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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C04ERH45cSp7ImA9WhFSFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819</id><updated>2013-06-17T05:38:25.029-04:00</updated><category term="Introduction" /><category term="Philosophy" /><category term="Nature" /><category term="A Haunted Soul" /><category term="Strange" /><category term="Horror" /><category term="Fantasy" /><category term="Humor" /><category term="The Evil Hag" /><category term="Demon Hunter" /><category term="Fair" /><title>Rat Tales</title><subtitle type="html">Fast Food For The Mind</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>43</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/RatTales" /><feedburner:info uri="rattales" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>RatTales</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBR3s6fSp7ImA9WhBUEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-8609715119285698331</id><published>2013-04-28T05:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2013-04-28T21:30:56.515-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-04-28T21:30:56.515-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Philosophy" /><title>Angry Hatred</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ac32FXmnUtU/UXnIKJec2yI/AAAAAAAAHHs/7DESHyJyT0E/s1600/IMG_5041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ac32FXmnUtU/UXnIKJec2yI/AAAAAAAAHHs/7DESHyJyT0E/s400/IMG_5041.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Have you ever noticed that people who disagree with you are the stupidest people in existence? I know I've noticed that little oh so obvious fact. Hate is a strong word, but I really like it when it comes in handy. Is it wrong to like hate? I hate people that disagree with me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That level of hate really depends on the level of disagreement. It's very possible to hate someone just a little bit. I know a lot of people like that. And sometimes the hate fades if the disagreement is forgotten. I guess it intermingles with anger, and anger never really lasts for very long. I think it takes too much effort to be angry so we just have to let it go eventually.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyqBRMvwWnE/UXnIiDJCK6I/AAAAAAAAHJM/7kJMtC_mtz0/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyqBRMvwWnE/UXnIiDJCK6I/AAAAAAAAHJM/7kJMtC_mtz0/s400/IMG_5053.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Anger and hate. So why am I focusing on two such negative emotions? I don't know. It's not that I've really had a disagreement with anyone recently. I just thought it was an interesting subject to think about. Most people are afraid to really examine these emotions, mostly because they don't want to admit they have them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I wonder why anger and hate are usually thought of as negative emotions. I'm not so sure they always have to be negative. Is it not okay to be angry at a person for robbing you at gunpoint? Can it be okay to hate a person who willingly and blatantly hurts a child for the sheer pleasure of it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOEYgwrPC6o/UXnIY-nsDhI/AAAAAAAAHIk/JulijVBsytk/s1600/IMG_5048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOEYgwrPC6o/UXnIY-nsDhI/AAAAAAAAHIk/JulijVBsytk/s400/IMG_5048.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
These so called negative emotions can  possibly have a good purpose then. Sometimes they can be a form of  protection, just like fear can be. I won't go into fear this time. Anger quickly informs you that something is very wrong, or someone is. Hate can be a longer term version of that. You can hate the taste of spoiled food, for instance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh sure, they can both be used for the wrong reasons. But what are those wrong reasons? If your anger or hatred is used irrationally, that is a wrong reason. It's really very easy for that to happen in a persons mind. Hate and anger are probably the most dangerous as emotions go. They can be used to make very bad things happen.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That's all I really have to say about that... except... let your hate and anger flow within you. Come to the dark side.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/HOhy7J6af0w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8609715119285698331/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2013/04/angry-hatred.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8609715119285698331?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8609715119285698331?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/HOhy7J6af0w/angry-hatred.html" title="Angry Hatred" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ac32FXmnUtU/UXnIKJec2yI/AAAAAAAAHHs/7DESHyJyT0E/s72-c/IMG_5041.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2013/04/angry-hatred.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IBSH44eSp7ImA9WhJRFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-1628700427344220291</id><published>2012-07-18T23:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-07-18T23:45:59.031-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-07-18T23:45:59.031-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fantasy" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Humor" /><title>Jack And The Magic Stick</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vs6p-baGrGM/UAeAcUL1tgI/AAAAAAAAGxk/cUCxHYUAvoE/s1600/Comedy_and_tragedy_masks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vs6p-baGrGM/UAeAcUL1tgI/AAAAAAAAGxk/cUCxHYUAvoE/s320/Comedy_and_tragedy_masks.png" width="313" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;There was once upon a time&lt;/span&gt; a poor widow who had an only son named Jack, and a cow named Milky. And  all they had to live on was the milk the cow gave every morning, which  they carried to the market and sold. But one morning Milky gave no milk,  and they didn't know what to do.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"What shall we do, what shall we do?" said the widow, wringing her hands.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Cheer up, mother, I'll go and get work somewhere," said Jack.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"We've  tried that before, and nobody would take you," said his mother. "We  must sell Milky and with the money start a shop, or something."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"All right, mother," says Jack. "It's market day today, and I'll soon sell Milky, and then we'll see what we can do."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
So he took the cow's halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn't gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him, "Good morning, Jack."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Good morning to you," said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Well, Jack, and where are you off to?" said the man.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"I'm going to market to sell our cow there."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Oh, you look the proper sort of chap to sell cows," said the man. "I wonder if you know how many beans make five."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Two in each hand and one in your mouth," says Jack, as sharp as a needle.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Right  you are," says the man, "and here they are, the very beans themselves,"  he went on, pulling out of his pocket a number of strange-looking  beans. "As you are so sharp," says he, "I don't mind doing a swap with you -- your cow for these beans."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Go along," says Jack. "Wouldn't you like it?"&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Ah!  You don't know what these beans are," said the man. "If you plant them  overnight, by morning they grow right up to the sky."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Really?" said Jack. "You don't say so."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Yes, that is so. And if it doesn't turn out to be true you can have your cow back."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #9fc5e8;"&gt;
"Right," says Jack, and hands him over Milky's halter and pockets the beans. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
- Jack And The Beanstalk&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This next part is a sequel to this story, written by me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Jack seemed to have some problems with bad trades.&lt;/span&gt;  Later he made some wild claims about a beanstalk and an angry giant, to  justify trading the cow away, but no one believed him. His mother was  pretty angry with him, and ended up having to get another cow. It wasn't  easy, but since she was the hard worker in the family, she found one.  Why she didn't make the trade herself, in the first place, no one knows.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Still  pretty angry with Jack; she put him to work milking the new cow, and  declared he was now, &lt;i&gt;Farmer&lt;/i&gt; Jack. He didn't like this at all, since work  was a dirty word to Jack, so he decided maybe he should make another  trade. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
So it was off to  market again. He took the cow's halter in his hand, and off he started.  He hadn't gone far when, this time, he met a funny-looking old woman,  who said to him, "Good morning, Jack."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"Good morning to you," said Jack slyly, and this time didn't care how she knew his name.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"Well, Jack, and where are you off to?" said the woman.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"As a matter of fact, I was just coming to see &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt;," said Jack.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"No, no, you're supposed to say 'I'm going to market to sell our cow there,' " said the woman.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Jack  looked her square in the eye and said, "Look, I know you want this cow,  and you know you want this cow, so let's cut to the chase. &lt;i&gt;Now&lt;/i&gt; what do  you got for me? More magic beans, a sow's ear, a monkey's paw? Well,  c'mon, what is it?"&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
The woman said, "Huh? Oh yeah, I have this here magic stick..."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"That's all! A magic stick? What, do I look like a fool?" asked Jack, clearly annoyed.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
"Do you want to get rid of that cow or not?" the woman said, herself a little agitated.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Finally Jack said, "Oh, just give it to me!"&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
So they made the trade, and the woman walked away with cow number two.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Jack looked at the stick and figured it wasn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;quite&lt;/span&gt;  time to go home yet. How was he going to explain this one? Last time,  the magic bean thing was a disaster. He &lt;i&gt;had&lt;/i&gt; to come up with something for this stick. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
So he  stood there in the road and started waving the stick around, trying to  think up ideas. He was trying everything. Pretty soon he started doing  some of the most vulgar and appalling things with the stick that any person had ever seen. People going past started  to gawk and stare. Jack was clueless, he had no idea how strange he was  being.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
It got worse! As  he continued, travelers began to stop and watch. One guy threw a shiny  penny on the ground in front of Jack. Finally, he had his idea!&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Jack loudly declared, "I will continue this entertaining exhibition if &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt; people continue to throw money!"&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Later  that evening, Jack went home with a pocket full of cash. His mother saw  the money, and happily concluded that the hard work from before must  have reformed Farmer Jack.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;
Maybe they lived happily ever after, and maybe they didn't.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
- Jack And The Magic Stick&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This  story was inspired by a few true events, and the Jack in my part of the  story was inspired by a real boy. That's all I'll say.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
An  interesting fact is that the name of the author of "Jack and the  Beanstalk" has been lost to time. No one can say who the original author  is, although the story has been rewritten many times.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On the other hand, I am the exclusive author of it's sequel "Jack and the Magic Stick."&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=MJSJuGkB_gk:Ent_A3-5Xyo:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/MJSJuGkB_gk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/1628700427344220291/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/07/jack-and-magic-stick.html#comment-form" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/1628700427344220291?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/1628700427344220291?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/MJSJuGkB_gk/jack-and-magic-stick.html" title="Jack And The Magic Stick" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vs6p-baGrGM/UAeAcUL1tgI/AAAAAAAAGxk/cUCxHYUAvoE/s72-c/Comedy_and_tragedy_masks.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/07/jack-and-magic-stick.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUESHc6eSp7ImA9WhVTE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-36977114632556732</id><published>2012-02-27T04:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-27T04:00:09.911-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-27T04:00:09.911-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>Who Is Ratty?</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4RBT5iGI/AAAAAAAACLQ/ML_VjBsqqQ4/s1600-h/IMG_0105.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560786099669090" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4RBT5iGI/AAAAAAAACLQ/ML_VjBsqqQ4/s320/IMG_0105.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;I have a ghost story for you this time that happens to be true. I've snuck in other true stories on this site before. You'll have to guess which ones they are.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;large&gt;W&lt;/large&gt;ho is Ratty? That is a short but very complex question. Some of you have wondered about it, and some haven't thought about it at all. Most of us use pseudonyms here on the internet. This one is different though. Ratty is a legend. Ratty was a hero. Today I am Ratty, but I'm not the original. Ratty was my uncle, and Ratty was my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I said this was a pseudonym for me, and obviously it wasn't his real name either. I use it here on the internet, the same as any of you use yours. It was his for a much more interesting reason. I didn't just take his name for just any old reason. I did it because I guess I'm also the one who gave it to him. This is going to take some explaining because it's a very different kind of story.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This story starts when I was only a baby. And yes, although it may sound unusual, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; remember back that far. One of my few remaining memories of my favorite uncle was when he used to bring me piles of change. I used to drop the coins down into the cracks of my grandparents' front steps. It was a fun thing for a little kid to do, and he didn't mind at all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q4dTipI/AAAAAAAACLI/CvOCvPzAC6w/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560783723203218" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q4dTipI/AAAAAAAACLI/CvOCvPzAC6w/s320/IMG_0108.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It was around this time that my uncle was drafted into the army, and into one of the worst wars in our country's history. He became a tank driver, which sounds like it would be a pretty safe job in a war, and it was. He used to send me pictures of him standing beside the tank. One of them showed where they had run over a land mine. The explosion created a huge hole in the ground. The tank was mostly undamaged.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One time, when his tank was in for repairs, he volunteered to go on a rescue mission. My grandpa told him never to volunteer for things like that. He did anyway. They went to rescue some wounded soldiers. They were given a kind of truck that was known for not having any protection at all. This time it was the truck that ran over a land mine. My uncle didn't come back alive.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was only a little older than two years old at this time. I didn't understand the concept of death yet, so my mom decided not to take me to the funeral. There also wasn't any real way to tell me about him yet. It was about this time that I received a visit from somebody. It might sound strange, but the visitor was my uncle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu51LVD0sI/AAAAAAAACLY/95tZVod9r50/s1600-h/IMG_0121.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335562506775810754" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu51LVD0sI/AAAAAAAACLY/95tZVod9r50/s320/IMG_0121.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I still remember that day. My mom and I were in the kitchen, and my mom had to go down to the basement for something. The back door was open, but the outside screen door was locked. I watched as my uncle came up the stairs of the back porch to the door. I told him that I would go get my mom for him, but he said not to do it because he was in a hurry, and the one he came to talk to was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't remember much of the conversation anymore, I was only a few years old after all. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; remember that he told me he would be back. My mom came up the stairs soon after he left. After she asked me who I was talking to, I told her it was my uncle. He was her younger brother.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
