- Published on
Placing the dish of cat food down, Sang Mi watched as the monochrome cat begin to chow down on it. Chris watched the whole affair from the side of the room.
“You gave that cat way too much food,” he said.
“I've never had a cat, this is a new experience for me. Anyway, she seems to be having a good time.”
“Yeah, she is.”
Sang Mi smiled up at him. “Kinda weird, isn't it? We've got everything all set up here. But it's just till the investigation is over.”
He crossed his arms. “I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. I go between a lot of places. It’s… kind of my bread and butter. Going between places. When I finish an assignment, I move on. You enjoy the time that's there, you go somewhere else, meet new people.”
Sang Mi's smile turned thoughtful. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to… not?’
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, have the same friends you can count on. Have family you can count on.”
“If those things were so important to you, why are you running from both of them? You're about as far away from home as you can get right now.”
The monochrome cat started purring, and she ran her hand along its soft fur. “I don't know. I’ve got a lot of bullshit, what's your excuse?”
“A lot of bullshit as well.”
“We should probably stop doing that, it seems to be a mutual problem.”
“Probably.”
They laughed, and Chris went over to the refrigerator, pulling out some ingredients: cherry tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and fresh basil. Setting them down on the counter, he then proceeded to pull out pasta, olive oil, salt, and a dried spice mix.
“Dinner?” she asked, and he nodded.
“The cat is getting it, only seems fair we do too.”
“Can I help?”
“Can you boil water?”
She scoffed, and crossed her arms in an imitation of him earlier. “Do I look like I failed home ec to you?”
“A little, yeah?”
“Well I didn't.”
She went over to the cabinets and pulled out the pot, filled it up with water, and put a dash of the salt Chris had gotten out in it. Then she set it on the stove.
“Heat to boiling,” she said.
Nothing happened. Chris watched closely. She quickly examined the knobs, before giving Chris a look that said ‘haha very funny’, and turning the knob.
Nothing happened, but it made a clicking noise. She looked back at him, brow furrowed. She could tell: he was waiting to see if she'd figure it out.
She turned it off, and back on again, and leaned in as it clicked. There was a smell—some sort of gas.
Ah. It was some sort of primitive stove like a campfire that would light gas on fire to heat the water. She turned the knob back and forth, and quickly found it would try to light it before the lowest setting, and she got it lit.
Chris smiled—and it wasn't patronising, he seemed genuinely pleased, like she'd passed some sort of test. And she felt her heart beat faster, and a smile pass her own lips. She'd done it right.
When it boiled, he put the pasta in, and she started cutting the tomatoes and the balls of mozzarella up. Chris strained the pasta, and tossed it in olive oil, salt, and the dried herb mix, then added the cheese and tomatoes Sang Mi had cut up. He plated it, and topped it all with the fresh basil, and served it with wine for himself, and juice for Sang Mi. Still, they got to do a little toast.
“This has been fun. I didn’t think I'd been cooking on this whole excursion.”
“It's been good to have the help. To teamwork, then.”
They clinked glasses. “To teamwork.”
Sang Mi said a prayer, crossed herself, and they dug in. It was a simple meal, but a delicious one, and they had to shove the monochrome cat down a few times from the table as it tried to get at their plates.
“What will happen when this whole thing ends, this mission? I know that, you know, I probably won't see you again for a long time.”
He couldn't deny it. “No, but we'll still be good friends.”
“Okay, just… don't forget about me.”
“I won’t, we’ve definitely established I'm not doing that. And we have a bond now from tonight, we’re boon companions.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Meals make companions of us all,” he said.
“You gave that cat way too much food,” he said.
“I've never had a cat, this is a new experience for me. Anyway, she seems to be having a good time.”
“Yeah, she is.”
Sang Mi smiled up at him. “Kinda weird, isn't it? We've got everything all set up here. But it's just till the investigation is over.”
He crossed his arms. “I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. I go between a lot of places. It’s… kind of my bread and butter. Going between places. When I finish an assignment, I move on. You enjoy the time that's there, you go somewhere else, meet new people.”
Sang Mi's smile turned thoughtful. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to… not?’
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, have the same friends you can count on. Have family you can count on.”
“If those things were so important to you, why are you running from both of them? You're about as far away from home as you can get right now.”
The monochrome cat started purring, and she ran her hand along its soft fur. “I don't know. I’ve got a lot of bullshit, what's your excuse?”
“A lot of bullshit as well.”
“We should probably stop doing that, it seems to be a mutual problem.”
“Probably.”
