautiously at the high walls, I slid out of the car and clicked the door self-consciously shut behind me.
Most of the faded signs above the yawning thresholds were in a form of German utterly alien to me. I saw one that clearly announced the town inn, and almost reluctantly I pulled myself away from the motor's side.
Still accustomed to the urban perils of Berlin and Hamburg, I jerked both ways before I crossed, my steps echoing in a grizzly fashion.
Inside I found that I stood at the head of a short, dark hall which opened onto a wide, open room. Bits of the aforementioned room were feebly lit by flickering candle light dancing satanically across the wall.
I lifted one leaden foot and sat it down easily, irrationally afraid of disturbing the deathly hush more than I already had.
I saw upon entering the room that it was a tavern of sorts. A short bar hugged the right wall, protecting free standing kegs shoved away like unspeakable memories and shelves boasting rows of glass bottles. The middle and left of the room were totally barren save for a forlorn chair in the geographical center, the floor seemingly scuffed by many generations of dancing feet.
Several forms, utterly ignorant of my presence, sat hunched at the bar shrouded in smoke. Soft words were exchanged between one of them and the innkeeper behind the bar, a large bald man in his early fifties with glasses.
"Hello," I said through dry lips, the German coming hard, "may I inquire about a room for the night?"
None of the men turned save for the man behind the bar. He looked at me appraisingly and asked something in a bizarre, strangely soft tone.
"Pardon me?"
He looked at me as if I were an extraterrestrial being before a thin man in a suit sitting swayingly at the end of the bar spoke to him on my behalf.
"There's only one room left," the man huskily interpreted for me in a pleasant English accent, "the worst one. The shutters are broken and it winds here somethin' terrible."
I considered.
"That's fine with me," I told the Englishman, who in turn told the barkeep.
"How much?"
The Englishman asked the innkeeper, and then laughed at his reply.
"Fifteen, even though it's a subpar room. Have you any cases?"
I nodded, and without consulting the innkeeper the Englishman replied, "Oh, you'll get 'em yourself; he's too bloomin lazy."
"Thank you," I told the Englishman.
"Ah, think nothing of it. Why don't you have a seat and a drink before you scamper off?"
With a smile, I came to the bar and sat down on the stool nearest the Englishman. His face was rugged and pale; his strong, angular chin covered in gritty stubble and his thick, wavy hair was the color of rust. He was a slight man of no more than 5'6 and one-hundred-pounds, and affected a lax Whitechapel air.
"My name's Roger Wilson, by the way, Her Majesty's Royal pub-rat," he said. We shook hands, his grip warm and strong.
"I'm John Wimplinger," I replied, "Mr. Roosevelt's presidential poet and journeyman."
"Ah, a poet," Wilson said with delight, "finally, the company of a sane man. What'll you have?"
"Lager," I replied after a considerate moment. "I'm not picky; as long as it's cold I'll be happy."
"Your unlucky day, then. These brutes take their draught piping." He made a motion to the bartender and spoke a few nonsensical words and the man at length eased off the barstool with a sigh and set about drawling two mugs of beer from a tap.
He sat the dinks before me and Wilson, who slipped him a crumpled banknote. I looked to my left and saw the men there, three gruff beasts in mustaches, eyeing me strangely.
"What's that language you're speaking?" I asked Wilson as he took a long pull from his mug. He then thumped it back to the bar with a stage sigh of satiation.
"Ah, that bastardization; I have no idea what they call it. It's a form German raped and pillaged by these wingless Russian Gypsies. Rather easy to learn if you have a useless afternoon and a fool fluent in it. I've only been speaking it since last week." Something in that last statement struck Wilson as funny, and he laughed heartily. I could feel the hot sting of the men looking at us, two foreigners speaking in secrecy.
"An entire language learned in the course of a single sitting," he hitched, "ah, but that goes to show you how easy it is."
He finished off his beer, sighed again as if he were a stoker freed onto the cool decks of a White Star Liner, and pushed his mug away. "So, tell me, why in the name of God are you out here? Certainly you weren't just out for a Sunday drive."
"No," I said grudgingly, knowing full well what most people thought of my curious pursuits, "I was researching my roots, so to speak, and heard about…"
"About? What did you hear about?" From the twinkle in Wilson's eyes, and the way that he leaned close as if I were a mortal enemy about to speak those two relinquishing words that ended rivalries, I could tell that he knew exactly what had drawn me to Kauftenyzysburg.
"The hysteria," I finally admitted.
Wilson laughed almost mockingly. "Yes, yes. The Hysteria. A proper title for a Gothic novel, isn't it? Well, feel not like a bleeding ghoul because that it why I am here. Though your intentions may be ghoulish, I don't really know. I am only ensuring that these monsters don't desecrate my sister, who married one of these imbeciles and lived in this lonely hill for twenty years. Last month she died of consumption after giving birth to her third mongrel Liechtensteiner. If you're the kind of poet I think that you are then you know well what morons say about people who die from that sort of thing."
"I'm terribly sorry about your sister," I offered weakly, not knowing how to respond to his tirade against the people of Liechtenstein, cut of the same cloth as I.
"Yes, me, too," he responded, much of his former gusto having been spent. He spoke to the bartender, who shortly brought him another drink. I had not even taken three sips of mine.
He upended his glass and came up for air with only a mouthful of beer left. He finished that off as well. "During the war, out of some misguided progressive sense of humanity, she joined a corps of women set on aiding the wounded and ill in the filthy armies of the enemy. In Somme, she met a so-called man half dead with the Spanish Flu and "fell in love." The war came to an end, the influenza departed, and she ran off to hell with him."
He leaned closer as if to impart a great secrete, and for the first time I noticed the foul stench of inebriation on his hot breath. "I had my problems with my sister, as did the whole family. That she was patching up the wounds and swabbing the foreheads of the enemy was taken as a slap in the face, but I loved her and I still do. She doesn't deserve this. Let these dogs burn their own lumps of flesh, but not her."
"Have they been digging bodies up?" I asked, almost desperate to change the subject.
"No, not here; that's tomorrow's work," Wilson said and laughed. "They don't want to start dragging the dead out of the ground until they know where the first vampyre is; they don't want to kill the wolf cubs whilst leaving the wolf. Lunacy, but rational in its own way, I suppose."
"So they're just going to…scour the countryside for the first vampyre?"
"No," Wilson said, "they're bringing in a dhampir."
The term seemed abstractly familiar to me, though its meaning eluded me. "A dhampir. What…what exactly is a dhampir?"
"Oh," Wilson dismissed, "more foolishness, worse even than the vampyre itself. The gypsies, great stock of people they are, believe a vampyre comes out of the ground with the libido of ten men. It then runs about the village raping until the sun comes up. A child can supposedly be born of such a rape, and the half-breed that comes out can sniff out vampyres like a bloodhound."
Wilson stopped and took another long drink.
"The closest one is coming in from Romania tomorrow; he'll point, say a few words and run off with their money. If you can bilk somebody by saying your squire was Stoker's Dracula, then go on and Godspeed."
For a long moment we sat with only the maddening tick of a clock upon the wall and the soft speech and raucous laughter of the other men. Thinking of what Wilson had said, I began to realize that the entire situation was more singular than I had at first suspected. Tight anticipation filled me on speculating what the masses in America and England would pay to read such an account as the one I would have. Weird Tales would surely be interested in the article, but I didn't have to settle for them. I could have it published in any number of far reaching and prestigious papers.
Wilson, who had previously been lolling at the bar, sat up straight and yawned. "I'm sorry if I have presented myself as a sot," he said, "but I needed the effects of the alcohol to dull me early, for I plan to rise at midnight and guard my sister's grave until this is over. I should have gone to the British embassy in Switzerland when I had the chance, but even before the funeral these leeches were talking insanity.
"I'll turn in now. If you would like to accompany me to the cemetery later you're more than welcome."
He stood and nearly toppled over. I stood and threw my arm around his back and under his armpit. The other men were looking almost disgustedly at us, their noses crinkled as if we stank. The barkeep muttered something to which Wilson responded, "Dirty louse," in perfect German. They clearly didn't understand, and I hastened to remove him from the bar before he could straighten out his languages and start a fight.
A narrow flight of stairs bathed in cold, gray evening light led up to what I presumed to be the inn. I and Wilson hobbled over to the foot of the stair arm-in-arm, but Wilson pushed me away. "Its fine, old man, I've got it from here. Come up behind me in case I fall back and I'll show you your room."
I followed Roger Wilson up the stairs, which bent once before letting out onto a long, gloomy hall of closed doors possibly protecting hideous secretes. Whereas it had been almost unpleasantly warm in the tavern, it was frigid upstairs. Several shadowy paintings hung upon the dusty walls between the doors, all of them seemingly grotesque and misshapen. I found it odd and frightening that there were so many rooms, all occupied, yet there seemed to be not a soul about.
"Here you are," Wilson said, stopping in front of a bland white door and patting it loudly with his open palm. The sound echoed in the cold vacuum. "The bathroom is down there," he pointed back down the hall which seemed dizzyingly long, "and they cook sometimes in the pub. Otherwise you'll have to buy something; a disgusting kielbasa no doubt."
Wilson bid me good day and stumbled several doors down from mine, where he kept his room. He opened the door with a key he produced from his hip pocket and stumblingly disappeared, leaving me alone in the hall.
In almost subconscious flight I hurried back downstairs and to my motor across the street. Shadows gathered all around in pools, seeming the dark gulfs that seamen spoke of with terror. I looked back down the sloping street at the countryside falling away; the rolling hills and clustered woodlands, the valleys and the farmland and the dusty ribbon of road twisting through, and was given the wondrous sense that I was looking upon a land hidden from the world and largely unchanged since the times of King Arthur and roving mongrel armies. I saw through a dusty, twilight window the distant past of Europe, Anglo-Saxondom and indeed all mankind. I caught my breath and turned from the panorama with a swelling pride.
I got my bag from the back of the motor and unfolded the canvas top. I hurried back into the inn as the last pretense of light bled from the day, my mind spinning with both what I had discovered of my homeland and of what I was to discover in the next twenty-four hours; I was already imagining how I would word my article on "dhampirs" and the continuing superstition in undeveloped Europe.
At my door, I realized that I had not acquired the key from the manger, and was forced to go back down into the bar to get it. The men had gone by this time, and the barkeep was the only soul in evidence. He sat on his stool, alone and drooping in silence now that his companions were gone. He looked up when he heard me but his bright face fell.
"I need the key," I said and made a turning motion. He considered what I had meant and nodded. He drew a rusted strongbox that I had not seen before to his side, opened it, removed a key between his sausage thumb-and-forefinger and held it out to me.
"You' f'iend… he does no like Ge'mans," he said in tender, labored English, throwing a start into me.
"No," I finally said, gauging from his wide, moist eyes that he meant harm to none, "I suppose he isn't too fond of us. Bad experiences, it seems."