To this day, my mom tells me she heard me talking to somebody up there. She had her hands full, and was frantically trying to get upstairs. Even back then, kids shouldn't talk to strangers. I knew that very well, but he was not a stranger. My mom knew I was telling the truth as I saw it, and that I must have known who I was talking to. Besides, there was nobody there anymore, not even outside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q3KfUPI/AAAAAAAACLA/e3wB_mIC65Y/s1600-h/IMG_0058.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560783375847666" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q3KfUPI/AAAAAAAACLA/e3wB_mIC65Y/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Shortly after this happened I made a new friend. He was a kid that was a little older than me. He told me his name was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ratty&lt;/span&gt;. I knew him for a long time, and we played together the way little kids do. There was one time where I was teasing my new little brother with a worm, and Ratty took it from me and covered it up so my brother wouldn't be afraid anymore. I learned a new lesson.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This whole time, my parents just assumed that I had an imaginary friend. Lots of little kids have them at some point. At the same time all of this was happening, my grandma had the idea to put pictures of each family member on one of her living room walls. For my uncle, she used an old picture from when he was a little kid.  It had been packed away for several years, and nobody had seen it in all that time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When we went to visit my grandparents, I immediately noticed that picture. I identified it as my best friend Ratty. I was much too young to have ever seen this picture before. Nobody else knew what to think of this, but they most likely dismissed it as the imagination of a small child. Wouldn't you?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Qhw7pMI/AAAAAAAACK4/ICG1brK_T0o/s1600-h/IMG_0092.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560777631507650" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Qhw7pMI/AAAAAAAACK4/ICG1brK_T0o/s320/IMG_0092.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I continued to play with my friend, but through the years his visits became less and less frequent. They finally stopped shortly before I started school. He still occasionally visited me in my dreams, but it just wasn't the same.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Was this all only the imagination of a child? Or was it something much more special? I don't have that answer for you because I simply don't know. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; know that it was all real to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;, and I still remember everything, including his face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, who is Ratty? That was Ratty. I use this name to honor my uncle, and my best friend. Thanks Ratty. I'll never forget.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=bzLz-aOW9Ag:XY0e578O8AY:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/bzLz-aOW9Ag" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/36977114632556732/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/02/who-is-ratty.html#comment-form" title="21 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/36977114632556732?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/36977114632556732?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/bzLz-aOW9Ag/who-is-ratty.html" title="Who Is Ratty?" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4RBT5iGI/AAAAAAAACLQ/ML_VjBsqqQ4/s72-c/IMG_0105.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>21</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/02/who-is-ratty.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEFQ3s4eCp7ImA9WhRaEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-5057188333235759634</id><published>2012-02-13T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-13T04:00:12.530-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-13T04:00:12.530-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><title>The Maggot Man</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s1600/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s1600/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The little boy woke in the middle of the night to a strange sound in the room. His family was staying in this small house in the woods for their vacation. There was only one bedroom, but the living room was very big. The boy was sleeping on one couch and his older sister was sleeping on the other across the room. It wasn't too bad; the couches were actually almost as comfortable as their beds, and sleeping on them made it seem like they were on a little adventure.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even so, this was still a strange place for the little boy, and this quiet house out in the woods was far away from the comfort of his own familiar bedroom. He wasn't really very afraid. And as his parents had explained, this house was far out in the woods, so the only thing  they'd come across around here would be deer or squirrels. But it didn't hurt to take precautions, so he kept his eyes shut for a few seconds and waited to hear the strange sound again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then after a few seconds he heard it again! It was the quiet creak of the floorboards. A third person must be in the room with the boy and his sister. All sorts of strange ideas ran through the boy's mind until he came to the logical conclusion that it was probably just one of his parents. That's when the boy decided to finally open his eyes and end the suspense.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What the little boy saw in the dark room didn't look at all like one of his parents. It was the figure of a man in a dark trench coat leaning over his sister who was sound asleep on the other couch! The man wasn't wearing a hat and his head was completely bald. His skin was so white that it seemed to glisten in the dark. It wasn't a good color though. That pale skin made the boy think of the color of maggots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Startled by the sickening thought of the man's odd appearance, the boy gave an involuntary shudder that made the couch springs creak ever so slightly. Reacting to the sound, the man slowly turned his head around towards the direction of the frightened boy. As his face slowly came into view, the boy saw that the man's ears looked as if they were smoothly pressed right up against the sides of his head. All the boy could see of the man's very flat nose were the two nostril holes. Strangely,  the man had a wide grin on his face. The grin didn't necessarily seem cruel, but it also didn't seem kind either. It was just fixed on the man's face as if it was the permanent shape of his mouth.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The terrified little boy was now hoping with all his heart that this was only a dream! Without any further delay, the boy quickly pulled the covers over his head, hoping the strange maggot man would go away. As the boy lie there cowering in terror under his blanket, he heard footsteps coming across the room towards him. But then for some odd reason they suddenly stopped about halfway, and there was only silence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After what seemed like an eternity, the boy decided that the man must be gone, so he slowly pulled back the blanket to see that there was now daylight filtering in through the windows. He slowly looked around the room and saw that it was now empty except for him and his sister. The boy quickly jumped up off the couch and ran to his parents' room to tell them what happened. After talking to him for awhile and assuring him that they would investigate this event, the boy's mom and dad tried to convince him that it was almost certainly just a dream. The boy finally agreed to consider that conclusion.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The boy never saw the strange maggot man again, but he always felt that it all seemed too real to have been only a dream. But if it was real, then who was that strange man? More importantly, &lt;i&gt;what&lt;/i&gt; was he? Was he trying to harm the boy's sister in some way? His sister claimed to have never seen him. Did the strange man leave because the boy had seen him? The boy wondered what might have happened if he hadn't woken up and seen the maggot man. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And so for many years the boy couldn't help but wonder why they were visited by the strange maggot man.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=YHbyG8zXY94:8sX04gughdY:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/YHbyG8zXY94" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5057188333235759634/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/02/maggot-man.html#comment-form" title="17 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5057188333235759634?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5057188333235759634?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/YHbyG8zXY94/maggot-man.html" title="The Maggot Man" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s72-c/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>17</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/02/maggot-man.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4AQ3g9eSp7ImA9WhRbEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-9011152947210777614</id><published>2012-01-30T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-03T01:02:22.661-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-03T01:02:22.661-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>David</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M4CJUgbmLDk/Tu_q7C10cNI/AAAAAAAAGNM/ZIRD5c83B9A/s1600/Evening_20111218_003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M4CJUgbmLDk/Tu_q7C10cNI/AAAAAAAAGNM/ZIRD5c83B9A/s400/Evening_20111218_003.JPG" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #990000;"&gt;
“May you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home.” - Robert Jordan&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He had just come home from the doctor. He had been hoping for good news, but instead he was told he had two months to live. He had been sick for a long time. The cancer had struck fast and spread throughout his body like an invading army. Even the chemotherapy failed to slow it down. It had only made him feel and look much sicker.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The chemotherapy was supposed to make him better, he thought bitterly. But all it had done was weaken him and put him in&amp;nbsp; more pain. His hands and feet were now numb and in constant pain from the damage those treatments had done. And now he was convinced that it was all for nothing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Before his trip to the doctor, he had felt a little bit better. He was too weak to walk much on his own, but he thought he had more energy lately. He was getting back out a little more, and some of his enthusiasm for life had returned. But now it was all over. His hope had left him when that doctor told him how little time he had left. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He kept thinking that there was still so much he had to do. Who would take care of his family after he was gone? He had so many plans that he now knew he would never get to fulfill. It just wasn't fair that this was happening to him! He didn't even consider himself to be that old yet!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe the doctors were wrong! He hoped that maybe he could stretch his life out an extra month. It wouldn't be enough, but it was better than the awful death sentence he was handed. That's it. That's what he would do. By the shear force of willpower he would stretch his life out to three months. Then maybe, just maybe he would be able to take care of everything that needed doing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But there was something wrong. He was beginning to forget things. Some of the simplest things he had always been able to do now seemed hard. Did that little dog he was seeing belong to him? He liked dogs. Oh yeah, that was his dog. He wished he could remember its name. He was tired. He needed to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he woke up the next day, something was very wrong. He was trapped in this place and he needed to get out! His feet were cold, but every time he put on his socks they would disappear! He tried to tell his family to help him, but they only looked at him strangely. And the things they said to him weren't making any sense! He really needed to get out of here! Why was everything so strange now? It felt as if he was trapped in a bad dream!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The only thing he could remember was that he was sick, so very sick. He felt cold and he hurt all over. The pain had become unbearable, but nobody seemed to understand when he tried to tell them. Even though he told them he didn't want it, somebody gave him some medicine to make him sleep. He didn't want to sleep; he only wanted to get out of here!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he lie there in his bed, his older sister came to him. It was the strangest thing because he remembered that his sister had died several years ago, not long before his mother also passed on. "Are you ready to go now, David," she asked him. He told her no, he didn't want to go. He didn't want to die! There was still so much left to do! And he was afraid. He didn't know what would happen if he died.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He began to panic, and he called out for somebody to help him. His son quickly appeared at his side and talked to him for a few minutes and adjusted his covers. He was glad to see him, and he told him so. Seeing his son meant everything was still okay. But he was still in so much pain! He fell back into a fitful sleep.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The pain was becoming worse, and he tried to call out to ask anyone to help him. He was thrashing around in his bed weakly, and still the pain was there. He just wanted the pain to go away! He could feel the passage of time, and he knew morning was approaching. Why did he hurt so much!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And then he looked up to see another person at his bedside. It was his mother! He was so happy to see her that he forgot all about the pain. His mom looked down at him with a loving smile and said, "Davey, it's time to go now." And at once he knew it was true, and it was okay. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He sat up and his mother hugged him. The pain was gone, and he wasn't afraid anymore. He knew that his problems here no longer mattered and that  everything would be alright. His mom had come to take him home and take  care of him. And with those thoughts, he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=wQv2965Nk_g:GXurOxSeNN4:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/wQv2965Nk_g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/9011152947210777614/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/david.html#comment-form" title="14 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/9011152947210777614?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/9011152947210777614?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/wQv2965Nk_g/david.html" title="David" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M4CJUgbmLDk/Tu_q7C10cNI/AAAAAAAAGNM/ZIRD5c83B9A/s72-c/Evening_20111218_003.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>14</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/david.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMESH8_fip7ImA9WhRVF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-669250440344168840</id><published>2012-01-16T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T04:00:09.146-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-16T04:00:09.146-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Philosophy" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>What If We're Wrong?</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/roberthensley/4857318051/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Starry Sky over Palo Duro Canyon by r w h, on Flickr"&gt;&lt;img alt="Starry Sky over Palo Duro Canyon" height="291" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4094/4857318051_9c60a679c0_z.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