They laughed, and Chris went over to the refrigerator, pulling out some ingredients: cherry tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and fresh basil. Setting them down on the counter, he then proceeded to pull out pasta, olive oil, salt, and a dried spice mix.
“Dinner?” she asked, and he nodded.
“The cat is getting it, only seems fair we do too.”
“Can I help?”
“Can you boil water?”
She scoffed, and crossed her arms in an imitation of him earlier. “Do I look like I failed home ec to you?”
“A little, yeah?”
“Well I didn't.”
She went over to the cabinets and pulled out the pot, filled it up with water, and put a dash of the salt Chris had gotten out in it. Then she set it on the stove.
“Heat to boiling,” she said.
Nothing happened. Chris watched closely. She quickly examined the knobs, before giving Chris a look that said ‘haha very funny’, and turning the knob.
Nothing happened, but it made a clicking noise. She looked back at him, brow furrowed. She could tell: he was waiting to see if she'd figure it out.
She turned it off, and back on again, and leaned in as it clicked. There was a smell—some sort of gas.
Ah. It was some sort of primitive stove like a campfire that would light gas on fire to heat the water. She turned the knob back and forth, and quickly found it would try to light it before the lowest setting, and she got it lit.
Chris smiled—and it wasn't patronising, he seemed genuinely pleased, like she'd passed some sort of test. And she felt her heart beat faster, and a smile pass her own lips. She'd done it right.
When it boiled, he put the pasta in, and she started cutting the tomatoes and the balls of mozzarella up. Chris strained the pasta, and tossed it in olive oil, salt, and the dried herb mix, then added the cheese and tomatoes Sang Mi had cut up. He plated it, and topped it all with the fresh basil, and served it with wine for himself, and juice for Sang Mi. Still, they got to do a little toast.
“This has been fun. I didn’t think I'd been cooking on this whole excursion.”
“It's been good to have the help. To teamwork, then.”
They clinked glasses. “To teamwork.”
Sang Mi said a prayer, crossed herself, and they dug in. It was a simple meal, but a delicious one, and they had to shove the monochrome cat down a few times from the table as it tried to get at their plates.
“What will happen when this whole thing ends, this mission? I know that, you know, I probably won't see you again for a long time.”
He couldn't deny it. “No, but we'll still be good friends.”
“Okay, just… don't forget about me.”
“I won’t, we’ve definitely established I'm not doing that. And we have a bond now from tonight, we’re boon companions.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Meals make companions of us all,” he said.
- Published on
E.D.E.M CLASSIFIED MESSAGE
(intercepted through mass email message)
From: (redacted)
To: (redacted)
Subject: RE: Hey lol we got the kid
Dear (redacted),
I don’t think it’s a good idea to write this in an unsecured email. For a couple reasons: 1. That’s just really stupid for reasons I shouldn’t even need to explain 2. This could get intercepted by journalists, or worse, internet posters. 3. We have been dealing with increased Flicker activity recently.
I know you think you’re the toughest bastards this side of the Mississippi, and that a few teenage girls aren’t going to wreck your shit. But you seem to be forgetting these teenage girls have been trained for war, given weapons made with technology from SPACE, and are all HALF-ALIEN, you unfathomable morons. You know what happened to the last E.D.E.M agents in the Chicagoland area who didn’t ask for backup? We found someone ripped their throats out with their TEETH. Oh, and they lost their targets.
It is our mission to remove dangerous alien threats, and sell them to the camps on Derros IV, and the like. This will provide safety to the people of the world. Sure, some people say things like “babies aren’t threats?” “people who committed no crimes aren’t threats?” or “isn’t this making things more dangerous by making us more enemies?” and to that we say—screw you, we’re right. And to capture our targets, we can’t be stupid about this.
I urge caution for you on your path out of the Chicago area.
Sincerely,
(redacted)
E.D.E.M
(intercepted through mass email message)
From: (redacted)
To: (redacted)
Subject: RE: Hey lol we got the kid
Dear (redacted),
I don’t think it’s a good idea to write this in an unsecured email. For a couple reasons: 1. That’s just really stupid for reasons I shouldn’t even need to explain 2. This could get intercepted by journalists, or worse, internet posters. 3. We have been dealing with increased Flicker activity recently.
I know you think you’re the toughest bastards this side of the Mississippi, and that a few teenage girls aren’t going to wreck your shit. But you seem to be forgetting these teenage girls have been trained for war, given weapons made with technology from SPACE, and are all HALF-ALIEN, you unfathomable morons. You know what happened to the last E.D.E.M agents in the Chicagoland area who didn’t ask for backup? We found someone ripped their throats out with their TEETH. Oh, and they lost their targets.