"He been he'e close to a munt, an' he talk like that eve'ynight he get d'unk. No one he'e speak the English but me and he…he no know that."
"I'm terribly sorry," I stammered, desperate to get away. I plucked the key from him and handed over a few banknotes. "You have a good night."
He smiled and nodded.
I rushed back up to my room. In the hall I picked up my bag from where I had left it and opened the door with the key. In the ashy gloom I saw looming shapes that had to be a bed and a dresser, possibly a desk. Moving carefully so that I would not trip, I stepped into the room and sat my bag down onto the bed, bumping into the nightstand with a jarring clink of glass on glass. I sat down and felt like a blind man for the oil lamp. I was taken aback to find that it was not an oil lamp but rather merely a candle in a glass cone.
Resigning myself to the fact that I would have to spend a night in more primitive conditions than I was used to, I lit the candle with a match and kicked my shoes off. There was indeed a small desk along the far wall under a small mirror and a dresser under the open window. The curtain fluttered lazily in the breeze.
I lay for a long time with my hands laced atop my pulsating chest, my exciting reemergence into the literary world playing fluidly out on the backs of my eyelids.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
The first thing I was aware of was a soft whispering, the rustle of a passing lover's dress. It was dark and frigid in my room, my teeth chattered uncontrollably and my flesh was raked with chill blisters.
I turned over onto my stomach in a futile attempt to generate more warmth.
For a long time I lie awake and totally aware. Idly I listening to the noise which drifted through the wall as it got louder and louder, and I recognized voices.
"Bridget….you must."
"Please…come home."
Suddenly there was a jarring crash and a scream. I automatically jumped up from the bed as if spring-loaded and ran to the door, my heart pounding.
I listened to a moment until I heard the unmistakable sounds of a man screaming again, and then threw open the door and emerged into the hall, my heart pounding and my mouth dry.
It sounded as if the action were coming from Wilson's room.
Acting fast, I ran to his door and pounded with my fist. "Roger!" I cried, "Roger!"
From within he screamed again, imploringly. Rearing back, I rammed my shoulder into the door. The first hit knocked me back. I stumbled and fell against another door. My resolve redoubled, and I went at it again.
Wilson wailed.
"Damn it!" I yelled in frustration. Backing up a few steps, I pulled back my foot and slammed it into the door just above the knob. It popped easily open.
In the dark I was blind…the sound had been cut off as if by a lever. "Wilson!" I stammered into the black, my heart fluttering in my throat.
By now others were out in the hall grumbling angrily and seeking he who had awakened them.
I took another step, and my stockinged foot landed in something warm and wet.
My courage deserted me.
In the hall, the barkeep greeted me along with several other men. "Why happen?"
Panting, I pointed back into the dark.
The innkeeper produced an electric torch from the oversized pocket of his robe and switched it on. He shakily aimed it.
Cleaving through the darkness like an Arthurian sword, the beam revealed the horror that had been wrought upon Roger Wilson.
"Gott in Heaven!"
No further sleep was had at the inn that night. Those of us who had wakened, two in addition to me and the innkeeper, brewed a pot of coffee and commiserated.
The innkeeper finally went to summons the police and they at last came as dusty dawn was cresting in the east. There was no need for a stretcher: a ladle and a trashcan were sufficient.
None of us talked, the abhorrent brutality that we had seen sitting wet and heavy between us like some great, slippery sea-beast; we each saw in the others' haunted eyes the soupy mess that had become of Roger Wilson, and were repelled by one another.
Some horrors are too great to be spoken, some to be seen, and even some to be contemplated. I refused to let myself dwell on the gruesome scene, and on…possible suspects.
After the sad body and its dark, murmured accusations had been removed, I cast the whole affair into a bottomless pit and forsook in the name of my sanity the memory of poor Roger Wilson. The "dhampir" was coming soon; I would interview him about his "profession," leave, and then write my article in Berlin or on a Cunard Liner.
I had a light lunch in the tavern, which was crowded with many men all speaking loudly in their peculiar language, awaiting the "dhampir".
After I had eaten, I left the stuffy bar and went for a walk along the grand ancient street. My apprehension of the day before had evaporated, and the incident of that morning was far from my mind. I was lost in thought and daydreams when I heard the rumble of horses in the stillness. I abandoned my present route and ran back down the street, others emerging curiously from their doorways both behind and ahead of me. Where the street curves and becomes dirt I came to a halt, for in the distance I could see a dusty cloud arising through the treetops.
The dhampir.
To my horror I found that I had no notepad on me. I turned, pushed my way through the gawking crowd and ran back up the street to the inn, passing the innkeeper and his three friends from the night before. Through the door and the bar, up the stairs and into my room I ran, my legs seeming to go at the pace of a snail. In my room I rummaged through my pack for a pad, ripping clothes out and throwing them everywhere.
Finally I found the notebook with my current poems in it and ran back down the stairs, aware of time flowing past in waves.
Back on the street I was alone; most of the people had run down to the cemetery like thirsty bison to a watering hole. I saw that a black carriage pulled by two large beastly horses had stopped along the stretch of road near the cemetery, and ran myself.
The townspeople had clustered excitedly and curiously around the carriage, and a tall gaunt man standing in the driver's seat was urging them away by cracking his whip above their heads. He was dressed in a black top hat and a pair of dark blue cutaway tails.
Finally, as I was skidding to a breathless stop at the back of the crowd, the villagers got the man's point and began to back away.
The gaunt man stood against the milky with his arms outreached like a demented preacher and bellowed in the local language. A cheer rippled through the crowd.
He stepped down from his seat, ran a gloved hand over the velvety backs of one of the uneasy horses and disappeared around the other side. A pall of expectant quiet had descended over the townspeople; the tension was thick in the air.
The man emerged from the back of the carriage and moved slowly to the door. With an almost discernible intake of collected breath, he opened it and the dhampir stepped out.
When I saw the man, I was stunned by his unearthly beauty. He was no more than twenty-five, stood at an impressive height of six feet and wore an unruly mass of black hair atop his Roman face. He was dressed impeccably in the clothes of a gentleman, and bore himself as such.
He cast his glance over us, revealing that his eyes were an icy, placid blue. He said something in the perverted German, and a short fat man came forward and began to spill something abjectly out. For a moment after the man had finished the dhampir stood regal and emperor-like before stepping down from the ladder. He stood next to the gaunt man as the fat man and a young girl conversed with them.
"He say he smeel first vampi' al'eady," said a low, familiar voice from behind me. I turned on the innkeeper.
"What does he mean to do?" I asked in a similarly hushed tone.
"Say we dig up and kill died, he find the fathe' vampi'."
I was about to reply when the rich voice of the dhampir floated out over us again. I turned and watched as the fat man and the young girl led him to the iron gate. He stood still and rigid for a moment, grimly considering the moss covered tombstones slanted by the weight of years.
The fat man handed the dhampir a piece of paper which crinkled in the wind. The dhampir smoothed it out and looked at it before nodding.
Three strong men were taken by the fat man from the crowd and given shovels. They were each pointed to the graves they would be working on, and then went in ahead of the dhampir.
I watched with suspicion as the dhampir again consulted a piece of paper and then strode into the cemetery. He strolled along the many rows, resting a hand on each rough slab.
As I was about to ask the innkeeper just what the dhampir's routine was, I saw the man bend to touch a headstone and jerk back as if shocked. He called something to the fat man, who rushed into the cemetery with several other men. They gathered around the dhampir and looked down at the grave, confusion and terror coloring their faces.
The fat man looked up at us, cupped his mouth and shouted something.
"What did he say?" I asked the innkeeper.
"Men," said the innkeeper, "he need men digging."
I looked about myself, noticing supernatural terror on the faces of all the able bodied men.
"Tell him I'll help," I eagerly offered.
The innkeeper shouted back to the fat man, who smiled, nodded and beckoned.
"We and you go," said the innkeeper.
The people before me parted like the Red Sea allowing me and the innkeeper to pass.
We stepped through the gate and moved quickly and self-consciously toward where the dhampir stood, arms folded over his chest.
"Hello," he greeted me in perfect English, "I thank you for your help, Mr. Wimplinger."
I froze then; the innkeeper surely had not used my name…
…because he told the fat man, and the fat man told the dhampir.
I took the dhampir's proffered hand with a fumbling preamble of my own.
With that done, I couldn't help myself magnetically beholding the archaic monument. I could only make out the dates: 1802-1838.
I was shaken from my introversion by the surly grunt of the fat man. I and the innkeeper took the shovels he handed us, and without further word we began to dig in the hard, unforgiving ground. The dhampir stood behind us with his arms crossed, exchanging small talk with the young girl, who had love in her eyes, I had noticed.
Soon we were digging at an angle, and then we were throwing our dirt up rather than away. Before long our spades scrapped wood, and I and the innkeeper threw our shovels away and nearly collapsed against one another.
The dhampir helped us up from the grave and climbed down in our stead. We watched as he sank to his knees, disregarding the mud as though it weren't there, and laid his hands on the splintered coffin.
Finally after what felt like an eon suspended, the dhampir brushed aside the worm inhabited mud clumps and tore the top half of the casket open as if it had been made of straw. All of us surrounding the grave peered over…
…and were confronted with the very face of madness itself. For in the that hole, unmolested for one-hundred-years, was the smooth, ruddy face of good health.
The innkeeper and I gasped in unison.
The dhampir said something to the others and then to me, "Go to the carriage and get the gasoline you find there. Bring it back here so that we can burn this…thing."
I licked my dry lips, the words coming from some outer plane. I finally tore my gaze away from the vampire, my heart stutteringly awakening.
"Go," he softly urged.
I obeyed and hurried to the carriage. The gaunt man must have known what I wanted, for without a word he handed me a sloshing metal canister.
Avoiding the questioning eyes of those in the crowd, I rushed back to the grave and handed the dhampir the gas. For a long moment, I stared down at the dark face of the…vampyre. I tried to tell myself that this was merely a case similar to the widely noted and baffling instances of saints dead and incorruptible for hundreds of years, but I knew better.
"I shall burn the corpse now," the dhampir said. I watched in a mixture of horror and wonder as he ritualistically splattered the entire can into the grave. He looked at me, his face calm, handsome and steady, and said, "The only true way to kill a vampyre is to burn it; that nonsense about the heart has gotten many men killed."
Remembering my pad from another dimension, I pulled it from my pocket as if I were in a dream and jotted that down.
"Holy items?"
"Yes, but only those pertaining to the Muslim faith."
I jotted that down as well.
"Ah, I hope you know that you cannot write down everything you see here."
I looked at the dhampir. "Why?"
"Some things are secret," he said simply, "like what happens when a dhampir kills a vampyre."
"What?"
"Just watch closely," he softly met my rambunctious gasp, "you'll see."
The dhampir produced a book of matches from his pocket, lit one and tossed it into the grave.