And now for something really different. This post will not be another fictional tale, even though they have been amazingly good thus far. What I will bring you this time is a strange thought that came to me one night as I looked up at the starry sky. I wondered if there might be something looking back down at me, and what might that something be...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We as humans think of ourselves as the top of the food chain. We are the ultimate animal, the supreme intelligence on our planet. All other animals are in some way inferior to us. All evolution has led to us as the greatest finished product. That's exactly what most of us think. But what if we're wrong?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Have you ever watched an ant? Ants are amazing little creatures. They are much more resourceful than we think an insect would be. Ants can work together in amazing ways. Did you know they actually raise their own version of livestock?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is a kind of aphid that ants keep in the same way we keep cows. The ants feed and milk the aphids, and they keep careful watch over them. The aphids react to the ants in much the same way a cow would react to a farmer. They know what the ants want them for, and they know the ants take care of them. These two kinds of insects work together as master and servant in a symbiotic way.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are so many things we may notice while watching a colony of ants. But while you are watching the ants, do you ever wonder if the ants notice you there? Some obviously do. But do they take real notice of you if you aren't threatening them? You as a single being may notice the ants, but are there single ants that look up and think, "Hey, look at that human!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe we humans are just too big and strange for an individual ant to notice or even understand the concept of our existence. If we stomp an ant hill, do the ants think a human attacked them, or do they consider it to be a natural disaster? Maybe some of them actually have noticed that a human has caused their disaster.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So what do we think when there is a huge natural disaster? Some of us consider it to be a natural occurrence. There are some that claim certain natural disasters to be acts of God or even the devil. So they claim it's the fault of a kind of higher being. Is that different than the possible thoughts of an ant?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Before I go on, I want to say that this isn't about whether God exists or not. Only God is qualified to answer that one. What I'm really asking is, what if there are other creatures that are higher than us? If so, do they see us as we see ants? Maybe most of us never know they are there. Maybe the few of us who have noticed them thought they were seeing God or a devil.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We as humans think we have the answers to everything. We think that one day we will be able to unlock the secrets of the universe. Are those assumptions correct? We may never know. At one time, humans thought that putting leaches on sick people could cure them. Now we know that those assumptions weren't exactly correct. What kinds of things do we assume now that may not be quite right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Scientists say that the universe is ever expanding. So does that mean it has a definite size? A size means that there would have to be an end. If so, then what is beyond that end? And what is beyond the outside of the universe?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or maybe the universe goes on forever. That seems like an easy answer. Think about an infinite universe for a moment. It just doesn't seem possible if you really think hard. It has to stop somewhere, doesn't it? Maybe the nature of the universe is just beyond our comprehension. That means we don't know everything, and we may not be capable of knowing everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So does all of this mean that there are higher beings than us? No. Is there any evidence of the existence if something higher than us? Maybe. Maybe we see such higher beings quite often but we just don't have the intelligence to understand what we are seeing. So some of the more observant among us try to come up with theories about these beings. Spacemen, ghosts, fairies, gods, demons, giants, or many other strange concepts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are all only questions. I don't claim to have any answers, only more questions. Do you have your own opinion on these strange things I've asked here? If so, then share it with me. Maybe you have an insight nobody else has considered. Maybe you have more interesting questions. And let me know if you like this strange post. I know this post wasn't another fiction story, but it might be a perfect fit here on Rat Tales. Where else?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LepGMG-3IUw:ZSuC3d9X5L8:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/LepGMG-3IUw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/669250440344168840/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/what-if-were-wrong.html#comment-form" title="16 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/669250440344168840?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/669250440344168840?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/LepGMG-3IUw/what-if-were-wrong.html" title="What If We're Wrong?" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><thr:total>16</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/what-if-were-wrong.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAMSXkzcSp7ImA9WhRVEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-4811065416325042014</id><published>2012-01-02T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T23:39:48.789-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T23:39:48.789-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>Dance, Monkey!</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Fair&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 5&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Topengmonyet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="By Hariadhi (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons"&gt;&lt;img alt="Topengmonyet" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1b/Topengmonyet.jpg/500px-Topengmonyet.jpg" width="460" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Trapped! No matter what Eric did, he couldn't remove the collar from around his neck. There was also a chain that extended from the collar to Professor Moltavio's wagon. Worst of all, it seemed that the evil professor had somehow turned Eric into a monkey! He knew there would be dangers in the city, but he never imagined that things would be this bad!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You can't keep me here like this! I demand you let me out of this collar and change me back to myself, Professor," exclaimed Eric.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The Organ Grinder looked down at Eric with an evil grin on his face and said mockingly, "Oh, but I can. There is no one who will stop me; not even your stupid friends. Who would believe a lowly monkey over me when you try to tell them your story? And don't try to run away, because I have &lt;i&gt;this&lt;/i&gt;..." The professor then pulled a little black box with a red button out of his pocket.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then the Organ Grinder's eyes slowly widened as he exclaimed with a snarl, "You are wearing a shock collar! If I push this button, or if you try to go too far away, the collar will give you a zap of searing pain!" The evil Organ Grinder then lifted up his thumb in a slow and obvious fashion and plunged it down on the red button! A jolt of agony slammed into Eric, and he fell to the ground writhing in agony!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Now," the professor slowly said, "when I begin playing my organ grinder, your job is to dance around foolishly and collect money from my adoring audience. As long as you do as you're told, I won't press this button. If I have to press the button in front of anybody, it will just look like part of the act." With that, the evil Organ Grinder gave the button a quick push that sent another jolt through the collar!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a few moments Professor Moltavio began to turn the crank of the organ grinder, and the most awful sounding music Eric had ever heard began pouring out of the gaudy box. Then the evil Organ Grinder looked at Eric and said, "Dance, monkey!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric didn't want another painful jolt through the collar, so he began to lift his feet up and down in what he hoped would pass for a monkey dance. It seemed to work because random people began to pause and stare at the funny little monkey.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For reasons Eric couldn't understand at all, a crowd began to form around them. Random people began throwing coins near him, and the Organ Grinder urged him to pick them up. When his little basket was filled, he would take the coins to the Organ Grinder. Then poor Eric recognized one of the coin throwers. It was Will! Eric hoped Will would recognize him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Will," he called as he danced on. "It's me, Eric! Save me! The Organ Grinder turned me into a monkey, and he has enslaved me! Please, help me!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Will looked a little closer at him, and exclaimed, "Ha! It's you! How could you let yourself be tricked like this, you idiot! I'd never let anyone put one over on me like that! You deserve what you get!" With the hand that wasn't holding on to his flute, he tossed a few coins in Eric's direction and said, "Now dance, monkey!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The rotten Organ Grinder gave the monkey a warning look, so the monkey had no choice but to continue his little monkey dance. It seemed as if hours had passed when another of his friends showed up. It was Riley, drinking a cup of lemonade. Eric went to him and pleaded, "Riley, it's me, Eric! Professor Moltavio has turned out to be evil, and he has enslaved me as his dancing monkey! Please save me!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Riley looked at the monkey, and his eyes widened as he said, "Eric? It &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; you!" Then a dullness glazed over Riley's eyes, and he said, "You know, nobody ever helped me before, so I'm not gonna help you." Riley then took another drink of his lemonade, dropped a coin in Eric's basket,&amp;nbsp; and said, "Dance, monkey!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon other musicians began to join the Organ Grinder until they had formed a whole band. The crowd began to clap, and Eric saw his third friend come to the front of the crowd. "Sam," Eric screamed! "Thank god it's you! The other two won't help me, but I know you will! Please help me escape from this enslavement that Professor Moltavio has subjected me to," he said in desperation. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sam looked down at Eric with a startled look on his face. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Eric, get away from me! What would all of these people think if they found out that I know a dirty little monkey!" Then in obvious fashion Sam dropped two coins into Eric's basket, and in a much louder voice Sam said, "Dance monkey!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then a huge painful jolt came through the collar, and Eric went writhing onto the ground! His basket was turned sideways and coins rolled out everywhere! Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw Riley grab a few coins that rolled his way. Something inside Eric's mind snapped and he didn't care so much about the pain anymore. He struggled to his feet and began screaming, "I'm not really a monkey! Somebody help me! Save me from this horrible bondage!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the middle of his mad fit the crowd quieted down to a whisper, and the music came to an abrupt halt. But the monkey was flabbergasted to see that the people weren't looking at him! Every member of the crowd had their back to him, and he heard whispering tones of awe from random people in the crowd, "The Mayor! The Mayor!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The crowd then slowly parted in front of Eric, and a heavy set man in a fancy suit came strolling out of the crowd. As he got close he looked down at Eric and cleared his throat, "Harrumph! What seems to be the problem here? How can I help?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A flood of relief came over Eric, and he poured his story out to the Mayor. A look of anger came over the face of the Mayor, and he slowly gazed over at Professor Moltavio, and then to the crowd of onlookers. Then suddenly his arms shot up and he looked to the sky and yelled in a cheerful boisterous tone, "Dance, Monkey!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A loud cheer burst from the crowd, and the music abruptly resumed its horrible frenzy. Coins were flung at the monkey from what seemed like everywhere, some bouncing painfully off of his head. It all continued that way even as it began to get dark. The monkey noticed that some people were now beginning to build a huge bonfire in the middle of the crowd, and it began to light up the night sky.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The music raged on and the monkey danced. The crowd cheered on and on in an animated frenzy. And as more objects were thrown onto the big bonfire, sparks shot up from it into the night sky. One little spark rose higher and higher as if it was determined to last forever. But the end for most things is inevitable, and the spark began to dim. Just as the little spark finally winked out of existence, a cry could be heard coming up from far below, "It's not fair! IT'S NOT FAIR!!!" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=tCTe6eHzcRk:V-XWXHni1XE:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/tCTe6eHzcRk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4811065416325042014/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/dance-monkey.html#comment-form" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/4811065416325042014?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/4811065416325042014?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/tCTe6eHzcRk/dance-monkey.html" title="Dance, Monkey!" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2012/01/dance-monkey.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8HQX45eyp7ImA9WhRXFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-5475215913147152522</id><published>2011-12-19T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T16:53:50.023-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-22T16:53:50.023-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>Professor Moltavio</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Fair&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 4&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AK6JCv9kV2o/Th-T-EuU0PI/AAAAAAAAF1c/VV6F5PdLyxI/s1600/organ_grinder_460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AK6JCv9kV2o/Th-T-EuU0PI/AAAAAAAAF1c/VV6F5PdLyxI/s1600/organ_grinder_460.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Professor Moltavio didn't look like a very trustworthy person at all. But still, he &lt;i&gt;did&lt;/i&gt; just offer to pay for lemonade for the four young friends, and for only the price of a little help setting up his booth here at the fair. "I have a bad leg, you see? It's just that I have a few heavier items to remove from my wagon, and I need a little help lifting. Normally I would get my monkey to help, but he seems to have run off somewhere," said the mysterious professor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No need for the money, Professor," said Eric. "I'll give you a hand with your unloading. It should only take a few minutes." Then Eric looked away from Professor Moltavio to Riley and said, "You and Sam go get the lemonade while I help the professor. Here's the money. I should be done by the time you get back." Then he looked at Will and said, "Go ahead and practice your flute. This should be easy enough for just me."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Thank you so much! Eric, is it? My wagon is just over there," Professor Moltavio pointed to a wagon about thirty feet away. As they began walking, Professor Moltavio turned to Eric and said, "I don't want to offend, but you know your friend got cheated on that flute, don't you? I overheard what he paid for it, and it's only worth a fraction of that price, and it has no magic in it at all."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Yeah, I know," Eric replied. "Just don't tell him that. This happens to him sometimes, but nobody can tell him the truth because he'd only get angry. He'll figure it out eventually. At least he can't do it again because he already spent almost all of his money."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When they got to the wagon the professor reached into the back and began pulling things out and handing them to Eric. It seemed like a lot of stuff for someone who seemed like nothing more than a street performer. "So," Eric said, "what exactly &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; an organ grinder, Professor?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Professor Moltavio stopped as if he had just been slapped. He looked at the boy in exaggerated surprise, and exclaimed, "My boy! An Organ Grinder is me! I am an Organ Grinder, and I play an instrument known as an organ grinder! But you probably would like to know about the instrument. An organ grinder is this instrument that I am now holding! It looks like just a decorative box with a crank on the side. But when I turn this crank, beautiful music comes out! Oh, some people complain and call it noise, but it really is extraordinary music. While I am playing, my monkey dances around and collects money for me from my adoring audience."