It is our mission to remove dangerous alien threats, and sell them to the camps on Derros IV, and the like. This will provide safety to the people of the world. Sure, some people say things like “babies aren’t threats?” “people who committed no crimes aren’t threats?” or “isn’t this making things more dangerous by making us more enemies?” and to that we say—screw you, we’re right. And to capture our targets, we can’t be stupid about this.
I urge caution for you on your path out of the Chicago area.
Sincerely,
(redacted)
E.D.E.M
- Published on
The classroom was made of glass. It was traditional—a way to teach the young to tread lightly, as beings like them must do, once they were unleashed into the outer universe. Gods’ lives must be spent walking on eggshells—now more than ever, in these dangerous times when the fabric of reality was worn thin by constant battle. All terribly symbolic.
But that was the people he worked for. The people who’d built this hidden place, long, long ago. The teacher was human, or close enough, and with every step he took toward the desk, he couldn’t help but fear he’d misjudge his strength, and fall right through the floor. Not that he was afraid of getting hurt, of course—not physically.
He slowly made his way across the room, desperately hoping he looked ponderous and not absurd. When he finally dared to look, thirty identical smirks answered his question.
Chris Cwej glared at himself in decatriplicate, then tried to revert to a neutral, welcoming sort of expression.
“Ah… hello, students,” he said. “My name is Mr.—”
“Cwej,” a voice interrupted him. “Yeah. Join the club.”
The voice was identical to his own in pitch and timbre. It would take a while to get used to that. The troublemaker was a student in the front row, identical to him in all respects save for his apparel; where Chris had been given the flowing robe of a schoolmaster, his duplicates wore simple blue uniforms—streamlined versions of what he had worn himself in his younger days, the light armour of an academy cadet. His masters had never been renowned for their creativity, but this was all beginning to feel uncomfortably Freudian.
“Um, now, listen—” he began again, effortfully meeting his twin’s gaze. “I know this is a little strange…”
“Oh, sure,” another Cwej agreed, two rows behind. He’d put his feet up on the glass desk, and his arms were crossed. “Hundreds of us, all diffracted from your time-stream to fight in some kind of primordial brawl, and we’re meant to take lessons for you. It’s a little strange. Just a bit.”
“Listen to me,” Chris asserted again, trying for ‘friendly yet firm’. “I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t realise… I mean, when they said you’d be copies of me, I didn’t know they wouldn’t… let you keep your memories. My memories. Whatever.” He blinked. “Er. I’ve got that right, yeah? You don’t have my memories? …If I say Kent Lankin, second year, does that ring a bell, or—”
“Boyfriend?” a Cwej in the back row guessed.
Chris stared at him, suddenly regretting the question. Could the Cwejen see him blush? He could see the ghost of his own reflection on the back wall, but it was too faint to tell, so he settled for staring, lost for words, at the student who’d spoken.
“No, we don’t have your memories,” the latter finally admitted. “Wouldn’t be much of a point in having you as a teacher if we did, right? It was just an easy guess. We might not be you, but we’ve got a lot in common. We know your face. Your tells.”
Chris took a deep breath.
This job used to be fun. More or less. He used to travel about. Go on missions, see the stars… Help people, on a good day.
Couldn’t he just do that? Why… this? They’d said he was due for a workcation—a chance to fulfill less dangerous duties in a quiet, scenic locale. As if. They were making him train his own replacements. Replacements who shared his face, his speech patterns. Some vacation. Cruel and unusual punishment, that’s what it was. Was this how artists had felt when humans had invented the first A.I. generator?
He lay his hands flat on the desk, took another breath, and spoke.
“Look, for our first lesson, I thought we’d talk about stealth missions. Precision interventions at crucial historical pressure points.”
The technical term felt odd in Chris’ mouth; he could only imagine how it felt for the students, his own younger selves, to hear it in what each of them would term their voice. Talk about a role model. He waved a hand informally, trying to put them at ease, as he went on:
“You know the sort of thing—‘Martians are interfering with Beethoven’s love life, we’ve got to save the Fifth Symphony by going undercover as the bratwurst salesman across the road’. The first thing you’ll want to do, if you’re travelling alone, is select a—” He stopped himself; he’d almost said companion. “A mission partner. Someone you like, someone you trust. Then you brief them—”
He paused. Yet another Cwej had raised a gauntleted hand. His expression was blank, unreadable even for Chris.
“… Yeah? D’you have a question?” He tried a smile, and made a beckoning gesture. “It’s okay, you can stop me anytime. Ask away.”