42 Reasons A Colonial Military Cult Disguised As a Religion Saved the Failed USA Then Nepotistically Grew To Become A Modern Evil Regime With $100 Billion At It's Fingertips.

After the 8 year long revolutionary war ended in 1783, the "United States of America" still faltered countless times in the coming decades. Easterly landlocked colonial territories outlined on paper as "States" could not come together as "One Nation". Different military's, militias, brotherhoods, factions, factions within factions, slavery and counterfeit money bred constant chaos. For many periods over those following decades attacks from Great Britain, Spain, France, Mexico and the warring Indian tribes they supplied meant the easterly landlocked territories were doomed to be conquered by one nation or another. (Even Russia had a trade presence on the west coast) Year in and year out, every day and every night, every primitive, easterly landlocked, colonial territory's survival was threatened. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

The Nation needed to expand West to save Freedom but the unorganized military was spread too thin. Some settlers made progress with peaceful Native American tribes yet wagon trains of settlers who dared to venture West were still violently slaughtered by warring Indian tribes. Young, old, no one was spared. Stories of the violent massacres kept many settlers held up in the landlocked territories. Other's fled back to England. Still others came. (1) (2)

The guiding hand of a centuries old Scottish Brotherhood can be seen throughout the USA's founding decades. Known founding fathers George Washington (1732-1799), Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), Paul Revere (1735-1818), John Hancock (1736-1793) and others were members of the Brotherhood's different factions within factions spread across the territories. Hidden history reveals so much more about these founding fathers than many know. For example, George Washington still owned 300 slaves upon his death. Paul Revere was a master of metals and an entrepreneur and his clients included the US Government (1) (2). Dynamic Oligarch, Governor, Inventor and swimmer Benjamin Franklin (1) (2) might one day go down in history as a colonial version of Bruce Wayne/Batman. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5))

Faraway on the other side of the globe, during the same time the revolutionary war was going on, England's Captain James Cook, a global explorer and close associate of the Brotherhood, led the discovery of what would become Hawaii. He saw firsthand how polygamy could grow a nation quickly. Word of the native island people and their bounty of ancestral legends, ocean going stories and treasure traveled around the globe and throughout the Brotherhood's ranks on both sides of the Atlantic. Among the native's Cook and his crew were first revered as immortals but about a year later Cook was attacked and killed as an imposter. This did not phase other explorers and visitors. Travel by ship to the islands became so familiar during colonial times that when conquering Hawaiian King Kamehameha passed away his drunken son LihoLiho, who carried the King's title in name only, traded away a substantial portion of the island's treasures for a yacht built by a Salem, Massachusetts family prominent in seafaring, politics and the military (Crowninshield). After the yacht reached the islands in 1820 it was extensively and expensively remodeled under LihoLiho's orders. It suspiciously sank in a Kauai bay less than two years later and LihoLiho suspiciously died on a peculiar, ill fated trip to Great Britain in 1824. (1) (2) (3)

In the failing US Territories of the late 1700's and early 1800's, patriotic leaders prayed and planned and searched for ways to save the failed Nation. Guidance was sought. Plans were constantly suggested and evaluated. Different members of the Brotherhood secretly suggested laying the foundation for a massive religious following built by polygamy to successfully pave the way West so the failed Nation could expand and be saved.