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The professor then handed the box to Eric and asked him to put it on the small table they had set up. Then they resumed unloading the wagon. Item after item was removed and set upon the ground near the table. Then as Professor Moltavio was handing Eric a big picture frame without a picture in it, Eric asked, "Professor, where is your monkey? Will he come back?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The professor looked up as if he had been distracted, and said, "Huh? Oh, the monkey! Why, there is his, my boy! Take a look through the picture frame!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric looked through the picture frame, and, sure enough, there was a monkey standing there staring back at him. The monkey had an oddly curious look on its face. As Eric watched the monkey, he noticed that it still stared back. It was the odd expression on the monkey's face that made Eric say to the professor, "I think there may be something wrong with him, professor. He looks kind of..."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just then Eric felt something tighten around his neck! He dropped the picture frame and reached up to feel a studded collar around his neck! Professor Moltavio looked at him and said viciously, "There is not a thing wrong with you, monkey! It is a mirror you were holding!" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/6jZiHbC6N7Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5475215913147152522/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/12/professor-moltavio.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5475215913147152522?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5475215913147152522?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/6jZiHbC6N7Y/professor-moltavio.html" title="Professor Moltavio" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AK6JCv9kV2o/Th-T-EuU0PI/AAAAAAAAF1c/VV6F5PdLyxI/s72-c/organ_grinder_460.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/12/professor-moltavio.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EFQ3o9cSp7ImA9WhRQEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-5474397118900324749</id><published>2011-12-05T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-05T04:00:12.469-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-05T04:00:12.469-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>Meeting A Stranger</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Fair&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 3&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AUCtOSLjzek/Th6S_yYS0AI/AAAAAAAAF1Y/omC77VABPxc/s1600/At+The+Carnival.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AUCtOSLjzek/Th6S_yYS0AI/AAAAAAAAF1Y/omC77VABPxc/s1600/At+The+Carnival.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The four young friends were having a wonderful time at the fair. Now on their lunch break, they had to decide what they were going to do next. Sam was the one who came up with a plan they could use for the time being. "Why don't we stay right here at this table for just a short while longer? I'm kind of tired. We could begin again when the crowd thins out just a bit. Is that okay?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But Will, with a funny little glint in his eye, looked at the others and said, "I saw something back there that I think I might want. I think it just might be exactly what I was looking for. I want to go back and get it, and then I'll come right back here." With that, Will got up from the table and soon disappeared into the crowd. Eric wondered what kind of bad deal Will was getting himself into now. But he didn't say anything because he knew there was no talking him out of it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Riley was looking around anxiously as if a meteorite might drop on their very spot at any minute. "You know," he said, "I'm not really in the mood to sit around right now either. There are a couple of games I want to play. Why don't you guys go ahead and rest, and I'll come back as soon as I'm done. Then we can all have time to decide where to go next."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All this time Eric never said a word. He decided that maybe it was best if someone stayed to keep Sam company. And since he now found himself to be that person by default, he decided to make the best of it.  He was a little tired himself, so it was probably all for the best. Soon Eric and Sam were deep into conversation about what direction they all might go when the other two got back. There were plenty of other wonders to see. There were some great rides and games. There was the fortune teller or the magician. And there were all sorts of other performers and sights to see.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was a whole hour before Will came back. "Look what I got," he excitedly exclaimed. "This flute is magic! The guy told me so himself! If you play the right tune, you'll make all the money you could ever want!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"How much did it cost," asked Eric&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I completely cheated him," said Will in a bragging tone. "It cost almost everything I had, but this little flute is clearly worth a whole lot more! The guy had no idea who he was dealing with! After I figure out the right magic tune, then I'll make enough money to buy this whole town! Just you wait!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You mean he didn't tell you how to make it work," asked Eric in a mildly shocked tone.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Will looked at Eric as if he were a bug, and said haughtily, "The guy told me that every man has to figure out the right magic tune for himself. It's different for everyone. He told me it wasn't that hard, and once I get it I'll be making money hand over fist."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric decided to change the subject because he had just then noticed that Riley was coming up the street looking happy as ever. "Here comes Riley. Now we can all decide what we're going to do next."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Riley walked over to the other three boys, and the first thing he said was, "Phew! I sure am tired. Let's take a break for just a little while. And it's getting pretty hot out here too. I think I need something to drink, maybe some lemonade. Hey, Eric, I'm running a little short on cash. Can I borrow a little bit?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric shook his head, but then reached into his pocket before saying, "Here. Why don't you get some lemonade for all of us. I'm buying." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Alright," said Riley. "Now who's going to come and help me? Sam, what about you?" He didn't ask Will because Will was engrossed in that strange looking flute of his. And Sam was usually eager to help whenever someone asked. Just as they were getting ready to leave there was an interruption.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Allow me to introduce myself," exclaimed a greasy looking man that had just appeared before the four of them. He had slicked back black hair and a handlebar moustache. His clothing was colorful in a bad sort of way. He was thin, but he didn't look like he had ever missed any meals. He also had a sly grin on his face, and he looked at the four as if he had found fresh meat. "My name is Professor Moltavio, Organ Grinder extraordinaire! I would be happy to pay for your lemonade if one of you would so kindly help me set up my humble little booth."&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=s3mgZ5pO5RE:5US-rWfVFF4:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/s3mgZ5pO5RE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5474397118900324749/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/12/meeting-stranger.html#comment-form" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5474397118900324749?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5474397118900324749?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/s3mgZ5pO5RE/meeting-stranger.html" title="Meeting A Stranger" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AUCtOSLjzek/Th6S_yYS0AI/AAAAAAAAF1Y/omC77VABPxc/s72-c/At+The+Carnival.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/12/meeting-stranger.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AFQX05fCp7ImA9WhRSGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-8251698858220898413</id><published>2011-11-21T04:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-21T12:15:10.324-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-21T12:15:10.324-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>At The Fair</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Fair&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 2&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SzQ34w33YJI/Th-heoqr6EI/AAAAAAAAF1g/8XfLh-hHEA0/s1600/Carnival_Scene_460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SzQ34w33YJI/Th-heoqr6EI/AAAAAAAAF1g/8XfLh-hHEA0/s1600/Carnival_Scene_460.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The four young men were finally in the city for the first time ever! The sights and sounds of the summer fair were all around them. The four friends were having trouble deciding which way to go first. There were buildings all around them. But in between the buildings were wide open spaces made specifically for relaxation. There were fountains and statues everywhere. The streets seemed to be designed more for foot traffic than for any vehicles, even though they were plenty wide enough. The whole city seemed built to put a person at ease.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But the remarkable aspect of the city today was the fair. The summer fair covered the whole city. On every street there were vendors and booths selling every kind of trinket and gimmick that a person could think of. There were fancy rides like Ferris wheels, carrousels, and any other ride that you might imagine. There were jugglers and clowns roaming the streets. There was a big tent in one area with the sounds of exotic animals coming out from it. There was even a man leading a tiger down the street on a leash!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Riley, in his usual excited hurry, said, "Hey, let's get in line for something before it gets too long! If we go fast enough, we can do everything before nightfall!"Just then, from over on a stage a block away came a deafening noise! It sounded like a thousand donkeys braying at once. The friends all turned to see what was making this noise. It turned out to be four clowns all painted black and white. They were beating on some strange objects in their hands where the noise was coming from.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One of the clowns kept screaming about rolling a rock all night. Another one kept sticking his tongue out at the curious crowd that had gathered around them. The four boys were now part of that crowd. Will shouted, "Why are they making that awful racket, Eric!" Eric said nothing because he couldn't hear him, or anything else other than the clowns. The boys soon fled the scene for fear of their eardrums breaking because of the deafening caterwauling.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When they were clear enough to hear each other again, the boys decided that kind of stuff just wasn't for them. They passed many booths with games and many with food. It all had a price. Riley seemed to spend the money he had as fast as he could get it out of his pockets. The other boys were more conservative with their money. Eric finally spoke up and said, "Riley, you might want to be a little more careful so you don't run out of money too soon. You know we'll help you if that happens, but it might cut us all short. We don't want this to end too soon."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I'm being careful," said Riley. "I won't run out of money. I brought a little extra that I'm saving for later. I just want to make sure that I get everything I want before we're done. We should hurry up though so we can see everything. I don't want to miss any of it!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Will said, "Well, I'm not sharing any of my money with you! If you spend all of yours, then you can just suffer! I plan on saving mine for something real good. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll know when I see it. It'll be something that I can turn around and sell for even more. I'm going to make a fortune off of this place. Heck, I might even move here permanently when I make enough money!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just then the four heard a man shouting in their direction, "Hey you! Get over here!" It was a man from one of the gaming booths trying to make money off of them. They all laughed at his attempt to intimidate them into playing his game and turned to go see the other sights. Just then Eric noticed that Sam wasn't with them anymore. He turned to see Sam standing in front of that rude vendor that they had laughed at a minute ago. Sam was handing him money.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric and the others ran over to where Sam was, but it was already too late. The man had the money and Sam had already begun playing the game. The game wasn't very good, but they waited for Sam to get done so at least he got what he paid for. Eric flashed the man a dirty look, but the man just quickly turned away. Eric finally looked at Sam and said, "Why'd you come over here and give this creep your money?" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I didn't know what else to do," said Sam. "He was yelling at me, and I thought I did something wrong, so I came over here because he told me to. When he said to give him the money to play the game I figured I had to do it, so I did what he told me." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A little exasperated, Eric said, "Next time somebody does something like that, you ask me what to do, okay? These guys will do anything to get your money from you. They'll beg you for it. They'll yell at you, like that jerk did. And some will even try to steal it from you. So you stick close to us so we can all protect each other, right?" Sam nodded gratefully, and the incident was finished.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric pointed over to a table with some chairs and said, "Hey guys, it's almost noon. Why don't we take a break for a few minutes. Maybe we'll get some lunch before we go on. We've still got a long day ahead, and it's time to stop for now and decide our next move."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=L4jiE9Twe6Q:Su3yRFV30tQ:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/L4jiE9Twe6Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8251698858220898413/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/11/at-fair.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8251698858220898413?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8251698858220898413?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/L4jiE9Twe6Q/at-fair.html" title="At The Fair" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SzQ34w33YJI/Th-heoqr6EI/AAAAAAAAF1g/8XfLh-hHEA0/s72-c/Carnival_Scene_460.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/11/at-fair.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMERH48fyp7ImA9WhRTFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-4175624115133758130</id><published>2011-11-07T04:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T04:00:05.077-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-07T04:00:05.077-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>Going To The Fair</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Fair&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 1&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ph9T--VtBxE/Th5jC97sHAI/AAAAAAAAF1U/Ak4K1zCUuQ4/s1600/Fair+City+%2528small%25292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ph9T--VtBxE/Th5jC97sHAI/AAAAAAAAF1U/Ak4K1zCUuQ4/s1600/Fair+City+%2528small%25292.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
High on the tallest building in the center of a small city sat a little blue bird. From up here on this edifice of glass and steel the city could be seen stretched out for miles around. The bird wasn't high up enough for the people to look like the size of ants, but they were too far down to see faces. But the little blue bird seemed happy to spend this short rest up here on this bright sunny day tweeting its happy little song with no care for the sights and sounds coming from all around in the city below.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Suddenly the little bird leaped off the top of the small skyscraper and flew to the southwest across the city. It zoomed above seemingly endless rows of more buildings of glass and steel. Each one had its own unique, but still angular shape. There were also wider open places between the buildings in the city with statues that the bird was happy to ignore. It's destination was beyond this silvery city.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As the little blue bird flew on, the number of buildings began to diminish, replaced with smaller structures in some places, and just empty fields in others. The roads turned from concrete to gravel to dirt. The bird began to fly a little lower above one road, following it out of the city. There were four human figures walking along the road in the opposite direction. The bird swooped down toward them for a closer look before it flew off into the distant countryside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Four young men who still had the look of boys were walking side by side towards the city. Each one had a wide eyed look of wonder on his face, especially when looking at the city. One of them, a young man named Riley, looked over to another and said, "Wow! That bird sure was in a hurry. Maybe we should get moving too. Do you think the fair will be everything they all say, Eric?" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Eric turned and said, "I hope so, but most people exaggerate. We might be just a little disappointed, but I'm sure it'll still be good. Remember though that we should try to act like this isn't our first time in the city. We were already told that some people might try and take advantage of us. Well, I don't have to tell &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt; guys. I guess I'm just trying to reassure &lt;i&gt;myself&lt;/i&gt;. Right, Sam?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sam was the smallest of the four, and he usually stuck close to Eric for protection. Other people tended to pick on Sam because of his small size. He could handle himself sometimes, but his three friends, especially Eric, were better protection than just himself. "Uh, yeah. That sure is a pretty big city though," said Sam in a shaky voice. "I bet there are a lot of people there."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"There are a lot of bigger cities than this one," bragged the fourth young man, Will. "I've heard this is just a hick city that barely registers on the map! Hah! We only graduated a week ago, and we'll own this place before it's time to go back home! I'll be king of the summer fair! What do ya think of that?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The boys all laughed as they continued their trek towards the city. As they got closer they began to hear the commotion of crowds of people and the sounds of happy music. That last bit was coming from the summer fair that the city held every year. The fair was a way to give everyone a break from the hard work of the rest of the year. Every year people came to the fair from all over the countryside. These particular young men, who were still really just boys, didn't know yet that maybe they weren't really ready for the fair.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qoZCFHfEVgo:NfPIC7Raef4:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/qoZCFHfEVgo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4175624115133758130/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/11/going-to-fair.html#comment-form" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/4175624115133758130?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/4175624115133758130?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/qoZCFHfEVgo/going-to-fair.html" title="Going To The Fair" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ph9T--VtBxE/Th5jC97sHAI/AAAAAAAAF1U/Ak4K1zCUuQ4/s72-c/Fair+City+%2528small%25292.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/11/going-to-fair.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UASHY7cCp7ImA9WhdaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-3546123539798132261</id><published>2011-10-24T04:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-26T02:07:29.808-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-26T02:07:29.808-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>The Unwritten</title><content type="html">A story that is so horrible it can never be told. That is what I have in my head. It is an evil prophecy of doom with a sinister life of its own. And telling it would only lead to disaster. This festering story that I hold in my mind is &lt;i&gt;my&lt;/i&gt; burden, and my burden alone to keep. The only thing that could ever come of revealing it would be a deep horror and resentment that could never be forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It all began in one shockingly ghastly dream I had as a child. Many of my stories are inspired by dreams. Ask any author, and you'll discover that many of them are inspired by their dreams. Dreams can be a very powerful inspiration for artists of all kinds. But it's the nightmares that are the most interesting. The most inspirational are the worst kind of nightmares, the ones that seem so real while they are happening, and you remember so vividly even after you awake. But this one went even beyond that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I still remember it all as if it had all happened only the night before. I knew upon waking that this was not just some ordinary nightmare. I knew this dream was to become reality. What a horrible thing for a ten year old boy to know. It was a prophecy of death and destruction the likes of which no human being had ever seen! This dream dealt a very horrible and specific tragedy in particular for one person that I know very well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do I tell this person what I saw? Can I give a warning that will prevent these events from coming to pass? The appalling answer to that is a clear and definite, "No!" I know better than anything else I have ever before known that telling this person will only lead to their destruction ever more swiftly! The only thing that will keep this person safe for as long as possible is for me to keep silent and to maintain my secret affliction. And how could I be so monstrous as to try to transfer this burden on to another?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And what of the world? Do I try to warn the rest of the world of a massive cataclysm? Would anybody listen, or would they think of it as the rantings of a madman? I think I know the answer to that. And how would I give that warning without giving away the part about that person who is so close to me? It would all be for nothing except more pain for me, ridicule from outside, and more pain and resentment from a person that I know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The only thing left to do is to keep my mouth shut, and to never give away any more than I have already told. This torturous burden is only for me to have to bear, and I know I can never share it. It is the weight of the world, and the fate of a friend. But I'm tired. How can I keep it to myself any longer? If you had such a horrible burden, what would &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt; do?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=j2e22sjIgBg:l-QPDHIwaQQ:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/j2e22sjIgBg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3546123539798132261/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/10/unwritten.html#comment-form" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3546123539798132261?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3546123539798132261?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/j2e22sjIgBg/unwritten.html" title="The Unwritten" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/10/unwritten.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUECQXg5eyp7ImA9WhdbEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-8244627508131010460</id><published>2011-10-10T04:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-10T04:01:00.623-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-10T04:01:00.623-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>A Good Night</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 9&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_Bw_9bN0pU/TfWgcQ3P4AI/AAAAAAAAFv8/lnp4xPPmiJE/s1600/bright_moon_castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_Bw_9bN0pU/TfWgcQ3P4AI/AAAAAAAAFv8/lnp4xPPmiJE/s1600/bright_moon_castle.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; new night, but everything was different. The ghost was thinking back on the events of the previous night. He remembered trying to save the woman from drowning, and he remembered her death. She had become a ghost like him, and then she had wandered off into the night. He hadn't seen any sign of her tonight. He didn't know if she was still here or if she had somehow moved on to Heaven. It didn't matter to him anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was something different about tonight. The ghost wasn't sure what that was. He thought back on those long nights, years, and centuries of his captivity in this horrible limbo. It had all been so bad for him. All of the frantic searching was for nothing. He wondered how he had kept it up for so many hundreds of years.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But now he was finished. There would be no more searching for a way to Heaven. It was obvious to him now that the searching was all for naught. If he were meant to leave here then he would have left long ago. After searching for so long, he had just been trying to escape to anywhere out of here, it didn't matter where. But that had all changed for him now.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The prolonged pain and suffering, he realized now, was partially self inflicted. Maybe he could have spent his time with different pursuits. He knew that wouldn't have been much better, but it &lt;i&gt;would&lt;/i&gt; have been better. He knew his time hadn't been wasted, but maybe it could have been served better. He decided that it was all going to change now.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He thought again to the previous night. When that new carriage had arrived, he thought it was a beast coming to drag him down to Hell. He realized that not every place would be preferable to his home here. After all, this &lt;i&gt;was&lt;/i&gt; his home. Was there really any other place in the world that he'd rather be? Not likely.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The death of the woman was such a shock to him. He hadn't realized that he &lt;i&gt;could&lt;/i&gt; be shocked anymore. Maybe he had been meant to help her all along. He hadn't saved her life, but he had eased her into her death. She had certainly had an easier time than he did. He was sure that she had needed it. The ghost hoped that she had made it into Heaven alright. He wondered what it was like.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was at that moment that a strange feeling came over him. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, and it began to radiate out to the rest of his body. It was the best feeling that he had ever had! It was. It was his salvation! Tears began to flow from his eyes! He knew! He was going to leave this place now! He was finally going to Heaven! The gateway was waiting for him at the big rock in front of the castle!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost looked up as he walked back toward the castle. The full Moon hung low in the night sky, and it was so bright that it illuminated everything to make it seem as if it were day. The stars shined so clear and bright that they looked as if he could reach out and grab them. It was all together the most beautiful night sky he had ever seen. That's when he thought to himself, "This is a good night."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Good Night&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=d_cxJc7crZM:D8TqmcnV7lw:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/d_cxJc7crZM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8244627508131010460/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/10/good-night.html#comment-form" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8244627508131010460?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8244627508131010460?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/d_cxJc7crZM/good-night.html" title="A Good Night" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_Bw_9bN0pU/TfWgcQ3P4AI/AAAAAAAAFv8/lnp4xPPmiJE/s72-c/bright_moon_castle.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/10/good-night.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcCQX0_eip7ImA9WhdUEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-3429167478992722203</id><published>2011-09-26T04:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T04:01:00.342-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-26T04:01:00.342-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>A Death On The Grounds</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 8&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3wwA6IL9dVU/TfWhCChzEjI/AAAAAAAAFwA/gDB0DObBt5o/s1600/Footbridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3wwA6IL9dVU/TfWhCChzEjI/AAAAAAAAFwA/gDB0DObBt5o/s1600/Footbridge.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;he poor ghost thought he was seeing a creature from Hell! It had two giant, round, white eyes that glowed so brightly in the night that they illuminated all that was around them. The creature growled and bellowed like the sound of a hundred angry wolves. The ghost was sure it was here to take him to that very worst of places. He had wanted to escape to the next life ever since his death so many hundred years ago, but he had never wanted this!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The creature had come in through the entry road through the forest, and it was coming closer and closer. The ghost knew he had done nothing so horrible to deserve a place in the netherworld, but this beast could only be here for one reason. The ghost was terrified, and he wanted to escape but had no idea where he could go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But just as he was about to madly flee in terror, the creature stopped in its tracks, ceased its noise, and closed those horrible bright eyes tightly shut. It was then that he saw them. There were people getting out of the beast! The ghost then realized that this was no beast at all. It was really some sort of carriage with a monstrous animal caged inside to pull it around. He wondered how they pacified the creature to make it stop.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The presence of the people made the ghost's curiosity now outweigh his fear of the beast. After all, it wasn't often that he had gotten visitors over these long centuries. The last had come well over a hundred years ago. And he cherished every moment when he could overhear their conversations, even if none of them had ever known he was there. So he decided to walk over and see why these people had come to his castle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The people had stopped in the same spot near the edge of the forest where most others had always seemed to prefer. The ghost wondered why nobody ever went to the castle. He had overheard it each time that this was because they said someone had seen a ghost out here on the grounds. He wondered who this someone was, because if that person saw him then why did he never find that one here. The people would come, camp for the night, see nothing, and leave the next day. It all seemed pointless.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As the ghost eavesdropped on the conversation of these new people, things seemed to go about the same as the other times. There were five in this group this time, three men and two women.  The people mentioned how long it had taken to get here, as usual. The ghost didn't care. They spent the same time as others had, talking about nonsense around the campfire. None of this was holding any interest for the ghost. But then he noticed something odd. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One young woman who was sitting a little bit apart from the others kept looking in his direction. The ghost had the odd impression that she was in fact looking at &lt;i&gt;him&lt;/i&gt;. This was more than a little unsettling to the ghost because no one had ever done this before. He decided to test this, so he moved to another spot. Sure enough, she was now looking in the direction of his new position!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost had not been able to communicate with a living person for several centuries now, so he wasn't sure exactly what he should do next. He decided that maybe he should think about this for a few minutes, so he turned and walked away from the group. What he didn't notice was that the strange woman had gotten up and walked away from the group as well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he finally looked up, he noticed that the woman had wandered out into the darkness near his location, but more closely to the swampy area of the lake. There was no way her friends would be able to see her out here unless they summoned their monster to open its eyes again. The ghost ran toward her as she approached the small foot bridge that crossed the suddenly deep area of the edge of the lake.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The bridge was here for two reasons. The first was to serve as a nice observation platform. but the real reason was because there were many dangerous deep holes under the water in this area. One misstep could be very dangerous for an unwary person. And it was now the darkest time of the night. The woman had no idea how much danger she was in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost had only looked away for a second. But when he looked up again, there was no sign of the woman. What had happened to her? The ghost had a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew just where to look. As he got closer, his fears were confirmed. He found her floating on her back just a foot under the water. Her long dark curly hair was floating out straight in every direction. The woman appeared to be unconscious.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Panicked beyond all rational thought, the ghost quickly reached down into the water and pulled the woman out! As he set her down on dry land, he realized just what he had done. The ghost looked back into the water and dropped to his knees.&amp;nbsp; The woman's body was still floating there in the water at the edge of the lake. She was dead! What he had pulled from the water was her ghost!