During this critical time, at least 14 stories of different people having similar "religious" experiences popped up around the territories. None of them created a great following. (1)

During the 34 years spanning 1787-1821, the US's first 24 easterly landlocked states were formed on paper. However, 61% of these states were formed during the first 16 years of that period. For the last 18 years of that period, the pace of forming states had come to a violent halt with only 7 being formed. The chaotic territory known on paper as the "USA" was on the doorstep of imminent failure and what would become a quarter century blight where only two more states would be formed on paper. (1821-1845) (1)

That 1821-1845 time period coincidentally also covers 99.9% of the time that the published, foundational beginnings of "Mormonism" occurred. 1820 is the published year of Joseph Smith's First Vision. 1847 is the published year Brigham Young strategically ordered his west coast bound following to suddenly stop in Mexico Territory at an enormous salt filled lake smack dab in the center of the American continent's untamed West. Even though it was in Mexico Territory at the time, the location of this Great Salt Lake was perfectly centralized in the continent's West and could serve as the doorstep to how the West could be won. Over the next 20 years after Brigham Young's arrival an estimated 60,000-70,000 faithful pioneers would follow. Many were followers of Mormonism. Many practiced polygamy. Many would be sent in all direction of the West to faithfully colonize strategic territories and pave the way for the Nation's armies (1).

For nearly 195 years, Mormonism has surreptitiously weaved historical claims about a man named "Martin Harris" (1783-1875). Mormonism claims Harris was a humble farmer who's greedy wife left him after he mortgaged their family farm to faithfully pay today's equivalent of hundreds of thousands of dollars for the first publishing of the boy Joseph Smith's "The Book of Mormon" and that shortly after that economic failure and other critical founding roles Harris lost faith in Mormonism but later rejoined Mormonism in Utah at the very end of his 92 year long life. (1)) (2) Hidden history reveals that these claims about Harris ARE EXACTLY HOW HE WANTED IT. The purveyors of Mormonism go to great lengths to perpetuate these myths about Harris even today. If you don't accept the boy "Joseph Smith" as a child prophet who grew into a man prophet, Harris' purveyors of Mormonism want you to hate Joseph Smith as an impossible genius-con artist-pedophile so you fail to see the truth of who Harris really was and what Harris really did.

"History is written by the victor" and the past two centuries demonstrate that Harris definitely was the victor. This is because in reality Harris' "greedy wife" "Lucy" was actually his child cousin. Yes she was a child. Yes she was his first cousin. She was 15 and he was 25 when he forced her to marry him. Yet within Mormonism story after story leaves this critical detail out. Additionally for one reason or another Lucy became partially deaf over the next 20 years. There is also at least one report that in addition to sexually abusing this child Harris also physically abused her. This is an indication of Harris' proclivity to control children. Harris eventually fathered 6 children) through Lucy's nubile womb. 28 years later and after being physically separated from Harris for years, Lucy suspiciously died at the age of 42. Weeks later then 52 year old Harris married 21 year old Caroline Young. A niece of Brigham Young. He fathered 7 children through here nubile womb.

Like the Crowninshield's and other influential families throughout critical parts of the chaotic New England territories, The Harris family was also wealthy, well connected and zealously patriotic. With his father Nathan Harris, and his brothers (Emer and Preserved) Martin controlled hundreds of productive acres in the Palmyra, New York region with complex operations producing a river of revenue from livestock and linen. Martin Harris' father Nathan Harris and mother Rhoda Lapham Harris originally moved the Harris family to the Palmyra, New York area in 1796, 20 years before the poverty stricken Smith's would arrive practically on Harris' doorstep. (1) (For the Sum of $3000 By Susan Easton Black)

The white linen Martin produced was so exceptional that he won several awards for it. Since Mormonism's beginning days, the wearing of multiple layers of white clothing has been expected of followers. For decades manufacturing this clothing and selling it to followers has been a secret, multi-million dollar industry for Mormonism. The white clothing includes under garments for daily wear by males and females as well as outer garments for wear in private ceremonies. (For the Sum of $3000 By Susan Easton Black)

Harris was a zealous patriot. At 29 years old, four years after forcing his child cousin to marry him, he began regularly leaving his life of power, wealth and marriage as a "Harris" to regularly fight during the 3 years of "The War of 1812". ( "The War of 1812" was actually "The War of 1812-1815".) Harris was recognized as a leader and an honored war veteran at war's end. As an honored war veteran, is it safe to suggest that he became familiar with killing in the name of patriotism as wars require of brave men and women (1) ?

Harris was a convincing story teller. He once got people to donate money for what he claimed would be used to support the Christian Greeks fighting the Turks. He also claimed Jesus appeared to him in the form of a deer and walked with him for a couple miles. He also claimed an incident regarding a flickering candle was the work of the devil. (1) (2))

After the War of 1812, the well respected, wealthy, influential, honored, 33 year old Martin Harris was nominated to be "Road Overseer" in the Palmyra region. A position he controlled for the next 7 years. This included the 7 years it took to finally construct New England's Eerie Canal.

The dynamic Harris was an influential supporter of the Eerie Canal and it's possible route. Harris made sure the route passed by he and his father's lands. This would expand their river of cash and operations to the eastern territories in exponential ways. This river of cash would be used by many to finance business and patriotic endeavors in the failed Nation. (1) Prior to the Eerie Canal "New York" was way down on the list of in-demand territorial ports. Historical economist's acknowledge that the Eerie Canal made New York the leading port and global economic powerhouse that it has been for nearly two centuries.

The boy Joseph Smith Jr. was born December 23, 1805. The poverty stricken Smith family relocated 8 times in the chaotic New England area during Joseph's Smith Jr.'s first 10 years. If they were in Europe they may have been referred to as "gypsys". With Great Britain's latest attack and eventual retreat underway after the War of 1812, the Smith family with it's many sons of working age moved to Palmyra in 1816 in search of work on the controversial, to be built "Eerie Canal". (To this day, published Mormon history acts as if the Eerie Canal doesn't exist.)

During these colonial decades, almost 1 in 5 children did not survive their first year. The Smith family was no exception. Although some children are not listed here in 1816 the living and to-be-born members of Smith family included Joseph Smith Sr. (father, 45, d. 1840), Lucy Mack Smith (Mother, 41, d. 1856), Alvin Smith (son, 18, d. 1823), Hyrum Smith (son, 16, d. 1844), Sophronia (daughter, 13, d. 1876), Joseph Smith Jr. (son, 10, d. 1844), Samuel Smith (son, 8 d. 1844), William Smith (son, 5, d. 1894), Katherine Smith (daughter, 3, d. 1900), Don Carlos (son, newborn, d. 1841). Lucy Smith would be born 5 years later, d. 1882). Shortly after arriving in the Palmyra region, the poverty stricken, uneducated Smith family took over a primitive cabin less than 1 mile from Harris's lands that bordered the future route of Eerie Canal. This was the Smith family's 8th move in Joseph Smith Jr.'s 10 years. After moving so many times, they absolutely moved here to gain work on the Eerie Canal. This move would be the families last. Mother Lucy Smith would bury all but one Smith male during the first 25 years of Mormonism's beginnings. (1)

Harris was 22 years older than Joseph Smith. As a well known, wealthy local and "Road Overseer" who regularly hired local boys and men to work on his own lands, Harris met the Smith family with it's many sons around 1816 when Smith's moved to Palmyra. Harris did not live within 1 mile of the Smith family for 8 or 10 years before meeting them as Mormon history weaves. Harris likely learned of the arrival of the Smith family within days of their arrival to Palmyra through longtime Palmyra residents including the resident who owned the tiny primitive cabin the large Smith family moved into. (For the Sum of $3000 By Susan Easton Black, map, page 6)

Within published Mormonism there are also conflicting accounts spanning three violent chaotic colonial years when Martin Harris met "Joseph Smith". Some accounts claim it was 1824, some claim it was 1827. This would have been when Joseph Smith was 18...or 21. Another ignored, critical discrepancy. (1) (2)

In the early 1800, as years of chaotic uncertainty unfolded, for one reason or another Harris appropriated the Brotherhood's patriotic goals for the Nation for himself. Among other things he knew of the other religious experiences told by others around the territories. (Harris would eventually become related by marriage to one of the story tellers). Harris saw that a young mans voice was needed for a following to catch on. For that, the powerful Harris chose a young many to be a voice of his own. This voice was that of 18 year old Alvin Smith). However, as Harris laid the ground work for his patriotic cause over the next 4 years, headstrong Alvin resisted. Because Hyrum was also older than 18 after those 4 years and like Alvin would have been privy to some of the Brotherhood's publishing's and ceremonies that Harris borrowed (or stole) from, Harris skipped choosing Hyrum as a potential "voice" and chose Joseph, the dynamic, naïve, uneducated, friendly, 14 year old boy who walked with a limp. This is now the year 1820 and is when the boy Joseph's published stories begin. 4 years later though, Alvin was engaged to be married and saw potential for the Smith's without their dependence on the Harris' for work. He began to interfere with the powerful Harris' grooming and temptations of the impressionable Joseph. With the fate of the Nation at stake and no more time to find another voice amid Joseph's waiverings growing ever more critical as he too approached the age of 18, the wealthy, zealous, altruistic, powerful, patriotic Harris ordered Alvin's murder . It was just four and a half weeks before Joseph's 18th birthday. After Alvin's death, Harris used threats towards other Smith family members to ensure Joseph would not waiver. Fearing for the rest of his family and now 3 year old little Lucy, and with no "911" to call and no one else to come to their aid, 17 year old Joseph and the rest of the Smith family would become Harris' emotional hostages for the next two decades. Just like Harris had done with his child cousin who he forced to marry him, Harris had gained control of the boy Joseph and the Smiths.

The powerful Harris, his father and their faction, ("The Men Who Visit") continued freely catalyzing Mormonism and the Book of Mormon from the Brotherhood's materials. They also used materials from forced and unforced sources including authors of 6 previous publications (#3). In their zeal, with their power, influence and use of violence they were able to greatly reduce the prominence of the publications they borrowed and stole from.

Mormonism's publishings indicate "The Book of Mormon" was originally a 30-60 pound heavy stack of gold plates discovered in a sealed box under a boulder and that the box also included a sword (The Sword of Laban), a spherical compass (The Liahona) and a breast plate with a pair of primitive glasses attached to it. Publishing's indicate that translation of the engraved writings on the plates occurred by Joseph Smith without him looking at the plates but instead by Joseph wearing the Urim and Thummim and iterating out loud the words that appeared to him. If he didn't want to use the plates, he could also use a black stone he had been led to. If he didn't want to use the black stone, he could use a white stone he already had. (1). A scribe who was either his first wife Emma, Martin Harris, David Whitmer or Oliver Cowdery. (2)

Harris' reputation for being wealthy was well known enough that in 1833 he was sued and jailed for $1000 (what some would say is today's economic equivalent of $500,000) by a young woman for publicly saying she had a "bastard child". In that day women couldn't sue a man alone so the suit was brought by a male friend of the woman. Harris posted bail and left. The suit was quietly dismissed under the claim that the woman was already "scandalous" prior to her claims against the well known Harris. (Link available by download through google search "the imprisonment of Martin Harris").

During the following years under Harris control, naive Joseph resisted at times. Joseph tried to break free at times. Joseph sought funding for his own militia. Joseph spoke in code to his militia. As a victim, out of survival or as an eventual participant, Joseph absolutely made mistakes.

A city was built around Mormonism. Harris and his endless river of cash and connections from the Eerie Canal was never far away. Day by day Harris' barges on the Eerie Canal sent one fortune of goods after another to the eastern territories. At the port of New York, the empty barges were loaded with immigrants grateful to have some place inland to go. Stories of the American Bible gave them something to believe in. For one reason or another, many of these early male, female and child immigrants were from Scotland...

Harris and his faction forced Joseph to claim that 24 different angels appeared to Joseph including Adam, Moses, Noah and other biblical characters.

Harris' self-fulfilling prophecy involving patriotically well-connected aristocrats Charles Anthon, Luther Bradish and Samuel L. Mitchell. Note that Bradish was a literary agent of profound, well educated early American author James Fenimore Cooper. Cooper is the author of "The Leatherstocking Tales", "The Last of the Mohicans" and other known titles. Cooper was also a midshipman in the US Navy who was very familiar with the working of ocean vessels. Like Benjamin Franklin, Cooper was known for his intellect and occasionally mischievous creativity. (1) "The Book of Mormon" contains ocean going stories (1) (2). Like Harris, Bradish also fought in the "War of 1812". These are just a few of the critical circles of influence needed to catalyze something like "The Book of Mormon" and Mormonism and to see it through to fruition while minimizing and eliminating obstacles along the way. These are the kind of critical circles of influence that a naive, uneducated, poor, handicapped, gypsy boy from a new-to-the-neighborhood family just did not have.

In 1844, with thousands of immigrant and American born followers spread across many New England territories and elsewhere, Harris secretly ordered Joseph to began preparations to lead Mormonism's followers from Nauvoo into the West to save the failed USA. Instead, the naive Joseph believed he could save the failed USA by becoming President of the USA himself. Believing he was finally too powerful for Harris to kill him, Joseph publicly announced his campaign for President of the USA. With no time to spare, the zealous, patriotic Harris immediately ordered the murder of Joseph Smith and two of his three remaining brothers. Within weeks of Joseph's presidential announcement Joseph and his older brother Hyrum were arrested and killed within days (June 27, 1844). With thousands of followers, his own militia and the bounties of an entire growing city at his fingertips, Joseph allowed himself to be arrested believing that he and Harris would reconcile. After Joseph and Hyrum's murder however, in an insidious taunt to other less heinous factions who's attempts failed to gain a following and to remove all obstacles at seeing his own faction's plans through, Harris ordered the murder of younger brother Samuel Smith 33 days later (July 30, 1844). The number 33 is significant within the Brotherhood. For one reason or another Harris spared the Smith females (Mother Lucy Mack, daughter's Sophronia, Katherine, Lucy) and the youngest living Smith son at the time William. In all, 6 Smith male family members including Alvin (murder), Joseph Smith Sr. (suspicious), Don Carlos (illness), Hyrum (murder), Joseph (murder) and Samuel (murder) died during the Lord's careful "Restoration of the Gospel".

After Joseph's unbelievable, tragic and violent murder Mormonism split into multiple groups with several different leaders emerging. Some believed in polygamy some didn't. 1) Brigham eventually led the majority into the West. 2) Joseph's family and first wife Emma stayed in Nauvoo. 3) Other followers went to Philadelphia. 4) Others went on a ship to sail to the continent's west coast with Samuel Brannan (who pulled a page from Benjamin Franklin's book of propaganda and sensationalism and started the gold rush of 1849 by publishing reports of gold in the area in eastern markets. Brannan is recognized by many as the west coast's first millionaire although not from "gold". Like many others in Mormonism's founding days publishings indicate Brannan was also eventually "exiled" from Mormonism). 5) Other's followed James Strange (Strange was Harris' back up plan in case Brigham was killed or failed. Strange led a following to northern territories on the Great Lakes. Harris was never far away from Strange. Strange eventually also produced "writings" from plates he claimed he was led to. (Harris is noted within Mormon history as being responsible for "losing" 116 pages of writings Joseph produced). Strange was murdered 9 years after Brigham Young stopped his following at the salt lake in the center of the West and the West was won.

During this period other people would mysteriously die or disappear. Harris and/or people claiming to be associated with the US Government were never far away. (1)

Within two years of Mormonism conquering the West, US states started being formed on paper again. This ended the quarter century blight that began shortly before Mormonism's founding days. (1)

When it came time for Brigham Young to commission a statue to commemorate Mormonism's settling of "Salt Lake City" and to be placed at the entrance to his expansive "Utah Territory" property instead of choosing an angel Moroni, a figure of Joseph, or anything related to Mormonism he chose an eagle on top of a 5-pointed star. This statue commemorating the "Gate for the Eagle" became known as "The Eagles Gate". These symbols acknowledged the conquering of the American continent's West by Freemasonry under the banner of the USA. Although the "Eagle" has always been highly visible, the "Star" is seldom mentioned publicly but is clearly visible in person and in many images. This Star is also used throughout Mormonism's early ecclesiastical buildings. Note that in the 1970's some groups with nefarious purposes adopted the 5-pointed star ("pentagram") as a purported satanic symbol however among different uses related to the USA, it had been used for over a century to also represent the rising Eastern Star.

Between his 15 year old child cousin bride Lucy (10 years his junior) and his mysterious bride Caroline (29 years his junior), Martin Harris fathered 13 living children through the two females nubile wombs. Today there are 13 secret corporations that control Mormonism's $100 billion dollars.

Images of Martin Harris in his later years (1870) show him holding a staff with a serpant's head. 116 years before, Benjamin Franklin used a serpant as patriotic imagery (1754).

Although images of just about everyone else in Mormonism's founding days exist, Mormonism maintains that no images of Joseph Smith exist. Instead, they elect to use handsome cartoon renderings of Joseph Smith that generate millions of dollars in revenue every year. This is while Mormonism also ignores reports of at least one photograph and forensic science that indicates a less sensationalized image of Joseph Smith. Naturally, this image also demonstrates more family semblance with Alvin Smith than the cartoon images do.