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He looked back over to the woman he had pulled from the water. She was now standing there staring off into the darkness with no expression on her face at all. In a panic, the ghost turned back to the corpse floating in the water and then looked back up at the ghost woman. He just stared up at her dumbly as she wandered over to a big stone that marked the place where the road turned to lead up to the castle. There she sat down. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally the ghost got up and ran over to her and hysterically yelled, "You're dead! I think you fell into the water over there and drowned!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The woman dully looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time and blinked. "Oh. Uh, yes, that's what happened. I think I slipped on a slippery rock or something," she said listlessly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"But you're dead! Don't you care?", the ghost yelled again. "What about your friends! They'll be looking for you!" The ghost had no idea what to do. He felt as if this was the worst thing that had ever happened.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The woman answered with a far off expression to her voice, "I guess my friends will eventually find my body in the lake. Maybe they won't. Does it matter?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost was finally calming down, but only slightly. He was now remembering that he had similar feelings at the point of his own death as the woman now seemed to be experiencing. "Well, I don't really know what to do for you," he said in a quiet voice that trembled just a bit too much. "I've been dead and stuck here for several hundred years. I don't know if it will be the same for you or not. But you can go anywhere here on the castle grounds that you like. The castle is over there if you'd like that better."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh yes, I know all about you. We came here looking for you, but I guess that's all over with now," said the woman.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With those words the woman got up and wandered toward the castle and into the night. The ghost just stood there watching. He really didn't know what to do. He felt horrible for the woman, even though she didn't seem to care. He heard one of her friends call out to her. The search had now begun. Even though something very significant had happened, the ghost knew that very soon morning would be coming and he would disappear once again.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LIIhEbtdS4I:W6btST7iJLI:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/LIIhEbtdS4I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3429167478992722203/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/death-on-grounds.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3429167478992722203?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3429167478992722203?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/LIIhEbtdS4I/death-on-grounds.html" title="A Death On The Grounds" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3wwA6IL9dVU/TfWhCChzEjI/AAAAAAAAFwA/gDB0DObBt5o/s72-c/Footbridge.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/death-on-grounds.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMCQX8_fCp7ImA9WhdWGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-8443560427105466351</id><published>2011-09-12T04:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T04:01:00.144-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-12T04:01:00.144-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>The Lake</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt; Episode 7&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dk_MEYGuKQc/TfWi0QNuoSI/AAAAAAAAFwM/IE10nvFoFgE/s1600/Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dk_MEYGuKQc/TfWi0QNuoSI/AAAAAAAAFwM/IE10nvFoFgE/s1600/Lake.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; am a ghost who has nobody to haunt. A lost soul. I was once the lord of the castle that lies in the near distance behind me. But that doesn't matter now because I have been dead for hundreds of years. I was here throughout the years as the castle slowly emptied, then filled again, then emptied once more. I have received very few real visitors over the years, and none of them could see or hear me. The only one I've had to talk to over these long and lonely centuries is myself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wish I could one day see the light of the day once again. My only existence is at night, and I fade away right before dawn every morning. It has been like this every night since my murder so very long ago. My many conversations over the years have sometimes been long and painful because the only one who answers is me. And, yes, I do answer myself! Sometimes I imagine that I am two halves of the same person.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"But why do you do that?" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Because it is better this way! Don't you see? Now there is always a person for me to talk to, even if you do always float over my shoulder in that annoying fashion!" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"That is not my fault! There is nowhere else for me to go! And stop speaking French all the time! It bothers me when you do that!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You are speaking French too. Stop and listen to yourself. We both speak the same language. It's the only way we can communicate."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Okay, I will just stop talking then!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This is what I have to put up with. Not only can I not find my way out of the castle grounds, I think this long loneliness has driven me ever so slightly mad. My search for a way out of here began that first night when my expected gateway to Heaven never showed up. At the very least I was disappointed. Devastated would be more accurate though. But I've determined that if I can get off the castle grounds then I may somehow be able to get to the long awaited paradise of the afterlife.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If not for this bothersome barrier that surrounds this place! My home has become my prison! There is no way out through the trees that line the sides of the estate. The barrier is very solid there, I know very well. But the lake out at the front of the grounds is where it becomes interesting. There is a soft spot. It is in the swampy area just to the side of the little observation bridge. You actually have to go into the water to find it, but it is there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I can't go in very far because the water is very deep in some places. And the barrier does eventually stop me right at the point where I would be under water. I can't exactly explain the soft spot very well. It just feels different to me. Soft. There is just something different about that place. I have the strangest feeling that the exit to my prison might be there. One of these nights I will solve the mystery of the soft spot in the lake.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=LBEbFWqu2aQ:P1WubQVtC-E:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/LBEbFWqu2aQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8443560427105466351/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/lake.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8443560427105466351?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8443560427105466351?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/LBEbFWqu2aQ/lake.html" title="The Lake" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dk_MEYGuKQc/TfWi0QNuoSI/AAAAAAAAFwM/IE10nvFoFgE/s72-c/Lake.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/lake.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EERXk_fip7ImA9WhdWEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-2051021171931228755</id><published>2011-09-05T04:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-05T04:00:04.746-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-05T04:00:04.746-04:00</app:edited><title>Announcement</title><content type="html">I'll be offline for about a month, but my stories here will continue. I just won't be able to respond to comments like I usually do, and I won't be able to visit any other blogs. Please continue to read and comment though. When I come back I'll be able to give your comments the attention they deserve. I've given a more thorough explanation for my absence over at my other blog &lt;a href="http://everyday-adventurer.blogspot.com/"&gt;The Everyday Adventurer&lt;/a&gt;. I hope to be back here soon.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=oRQffjpFME4:h0SG1VfAVIE:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/oRQffjpFME4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/2051021171931228755/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/announcement.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/2051021171931228755?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/2051021171931228755?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/oRQffjpFME4/announcement.html" title="Announcement" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/09/announcement.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8CQX8ycCp7ImA9WhdXFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-8824666273693412652</id><published>2011-08-29T04:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-29T04:01:00.198-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-29T04:01:00.198-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>The Visitors</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 6&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GmhSqbXG6Eg/TfWo1EFyCWI/AAAAAAAAFwU/VS2wTft4mYo/s1600/Wagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GmhSqbXG6Eg/TfWo1EFyCWI/AAAAAAAAFwU/VS2wTft4mYo/s1600/Wagon.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;W&lt;/span&gt;andering around the grounds of an old abandoned castle is no way to spend eternity. That's exactly what the ghost of the castle lord was thinking. How long had it been? The ghost imagined that he must have been dead now for close to two hundred very long years, but he was not at all sure about that. He had no idea why he had been stranded out here; he just wanted to find a way out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was prepared for another night of his long search for a possible gateway to a Heaven he wasn't sure existed anymore when he heard a commotion in the distance behind him. The ghost turned to the direction of the entrance road to see a sight he hadn't seen since before his death. A small wagon pulled by two horses was coming out of the forest along the castle road. Visitors!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost excitedly waved and called out to them, "Hello!" But then he remembered that nobody could see or hear him; he was a ghost now. Even as the realization of that hit him, he decided it didn't matter at all right now. There were not only people here; they were awake in the middle of the night. &lt;i&gt;He&lt;/i&gt; could see and hear &lt;i&gt;them&lt;/i&gt;. He now had a reprieve from his long suffered loneliness!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was no time to waste. The ghost began running towards the distantly approaching wagon so he could get a better look at these wonderful people. As he got closer he could make out two men in the front and a man and a woman in the back of the wagon. For some reason the wagon began slowing down well before the turn in the road though. They were stopping too soon. Would they turn around and leave right after their arrival?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He had to get a closer look before they left! The lonely ghost needed to see some actual living breathing people! He felt as if this was maybe his last chance at maintaining his slipping sanity. As he got closer he realized that the wagon wasn't turning to leave. It was stopping! This was becoming a very curious situation. And the ghost was completely ecstatic.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As the ghost got closer, the four people were getting down from the wagon. The ghost never wanted this night to end. He finally had company! He heard them speaking to each other. "...sure is a lot farther to get here than those townspeople said it would be, Arnaud," said one man. The one named Arnaud turned to the other as he was taking some supplies down from the cart, "Well, the town used to be closer, and to the north of here. Old habits don't die easily, even if they &lt;i&gt;are&lt;/i&gt; a few hundred years old."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost thought about that one. His town! It had actually moved to a new place! And he now had confirmation that he had been here more than two hundred years! He found it all so very hard to comprehend, but he had to believe this because the thought of it was all he had now. The ghost wondered what else these four people might have to say.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Arnaud turned to the third man, who had been keeping to himself this whole time, and said, "Corbin, have you sensed him out here at all yet?" The ghost had no idea what they meant by that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No, they told me that he haunts out here on the castle grounds, so I know we're in the right place. If the old ghost is out here anywhere I'm sure I'll find something by the end of the night," said Corbin.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"What about inside the castle," said man number two.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Corbin looked at him and said, "The townspeople specifically said that he has never been seen in there. If you want to go in and look, then go ahead. But I'm staying out here where the ghost is sure to be."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost had now heard another revelation! They knew he was here! He now thought that maybe he wasn't so alone after all. He hurried over to Corbin and reached out in an attempt to touch him, but as he guessed, his hands passed right through him. He waved his hands in Corbin's face, and then shouted to him over and over again, "Corbin! Corbin! I am right here!" But Corbin gave no reaction to him at all. His hopes were dashed, but he at least he still had this moment with these people.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost watched as they slowly finished unpacking the wagon and setting up their little camp. The woman made a fire and began cooking something over it. The ghost didn't care what it was. The four people talked throughout the night of similar things, and a few other things. They thought Corbin would somehow sense his presence, but he never did. It was like this for the rest of the night.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It seemed to the ghost as if only a very little time had passed when he realized the night was growing short. He wished he could stay here with these people forever like this, but he knew that even this would grow tiring eventually because they couldn't see or hear him. Soon after this thought the ghost lifted up his arm and noticed something he had never bothered with before.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he was looking at his hand, he saw it begin to fade away. He was disappearing along with the night once again. His hand disappeared, then his arm, and up and up it went until the ghost faded away altogether. Daylight was coming, and it was time for the ghost to be gone until next time.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=dAnyyKM-NNE:r4B6fVH1LEU:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/dAnyyKM-NNE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8824666273693412652/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/visitors.html#comment-form" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8824666273693412652?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/8824666273693412652?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/dAnyyKM-NNE/visitors.html" title="The Visitors" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GmhSqbXG6Eg/TfWo1EFyCWI/AAAAAAAAFwU/VS2wTft4mYo/s72-c/Wagon.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/visitors.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UCQHoyeyp7ImA9WhdQE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-5985286532641758013</id><published>2011-08-15T04:01:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T04:01:01.493-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-15T04:01:01.493-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>Lonely In The Fog</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 5&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BHIVmkNFYzk/Tivty0QmiKI/AAAAAAAAF3A/cy8ptuLvQy8/s1600/In+The+Fog+460x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BHIVmkNFYzk/Tivty0QmiKI/AAAAAAAAF3A/cy8ptuLvQy8/s1600/In+The+Fog+460x.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;H&lt;/span&gt;ow could this have happened to me? I did the things I was supposed to do in my life. Then I was murdered and left stranded here in this horrible limbo of searching outside the castle each night after night, after night. This is just not fair! The nights, years, and decades that have now passed since this first happened have been long and agonizing. And yet I'm still stranded here in this horrible place I once called home! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Each long night is the same as the one before, and the one before that! My time has consisted solely of this endless searching for some way out of this. How long has it been? I'm not really sure anymore. My time here has been so long. I know it has now been several generations, but I'm just not sure how many. I suspect my sanity may have slipped away from me long ago because of this horrible lonely searching, but who am I to say?