Of all figures in Mormonism's beginnings the grave marker of the forgotten Martin Harris is by far the most substantial. Joseph Smith doesn't even have his own marker. His is shared with his brother Hyrum and his first wife Emma even though Emma married a non-Mormon on Joseph Smith's birthday 3 years later. Mormonism goes to great lengths to hide Emma's marriage to a non-mormon after Joseph's murder especially with the critical role of Emma that has been weaved throughout Mormonism and the translation.

Polygamy openly continued for over 60 years before being renounced so Utah could officially become a State. Polygamy continued privately for decades and continues still in many ways due to Mormonism maintaining spiritual polygamy.

Mormonism openly practicing racism until 1978.

Nepotistic connections through blood or marriage existed throughout Mormonism's founding days with the 3 witnesses and the 8 witnesses and continues today. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5). Note that of the "3 Witnesses" Martin Harris was one. One was also a "Whitmer". 4 of the "8 Witnesses" were Whitmer's. "Hyrum Page" of the "8 Witnesses" was married to a Whitmer. Joseph Smith's father and two brothers make up the rest of the "8". All most all of the witnesses eventually left Mormonism but out of fear of retribution from Harris' faction they never recanted their stories or roles in Mormonism.

Today Mormonism is a nepotistic (1) (2) (3) (4) $150 Billion tax-free corporation masquerading as a "religion". It owns influential roles in companies you know and use everyday. $100 Billion of that ill-gotten wealth places Mormonism among the top 5 of the largest cash reserves in the USA. Additional billions are held in real estate development (one example), media control (NBC-UTAH), the USA's largest cattle producer, the USA's largest nut producer, Universities in Utah, Idaho and Hawaii (BYU) and billions of dollars more in tax free capital raising buildings disguised as chapels, temples and other "ecclesiastical" buildings. Even though Mormonism continues to have lie after lie revealed about it, it maintains disturbing nepotistic control over the State of Utah and it's political, legal, municipal, educational and media offices as well as it's global at-risk "volunteer" force of tens of thousands of teenagers).

If Mormonism doesn't seem like an insidious regime yet this link should make it perfectly clear.

There's Only One Option for "What Happens Now?":
The boy Joseph Smith WAS a victim and his participation in Mormonism was out of survival as these 42 reasons reveal. This means that today, Utah's population of 3 million people and millions of others around the globe are subject to a nepotistic, evil regime and are in DESPERATE need of federal intervention. IT should immediately begin by seeing a Federal presence in Utah NOW.
MR. PRESIDENT PLEASE HELP US. SAVE UTAH, SAVE THE NATION.

As a Nation, as the "USA", we owe a national reverence to victims of the Eradication of the Native Americans, victims of Slavery and victims of Mormonism. We also owe it to these victims to continue courageously making this Nation the best it can be.

Thank you to the many invisible contributors who's brave research over the decades is linked in this post. Your efforts are not lost on me.

Remember that not all conspirators within Mormonism's nepotistic leadership may be there willingly. Like Alvin, the boy Joseph, Hyrum, Samuel and so many other victims along the way, their actions may be because their lives or the lives of their loved ones have also been threatened...it's in there actions now that we will know the truth about them.
GOD HELP US ALL.
-MJ
aka "Vox Chiasmus"