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And now on top of it all, the night is miserably foggy once again. I never used to care about bad weather, but that was before I had to wander around outside at night in the middle of the fog so many many times. Even though I am now just a disembodied spirit I still feel the cold, and I feel the damp clammy air. I can't see the sky and the stars, and I can barely see my arms out in front of me. I hate this!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I do know it has been a very long time now that I've been out here searching for any sign that might lead me to Heaven. I paid attention to events around me for the first several years, but it soon became tiresome. Nothing significant ever really changed for me. The only thing that changed were the people in the castle, and they didn't even know I was here.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The few friends and family I had have now long since died of old age. I didn't really know my family very well anyway, but a few of my servants were very dear to me. I have always suspected though that it was a family member who had me assassinated. But now even that doesn't matter because that person, whoever they might have been, is long since dead and gone. And none of &lt;i&gt;them&lt;/i&gt; are out here with me!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even the castle is empty now. Apparently the last of my murderer's heirs have died out. Either that or no heir thought my castle was good enough for them. The whole bunch have no honor anyway. Who will take care of the town now? I wonder what has become of it. Maybe one of these nights somebody will come back to the castle. And wouldn't it be wonderful if somebody could see me? I know that will never happen though. I wish it could. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't had anyone to talk to since before my death. I'm not even sure anymore what I might say to someone. "Hello, I'm a miserable ghost. What about you?" I guess I always have myself to talk to, but all I have for myself are questions. It took many years, but I began asking myself if I did something to deserve this foul imprisonment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wondered if maybe I had been a bad person in life. I always felt as if I did the things I was supposed to do, but what if I didn't? Was I a cruel master to my people? I never thought I was, but what did the people think? The town was always prosperous under my rule. The people never went hungry or needed anything more. I always made it a point to visit them at least once a month to check. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One thing I liked to do was to pick a townsman to go hunting with me. There I would always treat him as an equal, and we would have the best time both of us had ever had before. I did this for two reasons. One was to show the people what kind of person I was. Two was to find out personally how my people were doing. But there was another reason. I was lonely, and I wanted a friend. That old loneliness was nothing compared to this hell that I now exist in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wish I could visit my town now and check on the people. I worry about them still, even though I must admit that my search is my overwhelmingly primary worry. But it's not as if I'm going &lt;i&gt;anywhere&lt;/i&gt;. Out in this fog I'd get lost if I tried. I hate fog. I can't see the sky. I want to look up and see the shining stars, but this horrible fog is clinging to everything, even my lonely lost soul. This is a bad night!&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=JG2pbCxrINk:5P02tKn6cIc:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/JG2pbCxrINk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5985286532641758013/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/lonely-in-fog.html#comment-form" title="11 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5985286532641758013?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5985286532641758013?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/JG2pbCxrINk/lonely-in-fog.html" title="Lonely In The Fog" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BHIVmkNFYzk/Tivty0QmiKI/AAAAAAAAF3A/cy8ptuLvQy8/s72-c/In+The+Fog+460x.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>11</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/lonely-in-fog.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQNR3g_eip7ImA9WhdREkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-2978479172741298084</id><published>2011-08-01T04:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T23:39:56.642-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T23:39:56.642-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>Endless Searching</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 4&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;he ghost found himself sitting on the same boulder where he appeared at the beginning of each night since his death. It never mattered where he was at the end of the night before when he disappeared. He always reappeared at this same spot every time. He was sure now that this must be a definite sign that his search for the afterlife must be here outside the castle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He began to look around him for a clue to a possible gateway or something that might lead him to the promised great beyond. From his perch on the boulder in front of the castle he examined the cobblestone road leading straight from the castle doors and out towards the lake in the distant front. At the lake the road made an abrupt turn to the right and went on out through the forest at the side.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On each side of the grounds was the edge of the forest, which had a neatly lined border of trees. When he was alive the ghost would go through the forest to the left to get to the place where he would go fishing and hunting. Those were his two favorite pastimes. He would usually go hunting with a group of men he would choose for each trip. That would include a few of his favorite servants and a randomly chosen man from the town. He did this so he might get to know some of these people better.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But fishing. Fishing was his, and his alone. He remembered how he loved to go out to the small river that emptied into the lake and just sit there alone for a whole day by himself. That seemed like heaven to him. All of his cares and worries were left behind. He would go there whenever he wasn't busy... Wait! Heaven?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That could be it! Maybe the gateway to Heaven was in his favorite place! That must be it! The ghost laughed out loud with joy. It made so much sense that his favorite place would be where he would find the passageway to the afterlife. He immediately hopped down off the big rock and ran to the small pathway that lead into the forest on the left. He just knew that he was finally going to leave this state of limbo behind!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he got to the edge of the forest, the ghost ran right into something soft and invisible, and he fell down backwards. He decided that he must have hit a tree branch or something. He stood back up and cautiously walked back towards the forest edge, this time holding his arms out to feel for anything that might be in his way. When he got back to the edge he felt something soft in the air once again. This was no tree branch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost felt something like a soft cushion right in midair. It felt as if the air had turned thick. He pushed further and the resistance slowly increased. The further he went, the stronger it got. It was some sort of invisible barrier. He quickly realized that he could not push through this barrier. The path was barred to him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He thought the solution to this would be easy. He would just step aside and get to the path from a few paces to the side. He began to step, feeling for the edge of the barrier. He thought it should stop here any time now. But it didn't. He soon realized that the barrier was completely barring his way. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost looked up to the sky and howled, "No!!! There must be a way! I have to get out of here! I don't deserve this!" He turned and quickly ran up and down the line of the forest, looking for a place where the barrier would end. But it went on for the whole distance of the castle grounds.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The barrier was also on the other side where the road went out through the forest. There was no way out for him. The lake bordered the front of the castle grounds, so there was no way out that way either. He had been worried before, but now the ghost was very upset and afraid. He had waited patiently for some sign of Heaven, but there was nothing. He was stranded here in this state of limbo and he didn't know why. Now he just wanted to get out. He felt as if his salvation depended upon his escape. He had to keep searching.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=aFB4f3RnjBQ:p5YLVUWs7Pg:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/aFB4f3RnjBQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/2978479172741298084/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/endless-searching.html#comment-form" title="16 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/2978479172741298084?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/2978479172741298084?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/aFB4f3RnjBQ/endless-searching.html" title="Endless Searching" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s72-c/Castle_460.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>16</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/08/endless-searching.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcCQHs5cSp7ImA9WhdTGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-7090522421873585008</id><published>2011-07-18T04:01:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T04:01:01.529-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-18T04:01:01.529-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>Haunting The Castle</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 3&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Een8Oy4r3U/ThwF4UQVykI/AAAAAAAAF0s/Z_2nEVzSIVE/s1600/Castle_Hall_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Een8Oy4r3U/ThwF4UQVykI/AAAAAAAAF0s/Z_2nEVzSIVE/s1600/Castle_Hall_01.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;he ghost took his first steps into the castle and immediately felt a sense of revulsion. Even though this had been his beloved home, he had the strong feeling that he didn't belong here now. That didn't matter right now because he was in search of the passageway to the next life, which he seemed to have somehow missed. Now he was stuck here in what he considered to be an inbetween limbo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was assuming that the way to Heaven must be around here somewhere, so he had to begin searching. He knew that being a ghost who only existed at night was not a good way to spend the afterlife. And he thought that inside his home was the place he should begin his search. But the castle now seemed to be dark and uninviting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As he moved on through the large dark halls, he found himself at the place where it had happened. He remembered that he had just returned from a fishing trip and had been walking contentedly to his rooms when he saw the first strange man walking toward him. That's when he knew it was all over.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A second man quickly joined the first. And when he was grabbed from behind by a third person, the first two quickly converged on him. It was only a matter of seconds before he felt the knife slide into his belly. He wondered how he could have let his guard down like this; how he could have been so foolish. And now he was dead.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost hated remembering that last part of his life. Oh, he had always fully expected to be assassinated, most likely by a family member seeking their fortune. That's what happened to many castle lords. But he had never liked laying too many restrictions on his family, so he had no idea what trickery they might be up to. It really wasn't his murder that he had a problem with. It was the treacherous way they did it. They did not follow proper protocol! Anyone in his position would understand that. It made him so angry!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was now at the door to his rooms. He had already learned that he could pass right through doors or anything else that could open and close, so he stepped right through. Here he discovered that his rooms were already being emptied of their contents! He wondered why so soon.This just wasn't proper! There was supposed to be a bit longer period of mourning for a castle lord before changes were made. The culprit was being really vicious about all of it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finding nothing else of interest, and no heavenly passageway, the ghost quickly left his rooms to go search other parts of the castle. He thought maybe he would go to the other side of the castle where the quarters of his family members were. He would most likely visit his cousin's quarters first. He knew him the best out of all of his family. He wished sometimes that he had gotten to know some of them better, but this just wasn't done. A lord had much more important things to do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When he got to his cousin's rooms, he found him and his small family all fast asleep. The ghost tried his best to make his presence known to them, but he found that it just wasn't possible. None could see or hear him, and he could not interact with any object that a living person could move. The ghost found the same results in the rooms of all of his family members. He was beginning to wish there might be someone to talk to in this place that he was quickly beginning to hate.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After visiting some of his advisers and then some of his closer servants, he discovered that it was the same with all of them too. He could not communicate with any of them, no matter what he tried. There was absolutely nothing he could do. All the while he felt this terrible aversion to the inside of the castle. At first he had thought it was the place of his murder that he disliked so much, but it was the whole castle. He wanted out of here, and he wanted it the longer he was here.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Discovering not even the smallest clue to the next life, or maybe even the end of his last, he decided that he could take it no longer, and he left the castle. He exited through the front door and went back out to the boulder that he seemed to have now adopted as his waiting place. There was nothing in there for him. The past really didn't matter anyway. He just wanted to move on to the next life. He felt he deserved to move on, so he wondered why he was still here!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was now coming to the conclusion that something had gone terribly wrong. He thought he should have moved on to Heaven that first night of his death, but instead he was left stranded out on this rock in the middle of the night. Why him? He wondered if he had done something wrong in his life. If he had done something so horrible, wouldn't he have gone to Hell?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The ghost sat there on that very spot until both he and another night faded away with the dawn once again.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=qOChGYrjZH4:K3PZfrlJ8wo:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/qOChGYrjZH4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/7090522421873585008/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/07/haunting-castle.html#comment-form" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/7090522421873585008?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/7090522421873585008?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/qOChGYrjZH4/haunting-castle.html" title="Haunting The Castle" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Een8Oy4r3U/ThwF4UQVykI/AAAAAAAAF0s/Z_2nEVzSIVE/s72-c/Castle_Hall_01.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/07/haunting-castle.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMCQXY8eyp7ImA9WhZaF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-3885567691761315418</id><published>2011-07-04T04:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T04:01:00.873-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-04T04:01:00.873-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>A Lost Soul</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 2&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;o here I am once again, waiting to go to Heaven. How did it come to this? I waited patiently the night before, and nothing came as the night slowly passed. I just knew after finding myself out here last night that it would surely come quickly. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How could a person such as me who lived what I thought was a good and decent life not be quickly transported to the &lt;i&gt;next&lt;/i&gt; life? Last night nothing had come for me though. No shining doorway. No celestial stairway. No beloved ancestors to guide the way. Nothing. And now I sit here on the second night of my death, confused but still waiting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hmm, maybe I'm in the wrong place. Am I supposed to go somewhere else? I stayed out here in front of the castle, sitting on this boulder. I thought this was where I should be because it was the place I appeared when I awoke to this limbo existence after I was murdered. I assumed I should stay right where I was. After all, I didn't want to miss the big event.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But maybe I should be somewhere else. I hope I'm not too late. Surely the way to Heaven will appear for me again if I missed it. It surely would have waited if I weren't there to meet it anyway. Ha! That must be it! So I'll search for the right place to be since I so obviously must not be there now. That must be the answer. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I really am not sure where I should begin my search. Would the passageway to Heaven be out here in the night? Or maybe it will be inside the castle itself. This is a mystery I'll have to ponder for a few minutes. Where will I search? Are there any clues? I don't know of any.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