The Creep Dive Episode Guide

	Date	Title	Cassie	Sophie	Jen	Sidebars and guest stars	Creep of the Week
1	12/12/2018	Canoe Believe It??	Alan Rickman never read Harry Potter	John Darwin faked his own death in a canoeing accident	Seamus on ket with Mary McAleese (Twitter thread)
2	12/12/2018	GP-OH My God who is SHE	Samantha Azzopardi pays a visit to Ireland. One of many as she scammed her way around the world	An outtake from This is Going to Hurt: Secret Diaries of a Junior Doctor. Woman eats placenta (or blood clots)
3	12/12/2018	A Tale Too Tragic	Tania Head, woman who claimed to be a survivor of the attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11	The Juggalos (Insane Clown Posse) Christians in disguise	Reddit Guy meets the Devil. Black Mercedes	Cassie reveals she used to be Born Again Christian. Jen's personal Angel, Happy Acres
4	11/01/2019	The American Dream or The American Peen		What Ever Happened To: Lorena and John Wayne Bobbit. (Wife cuts off husband's dick after he raped her)	Swiss cheese Pervert. Man would like a cheesey wank
5	11/01/2019	11 Lies and Counting		Warrior Eli. Epic catfish story of a supermom who turned out to be teenager, Emily Dear	Sinead O'Connor and Prince had a pillow fight. Prince takes it too far	Jen first reveals she was a catfish/troll
6	11/01/2019	A 17 Year Old Mystery Solved by Sleuths	Mystery of Lyle Stevik's suicide solved by DNA Doe Testing	Ray's Death Documentary (admission of murder). Lady of the Dunes
7	25/01/2019	A Story Blown Wildy Out of Proportion	Jimi Heselden segways into the afterlife. Rebba Burger maimed and killed from a whipped cream thing	Lambo. Weird radio book review, hosted by Gay Byrne in which Gery Ryan allegedly kills a lamb	A man fashions a flying saucer with helium balloons and sends his son flying off for attention
8	01/02/2019	An Unholy Hypocrite, The Dungarvan Angel of Death Travis the Troubled Teen	David Matheson, former gay conversion therapist, comes out as gay	Fr Michael Kennedy fakes an AIDS epidemic in Waterford. Gets the attention of Princess Diana	Travis, the chimp and Creep Dive mascot (a classic!)
9	09/02/2019	The Greatest Writer that Never Was	James Frey, A Million Little Pieces (fake memoir)	Story of JT LeRoy (racoon penis)			Dan Mallory (fake memoir)
10	15/02/2019	The Randy Mr. Hands		How Joe Manuella Found Love, Robert De Niro impersonator	Mr. Hands! Guy gets killed from bottoming a horse	Ellen Coyne and Cassie become friends via Twitter
11	22/02/2019	The Curious Case of Crack Addict Jimmy(part 1)	The Girl Who Predicted Her Own Death		Tickling endurance competitions funded my some omnipotent millionaire (who obviously has a fetish)
12	22/02/2019	The Curious Case of Crack Addict Jimmy (part 2)		That time the Washington Post had a Pulitzer briefly. Janet Cooke and the 8 year old heroin addict
13	01/03/2019	The Fine Line Between Exoneration and Execution	The story of Cameron Todd Willingham (a innocent man sentenced to death)		Pissing and menstrating in the Stuart era (not Victorian, Jen)
14	08/03/2019	The MSN Murder Mystery	Momo: Online Suicide Game	MSN Murder. Girl kill herself after online bullying, turns out to be a neighbourhood mom			Elizabeth and Theranos
15	15/03/2019	Who Let the Cat Out	The Noid, the Domino's mascot that led to a murder	Mary Bale: Cat in the Wheelie Bin	Topsy the Elephant: Tesla vs Edison
16	22/03/2019	Oyster Man, A Salacious Sausage Fest and A Con Confidence (Creep Live #1)	Nicholas Barclay AKA Frédéric Bourdin (missing child imposter)	Armin Meiwes, German cannibal	Oyster Man (Dublin creep!)
17	01/04/2019	A Haunted Hormonal Teen, A Slender Bender, A Mother Love to Death (Creep Live #2)	Dee Dee Blanchard murder by her daughter, seemingly incapacitated, Gypsy Rose.	Enfield Haunting, poltergeist in a North London council house	Slenderman possee
18	05/04/2019	Who is Timmothy Pitzen??	Disappearance and reappearance (???) of Timmoth Pitzen	Christine Chubbuck, suicide on live TV	Ford has a horn for Edison
19	12/04/2019	The Beautiful Lie	Florida Man, pancake guy	Belle Gibson, noted scammer	Coco the Gorilla: artist, photographer and communicator
20	21/04/2019	There's a Catfish in the Water	Lincoln Lewis catfish, Lydia Abdelmalek	The most awkward book club of all time	Girl with no vainga gets impreganted from a knife
21	27/04/2019	A Sasquatch, A Tinder Date With a Cannibal and The Life and Ruin of Anna Nicole Smith		The Anna Nicole Smith Story	Sasquatch Origin Story
22	04/05/2019	Friends From The College Cult	Larry Ray: Creepy Dad Cult	Whatever Happened to Baby Tyler?
23	11/05/2019	A Love As Deep As The Sea, A Shared Twinsanity and Better The Catfish You Know?	Sabina & Ursula: Murderous Swedish Twins	Suicide of Megan Meier	Some people really love dolphins
24	18/05/2019	The Cat’s Out of The Bag for The Internet’s Maddest Man	A Catfish Love Triangle (that ends in murder)	The Luka Magnotta Story			Jeremy Kyle
25	27/05/2019	The Secret Russian ‘Super Army’ and A Fertility Doctor Who Took Things Into His Own Hands	Dr. Cline, fertility doctor who takes matters into his own hands		Russian science experiment to create super humans (humanzee)	Belle Gibson update (ep. 19)
26	01/06/2019	Larry and The Lawnchair of Dreams		The eponymous Larry, an instant classic creep (that is not creepy at all)			Moby
27	07/06/2019	The World’s Worst Baby Snatcher and The Ill-Prepared Cannibal		Another Catfish Love Triangle and Baby Heist	Isa Sagawa: A Cannibal in Paris
28	15/06/2019	Why You Should Never Let Granny Do The Ouija Board	Story of Anna Delvy, epic swindler	Ouija Board Murder	Whale dick tentacle and the guy who honours a dead murderer (Twitter Thread)
29	21/06/2019	A Dead Man, A Cipher, a Mystery	Somerton Man: Mystery Australian Man and an Undeciphered Code	Ariel Castro kidnappings	Delivery Man Haunts Cabin		Groom kids on brides dress
30	28/06/2019	It’s Never Plain Sailing	The Disappearance of Brian Swanson (into another dimension?) #blueball	A shark buffet	Juliane Koepcke, the sole survivor of a plane crash that left her stranded in the Amazon Rainforest		Boris Johnson
31	07/07/2019	The Lost Family, The Last Eunuch and the Lust for the High Life	Tromp Family Road Trip. Australian family collectively lose their mind	A Philanthropic Couple with a Secret in the Attic	Sun Yaoting; the last Eunuch of China.
32	11/07/2019	A Trio of Clones, Coercion and Courtship	A shitty first-date	The McDonald's-Nude Heist	The phenomenon of a group of self cloning crayfish
33	19/07/2019	Brain-Eating Zombies, The Boy Who Tried to Blow Up Bjork and a Beary Bad Idea	Story of Björk's would-be assassin	Timothy Treadwell: Bear Enthusiast	Furries and Brain eating zombie fungus		Grunting man in a gimp suit
34	27/07/2019	A Priceless Love Affair and Something of a Pickle	Debbie Montgomery Johnson get defrauded millions in an online dating scam	Peeing and pooping in space. Creepy nudes escalates quick (to murder)
35	04/08/2019	Jen’s Solo Ghost Story			the tale of Dear David, a creepy child ghost who has been haunting the hallways of illustrator Adam Ellis		Horse Girl
36	11/08/2019	When a Dream Life Turns Into a Weird and Creepy Nightmare	Dream House goes sour with letters from an ominous writer called, The Watcher	Mystery Stripper	Jen has the inside scoop on Area 51	Scout's arrival! Woof	Canadian Serial Killers
37	18/08/2019	The Hero Who Didn't Know His Name and a Real Life Dr. WHO??			Story of Jean-Claude Romand: Murderer and Imposter	Creep Dine With Me: Megan and Hazel. The story of Steven Stayner
38	01/09/2019	Don't Bookmark Your Murder Tips and a Real Life Mission Impossible	How to not get away with murder (Daniel Brophy)	Personal creep with creepy neighbour and a never ending gift exchange	A missionary who get murdered by the Sentinelese
39	09/09/2019	A Twist in The Tale, The Devil Down Under and A Wild Slide	A Catfish With a Happy Ending	Mysterious Death of Phoebe Handsjuk	Deal the Devil Downunder,Story of Michael Atkins and Matthew Leveson
40	13/09/2019	Move Over Travis, There’s a Bad Badger in Town and The Sad Tale of The Sorry Cannibals	Caroline Calloway content!	Alive: The reluctant cannibals	The antics of Stoffel the honey badger
41	20/09/2019	British Fairies, Irish Con Artists and Asian Angels	Cassie's Personal Creep and Misadventure in Berlin (featuring Moe)	An Irish Kidnapping	The Cottingley Fairy Hoax
42	28/09/2019	When a loving Christian family inadvertently adopt a 22 year old sociopath with violent tendencies	The tale of Natalia Grace, a Ukrainian Orphan with dwarfism #childdeception	Helen Bailey: Author who penned her own death	Jacob Barnett, Child Prodigy
43	06/10/2019	The Girl...Who Laughed...As A Man Got Sewn Into The Body of a Horse	Story of Nathan Carman and a Sunken Boat	A Runaway Bride	Countess Elizabeth Báthory, World worst female serial killer?		Carl Beach, Richard Madely
44	15/10/2019	What Happens When You Exorcise a Mild Mannered Michael? (Creep Live #3)	Ireland's Own Bermuda Triangle	An exorcism gone wrong	Goose on the Loose! A goose named Andy
45	21/10/2019	A Guest Ghost Story and The Haunted Spots of Dublin	Dutch Family in a Basement (and assorted ghost stories)			Creep Dine With Me: Fainche. A Dublin 8 Haunting
46	26/10/2019	The Tragedy of the Triplets		A tragic tale of triplets and a social experiment	Haunted Nazi Dummy
47	31/10/2019	A Catfish Convict, Dawn of The Ed and a Goat Gets Giddy for Piss - It’s our Halloween Spooktacular!	Rape Ads, Fake Sonograms, and a Catfisher’s Web of Lies	Ed Gein, his mother and the inspiration for Psycho	A goat with a penchant for piss (human piss)
48	12/11/2019	An Amuse Bouche of Creep Catch Ups AND The Human Baby Zoo	Update on Belle Gibson (ep. 19)	Canadian Quintuplets (Human Baby Zoo)	Update on Ukrainian Orphan (ep. 42)		T.I. (obsessed with daughter's hymen)
49	17/11/2019	The Greatest No-Show-Man and the Mighty Meaty Murderer		Threatin, metal band on world tour (with no audience but great hair)	Joe Metheny: a mighty meaty murder #serialkiller		Donegal Creeps caught climbing a hospital to ouija
50	25/11/2019	Oh No! Where Did Moe Go?			Moe Davis: Another chimp fiasco. Travis 2.0 (ep. 8)
51	03/12/2019	A Haunted Galway Baby, a Mystery Man in Sligo and The Spine Tingling Story of the Sleepless Russians (Creep Live #4)	Peter Bergmann, a mystery man in Sligo reminiscent of Somerton Man (ep. 29) #blueball	Haunted Galway baby #haunted	Russian sleep deprivation experiment (this is pretty harrowing)	Harry meets the Creeps for the first time	Dick Dicker: Unabomber meets Mr. Hands
52	06/12/2019	A Life Heavy on Lies, Light on Lols		Jennifer Pan, a Vietnamese-Canadian teen kills her parents (well one of them)			Dave, the randy duck
53	17/12/2019	The Woman Who Accidentally Solved Her Own Mystery Disappearance	Netty Nance accidently solves her own kidnapping (spoiler: it was her own "mother")	Carlos Mariotti and a novel idea to save his mangled hand (spoiler: it doesn't work)	Public Universal Friend. First recorded case of non-binary person?		Mommy blogger swindles Shauna Sex Síopa!
54	05/01/2020	The Cannibal Cop and A January Assortment of Creeps	Cassie tricks a girl into think she's going to Disney	Gilberto Valle, the cannibal cop, caught via chat room #cannibal	People used to post their kids around!		Jeffrey Epstein. German ladies who set a zoo ablaze and killed 20 primates
55	10/01/2020	Too Many Mothers, Too Much Motherly Love and A Small Town Scandal with Massive Consequences Creep Live #5)	Bobby Dunbar went missing but when he reappeared to mothers came forward to claim	Barbara Daly Baekeland gets murdered (and fucked?) by her son #murder #incest	The mysterious Circleville letters #murder #blueball	Jen gets send a video of a man fucking a chicken	Tiny Indonesian man convicted of the most amount if rapes
56	17/01/2020	Three Cheers for Murder	Dying killing to be popular. Cheer leader murder!	Karla Homolka, Canada's only female serial killer (this was just an off the cuff creep)	One of our very own creepettes has their dog fucked by some local scoundrel :(		Cork Christmas Party Shenanigans!
57	25/01/2020	Your Mother Sucks Creep In Hell		True Stories behind the production of The Exorcist	Jen creeps her own parasite which she definitely didn't get in Centra Parcs		Terry McMahon goes on a tirade by his feminist daughter
58	31/01/2020	You Can't Make A Dick Out Of The American Penal System			Steven Jay Russell, amazing story of the man who escaped from prison multiple times	Andrea Mara; the man who faked his MIL out the car window, armchair sleuths and just how dire your Google search history gets when you kill fictional people for a living	Belle Gibson update! She's Muslim now (ep. 19)
	31/01/2020	The Creep Hive #1		Jen helps her housemate pee in New Zealand	Tampon Girl!!
59	07/02/2020	Who’s side are you on?	Story of Ursula Hermann: the German equivalent of Madeleine McCann. Epic creep	Sophie admits she ate a raw rasher thinking it was parma ham	Some people have non-verbal thought (mini Twitter thread)		Graham Linehan (Glinner)
	07/02/2020	The Creep Hive #2: The Casualties of The Swan		The Sur-jury, The Swan and other horrific reality shows
60	14/02/2020	A Prince and a Perfect Murder		Chris Benoit Canadian wrestler. Double murder suicide		Shawna from Sex Siopa to share a big juicy salacious royal affair.	A lot of creeps reported their mothers fed them raw sausages
	15/02/2020	The Creep Hive #3: Schofe's done a runner	Cassie discusses her sexuality and everyone cries	"Showgirls came out at a very key point in my life"	Phillip Schofield literally does a runner
61	21/02/2020	The world’s most badass backpacker, Ireland’s biggest ever manhunt and hotdog handjobs (Creep Live #6)	Brendan O'Donnell: Ireland's Biggest Manhunt #serialkiller	Kari Ferrell: Hipster Grifter. Gets employed by Vice and exposed	Salt Creek Kidnapping. Backpackers take revenge #violence		All dogs and the Dublin guy faked an abduction of an elderly person
	22/02/2020	The Creep Hive #4: Never trust a Murphy Bed		Dead tired, people who've died in Murphy beds!
62	28/02/2020	And it was all cum and paper mâché (Creep Live #7)	Gerard John: some local prisoners pose as a young woman and blackmail and fragile young man.	Alex Malarkey goes into a coma after a car accident. When he wakes he claims to have met Jesus in Heaven...	Man struggles to keeping his wife suitably embalmed	Jen discusses laying eggs	Katie Hopkins getting the CUNT award
	01/03/2020	The Creep Hive #5: Hope Springs Terminal	Duffy was kidnapped :(	Psychologist hides camera on women with Munchausen	Jen says I brought poppers to a live show but it was Cool Swan. Twitter thread about guys pissing in their mouths	Sarah, the creep transition year student tells us about Hope Ybarra, Munchausen mom	Carlow Judicial System. 73 year old mad jailed for ramming car parked on path
63	07/03/2020	Hike Life Nightmare and The OG Love is Blind		Sun Myung Moon and the Church of Unification. It's the Moonies!	A Russian Misadventure. 9 hikers die mysteriously in the northern Ural mountains		Youtuber faked his girlfriend's death. 21 year old Stephanie impersonates her granny (after she's murdered)
	07/03/2020	The Creep Hive #6: Joint custody	Cassie meets LeBron James	Joint Custody. John Wood mummifies his own leg. The ultimate creep craft.
64	13/03/2020	The OG Disease Spreader: It's Typhoid Mary	Sherry Pie turns out to be a super creep (in a really bad way) and has now caused an editing nightmare for producers.		Typhoid Mary, famed asymptomatic carrier		Putin brings in a new law so he can rule for forever.
	13/03/2020	The Creep Hive #7: CAVERN OF PUSS	Cassie worked in a residential care home. Patient double dosed a suppository which "activated" as Cassie helped her into a wheel chair.		PERI-RECTAL ABSCESS. Arguably one of the most disgusting creeps of all time
65	20/03/2020	A mad story about a mad (cow) disease, a smooth criminal and an underground mission with hilarious consequences	Dan Cooper Hijacked a Boeing 727 aircraft in the northwest of the US; jumps out with thousands of dollars and is never seen again	Mad Cow Disease and Doctor Daniel Carleton Gajdusek who goes to "help" Papua New Guinea and turns out ot be a paedophile	School boys finds a secret warren under their school... A misadventure ensues
	20/03/2020	Creep Live Online #1: A Town of Ticking Teenagers, Serial Turder and Mayhem at The Spa	Mystery illness takes over town in North New York	Sophie's top 3 getting stuck in toilet stories	Woman gets naked and lost in spa
	27/03/2020	Creep Live Online #2: The most haunted creep of the year
66	29/03/2020	Crafting conspiracies, cult clans and the game show killer	Big Crafting is actually a Russian Propaganda Machine	Rodney Alcala serial rapist, killer and gameshow contestant	Taina Licciardo-Toivola: Annoying Aryian Cult family on YouTube
67	07/04/2020	The long (penis) and short (life) of your favourite covid meme and the mighty Michael that would not die	Michael Malloy, the sturdy Irish fella in New York who proved to be un-murderable (well, almost		Wardy Joubert, everyones favourite (well-endowed) naked covid meme (who's dead)	Harry offically appointed alpha creep!
68	12/04/2020	More Tiger King, a YouTube Doll Debacle and Did Sophie Find D.B. Cooper?	Inspired by recent haunted dolls on the hive, Cassie dives into internet sensation, Venus Angelic		The Stars of Tiger King: An Epilogue
69	19/04/2020	Snitches get stitches and when internet comments destroy lives	Would you provide an alibi for a loved one? Trevor Hardy - The Beast of Manchester (and his brother)	The Inception of FaceBook Commentary: tangled history of internet smear campaign	Kelsey Grammar maybe into pegging	"It's very unfortunate for the mens. Their G-spot is up their ass hole and they're just going to have to get over it." -Cassie Delaney	Eamon Holmes (5G) and the gardaí (posting photos of sun bathers)
70	26/04/2020	In The Shadow of the Truth Lies the Statue of Liberty	Bling Water! Your water is dead, you fools	Lisa helps Sophie with a follow up to Molly from Sophie's previous creep	The Mandela Effect. Are we all in hell/purgatory/multiple dimensions/simulated world	This episode has more filler than actual creeps but was no less enjoyable. Sophie, my handle is @Harry_birdboy. Cassie, I'll hug you!	Gemma O'Doherty
71	06/05/2020	Shipman the shit man	Crimes that happen in the virtual world that cross over into reality and suicide pact community killer	Harold Shipman, world's most prolific (and boring) serial killer			Gemma O'Doherty again (but she gets owned by Dublin airport on Twitter)
72	12/05/2020	Beta Theta Pi? More like Beta Theta Die and the Glow Up with Deadly Consequences	Beta Theta Pi, Penn State University. Hazing ends in death :(	Sophie loves horror. Tells the real life story behind Scream. (Impromtu creep!)	Radium Girls!
73	19/05/2020	Walk like a reincarnated Egyptian also that time a squirrel ate some guys nuts	Dorothy Eady, the reincarnation of an Egyptian priestess.Cassie is mean to her mother	Creep Confectionary is now a thing. Sophie seeds the idea for a Toast Podcast. Sophie presents a gaggle of gals cat-fishing some terrorists	Man gets balls eaten by squirrels	Jen and Sophie want to host their own Most Haunted. Cassie protests, as usual	Camilla and Prince Charles talk dirty
74	26/05/2020	Don't anger a Karen, canal creeps and the parents who put the kid in kidnapping	Shannon Matthews, Karen Matthews has her own daughter kidnappped while she plays Xbox	Belle Gibson update! She is now Oromo (an Ethiopian ethnic minority). Katherine Knight and her human pelt			Riding in a tent on the canal
75	02/06/2020	Freezin’ people ain’t easy, the genuinely geriatric mother and the biggest creeps of the week ever	The YouTubers that rehomed their son	The oldest woman in the world to give birth (oyster woman). 40 year old stone foetus!	Jen finally gets to tell her cryogenics story. Multple strands		See Cassie
76	09/06/2020	No name, No luggage, No labels, No answers	1.) In a room at the Oslo Plaza Hotel, a young, elegant woman is found dead, with a gun shot wound to the head. Why did she check in under a false name? Why are the labels removed from her clothes? 2) Death in Ice Valley			The gals are reunited!
77	16/06/2020	Guilt or grief? The dark story of Casey Anthony	Via Reddit/Sarah. Creepy MSN guy and possibly related swindler	Casey
78	23/06/2020	Slumber Murders and The OG Moby Dick	Sleep killers		The OG Moby Dick
	25/06/2020	Creep Hive	Sophie's Cock Along!	Denis Nilsen:ScottishSerial Killer (and middle child)

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Going out for dinner—alone. I cannot believe that I turned my jacket into a shirt! I am magic!

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Streak 20: Game: A Story with These Words (And Our Demonym)