An odd thought has occurred to me. No, it couldn't be! Maybe I was somehow forgotten. Maybe Heaven won't be coming. What will happen to me?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=GZsAl9UpUkU:qTICH1GXs2c:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/GZsAl9UpUkU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3885567691761315418/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/07/lost-soul.html#comment-form" title="17 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3885567691761315418?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3885567691761315418?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/GZsAl9UpUkU/lost-soul.html" title="A Lost Soul" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s72-c/Castle_460.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>17</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/07/lost-soul.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8CQX07eip7ImA9WhZbFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-7271125759407486917</id><published>2011-06-20T04:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-20T04:01:00.302-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-20T04:01:00.302-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Haunted Soul" /><title>Waiting For Heaven</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: large;"&gt;A Haunted Soul&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; Episode 1&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s1600/Castle_460.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; was murdered last night. Does it really matter how, or even why? The only thing that interests me at all right now is that I'll be going to Heaven soon. There will be a shimmering doorway, or perhaps a stairway into the sky. Maybe one of my old loved ones or an angel will come for me. However it is, it's going to be wonderful. It should happen any time now.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You know, death wasn't necessarily like I expected it to be. What I mean is, I didn't really know what to expect. After they killed me I found myself sitting here on this big stone outside the front of the castle. I have a sense of the passage of some hours, but I don't know how I got here. Should I?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The only thing that bothers me is how it was done. Oh, I fully expected that someone wanted to assassinate me. It's standard procedure in families of my stature. But they did it all wrong. You have to pay attention to protocol. There are ways of doing these things that show respect to your victim, and then there was the way they did it to me. Anyone can understand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I do have to say that they completely caught me off guard. I had just gotten back from a fishing trip, which was one of my favorite activities by the way, and I was heading to my rooms to get a good night sleep. From around a corner in the hallway stepped a man I had never seen before. I could tell right then by the look in his eyes exactly what he was up to. As a matter of fact, I chuckled at my own foolishness for letting my guard down.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As the man sauntered toward me I prepared for a fight, but I had no chance because he was soon joined by a few of of his friends. One of them caught me from behind, and it was all too soon over with. I really should have known better than to let this happen, but how did I know they would play it so dirty? It was just not right!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But that's all over with now. That life is all in the past for me. I'll soon be in Heaven, and everything will be more wonderful than I could have ever hoped for in my previous life. I'm just sitting here on this boulder in the middle of the night waiting for it to happen. It should be coming along any time now. Any time.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=UTfU7X60l7I:je2wBXEIAVE:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/UTfU7X60l7I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/7271125759407486917/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/06/waiting-for-heaven.html#comment-form" title="15 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/7271125759407486917?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/7271125759407486917?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/UTfU7X60l7I/waiting-for-heaven.html" title="Waiting For Heaven" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sspt2wjSrjk/TdceafkTbyI/AAAAAAAAFtw/nTLy_bIJ_xk/s72-c/Castle_460.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>15</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/06/waiting-for-heaven.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUCQXs9cSp7ImA9WhZUE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-3972800194974802015</id><published>2011-06-06T04:01:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-06T04:01:00.569-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-06T04:01:00.569-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Strange" /><title>The Ghostly Figure</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lHUjy0tFlR8/TewkxlVOTmI/AAAAAAAAFvg/h-WQmppOpCw/s1600/Ghost2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lHUjy0tFlR8/TewkxlVOTmI/AAAAAAAAFvg/h-WQmppOpCw/s320/Ghost2.jpg" width="81" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;So there I was in the middle of a good night sleep when I had this nightmare. For me it was almost a standard bad dream where I was being chased by a supernatural creature of some kind. The creature this time happened to be a classic ghost. You know, the kind that looks like a guy wearing a white sheet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I remember running and running to get away. But no matter how fast I went, the ghost was at least as fast as I was! The dream seemed to go on for ages. It's rough when you are so afraid and you just can't seem to get away from that fear. But in the end the dream finally faded, and I was back in normal sleep.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But soon after, I was dreaming again. I dreamed I was lying in my own bed asleep. I dreamed that I awoke and opened my eyes to see a terrifying figure hovering over me. The figure was about seven feet tall, much too thin to be human, and was wearing a long white sheet! The ghost was back! It terrified me so much that I instantly and finally awoke from my sleep.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now I was really awake, lying there and a little bit afraid to open my eyes. I told myself that it had all been nothing but a bad dream, but I knew that it had seemed so real. The only thing to do was open my eyes to reassure myself that there was no ghost there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I opened my eyes, and the ghost was still there! It was less that a second when the ghost swooped down towards me! I closed my eyes tightly and my hands reflexively flew up in front of me for protection! But nothing came.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I laid there in that exact position for what seemed like hours. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I thought I was going to die! I could actually feel the strong, solid beating with my hands! Ba bump, ba bump, ba bump! I was too afraid to look once more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I let the time pass some more until my heart slowed enough to where I thought the ghost might not give me a heart attack. finally, I opened my eyes once more. The ghost was gone. It was as if it were never there at all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I quickly got out of bed and checked the entire room for anything out of the ordinary, but found nothing at all, except my own terrified reflection in the mirror. I never saw the ghost again after that, but I have always wondered if that last part was real or just a very real dream. I guess I'll never know.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=pPMMeDwepuc:PM-jVgXO5cw:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/pPMMeDwepuc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3972800194974802015/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/06/ghostly-figure.html#comment-form" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3972800194974802015?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3972800194974802015?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/pPMMeDwepuc/ghostly-figure.html" title="The Ghostly Figure" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lHUjy0tFlR8/TewkxlVOTmI/AAAAAAAAFvg/h-WQmppOpCw/s72-c/Ghost2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/06/ghostly-figure.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MDQH0zfyp7ImA9WhZWFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-3640364648920108809</id><published>2011-05-16T23:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-16T23:04:31.387-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-16T23:04:31.387-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><title>Mr. Sunshine's Dilemma</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s1600/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s200/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" width="152" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 90%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;T&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;he odd little man was seeing the strange images again. He had told them when he was in the mental institution that he no longer saw them, but that was a lie so they would let him out. He thought about it now that he was free, and realized his statement was actually partially true. At the time, he didn't see the little oddities as much as he used to because he had learned to ignore them, but now they were back stronger than ever.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just a little while ago as he had looked up at a painting on the wall of his small apartment, it began to do some very strange and disturbing things. It was the image of a woman. He began to notice that it was moving; swaying gently from side to side. The colors began to swirl and get darker. The woman looked down at him and began to speak. "Come a little closer, Mr. Sunshine," she said in a teasing, but almost seductive manner as her clothing and skin began to melt away. Mr. Sunshine was the name the workers in the mental institution had begun calling him to make fun of him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He watched in a silent demented interest as each layer oozed from the woman until she was only a skeleton, still beckoning to him. Any fear he might have didn't last long because he knew it was just an illusion that his fractured mind had created. This was how it happened on almost every occasion; inanimate objects giving him a horror show. He was mostly used to it after all this time. He knew that he wasn't really quite sane. But knowing was enough for him to want to be free of institutional confinement. He could function just fine in society as long as he ignored these horrible visions. And he couldn't let anyone else know what he saw.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But now there was a new problem. He was watching the news on television when an urgent report came in. It was straight out of a horror movie. The anchorman claimed the dead were walking and eating human flesh! They even showed footage! This wasn't the kind of craziness that had happened to him before, so he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. His insanity had always been very consistent. It was always the inanimate! This new event was very different. Was this real?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So he decided to change the channels and find out if there was more. Sure enough, on the next channel they were showing shambling zombies chasing screaming people, and the news person was on the verge of panic. She said the zombies were overrunning the city! The woman continued on, saying everyone should take cover in their homes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
His twisted mind didn't know what to make of this new development. He wondered if this was just a new aspect of his insanity or if it was the outside world that was going crazy. He wasn't sure at all if this was something he should ignore, or if he should prepare to defend himself. If it was real he would have to protect himself from flesh eating zombies. But what to do if it was only his own warped imagination?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He thought about the rifle he had secretly bought a few days ago, and he wondered what he should do. What should he do!!!&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=kuRjpfK2clo:-iTnEvpBZJM:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/kuRjpfK2clo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3640364648920108809/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/05/mr-sunshines-dilemma.html#comment-form" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3640364648920108809?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/3640364648920108809?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/kuRjpfK2clo/mr-sunshines-dilemma.html" title="Mr. Sunshine's Dilemma" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s72-c/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/05/mr-sunshines-dilemma.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcARXw5cSp7ImA9WhZWFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-5973102063058737763</id><published>2011-05-02T04:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-14T15:40:44.229-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-14T15:40:44.229-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Horror" /><title>The Bedroom Window</title><content type="html">You turn out the light and lay down for a good night sleep. You never suspect what might be there, lurking and waiting. What would you do if you knew that it was only a few steps away? Something watching your every move.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you feel its eyes on you? Where do you think it is? What is it? Are you all alone? Heh, you're not scared. Things like the supernatural have never bothered you. Shadowy figures never held any interest in your thoughts. After all, you're an adult now. You can drift off to a good night sleep without any fear of the night.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But wait! You are startled from your sleep by a sound at the window! Do you dare go and check? Go ahead. Pull back the curtains and look out. What will you find there? Will there be a face looking back in at you? Or will you be met by an intense darkness that hides the things that exist in the night?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How will you do it? Will you rip the curtain back as quick as you can to fool yourself into thinking you have no fear? What kind of shock will that bring when you so suddenly meet &lt;i&gt;it&lt;/i&gt; face to face. Or will you pull the curtain back slowly to see &lt;i&gt;it&lt;/i&gt; little by little? Maybe then &lt;i&gt;it&lt;/i&gt; will know you're coming and prepare something especially hideous for you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So what are you waiting for? Go ahead and do it. Do it! Look out your bedroom window. Maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:yIl2AUoC8zA"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:-BTjWOF_DHI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:-BTjWOF_DHI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?i=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?a=C2DsTn64h58:b-n6AGb2lzo:I9og5sOYxJI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/RatTales?d=I9og5sOYxJI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RatTales/~4/C2DsTn64h58" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5973102063058737763/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/05/bedroom-window.html#comment-form" title="13 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5973102063058737763?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7141566890254133819/posts/default/5973102063058737763?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RatTales/~3/C2DsTn64h58/bedroom-window.html" title="The Bedroom Window" /><author><name>Ratty</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NaEzEdtn_zQ/Tj3wnDAkjxI/AAAAAAAAF-s/orFpgZ2v1Dk/s220/Ratty%2B%2528220%2529.jpg" /></author><thr:total>13</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://rattilla.blogspot.com/2011/05/bedroom-window.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