Too late, he realised his mistake as his duplicate’s face split into a grin.
“Well, just wondering—it was kind of our body too, so I think we’ve got a right to know… Kent Lankin. Was he any good?”
Chris put one fist in front of his face, in a doomed effort to hide what he knew must be a less than dignified-looking expression—took one, heavy step back--
—and fell through the glass floor he’d cracked.
He didn’t quit right there and then. After all, one did not simply quit service to the Superiors of Totality Itself. Even if he tried, They wouldn’t stand for it. He wondered, sometimes, if he’d quit a hundred times over, and the powers that be had simply rewound his timeline, each and every time, however many turns it took, until he chose to stay.
But Chris Rodonanté Cwej did promise himself one thing as he hoisted himself back up from the maintenance floor and into the crystal classroom.
After this was over… he was never--ever—teaching again.
But that was the people he worked for. The people who’d built this hidden place, long, long ago. The teacher was human, or close enough, and with every step he took toward the desk, he couldn’t help but fear he’d misjudge his strength, and fall right through the floor. Not that he was afraid of getting hurt, of course—not physically.
He slowly made his way across the room, desperately hoping he looked ponderous and not absurd. When he finally dared to look, thirty identical smirks answered his question.
Chris Cwej glared at himself in decatriplicate, then tried to revert to a neutral, welcoming sort of expression.
“Ah… hello, students,” he said. “My name is Mr.—”
“Cwej,” a voice interrupted him. “Yeah. Join the club.”
The voice was identical to his own in pitch and timbre. It would take a while to get used to that. The troublemaker was a student in the front row, identical to him in all respects save for his apparel; where Chris had been given the flowing robe of a schoolmaster, his duplicates wore simple blue uniforms—streamlined versions of what he had worn himself in his younger days, the light armour of an academy cadet. His masters had never been renowned for their creativity, but this was all beginning to feel uncomfortably Freudian.
“Um, now, listen—” he began again, effortfully meeting his twin’s gaze. “I know this is a little strange…”
“Oh, sure,” another Cwej agreed, two rows behind. He’d put his feet up on the glass desk, and his arms were crossed. “Hundreds of us, all diffracted from your time-stream to fight in some kind of primordial brawl, and we’re meant to take lessons for you. It’s a little strange. Just a bit.”
“Listen to me,” Chris asserted again, trying for ‘friendly yet firm’. “I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t realise… I mean, when they said you’d be copies of me, I didn’t know they wouldn’t… let you keep your memories. My memories. Whatever.” He blinked. “Er. I’ve got that right, yeah? You don’t have my memories? …If I say Kent Lankin, second year, does that ring a bell, or—”
“Boyfriend?” a Cwej in the back row guessed.
Chris stared at him, suddenly regretting the question. Could the Cwejen see him blush? He could see the ghost of his own reflection on the back wall, but it was too faint to tell, so he settled for staring, lost for words, at the student who’d spoken.
“No, we don’t have your memories,” the latter finally admitted. “Wouldn’t be much of a point in having you as a teacher if we did, right? It was just an easy guess. We might not be you, but we’ve got a lot in common. We know your face. Your tells.”
Chris took a deep breath.
This job used to be fun. More or less. He used to travel about. Go on missions, see the stars… Help people, on a good day.
Couldn’t he just do that? Why… this? They’d said he was due for a workcation—a chance to fulfill less dangerous duties in a quiet, scenic locale. As if. They were making him train his own replacements. Replacements who shared his face, his speech patterns. Some vacation. Cruel and unusual punishment, that’s what it was. Was this how artists had felt when humans had invented the first A.I. generator?
He lay his hands flat on the desk, took another breath, and spoke.
“Look, for our first lesson, I thought we’d talk about stealth missions. Precision interventions at crucial historical pressure points.”
The technical term felt odd in Chris’ mouth; he could only imagine how it felt for the students, his own younger selves, to hear it in what each of them would term their voice. Talk about a role model. He waved a hand informally, trying to put them at ease, as he went on:
“You know the sort of thing—‘Martians are interfering with Beethoven’s love life, we’ve got to save the Fifth Symphony by going undercover as the bratwurst salesman across the road’. The first thing you’ll want to do, if you’re travelling alone, is select a—” He stopped himself; he’d almost said companion. “A mission partner. Someone you like, someone you trust. Then you brief them—”
He paused. Yet another Cwej had raised a gauntleted hand. His expression was blank, unreadable even for Chris.
“… Yeah? D’you have a question?” He tried a smile, and made a beckoning gesture. “It’s okay, you can stop me anytime. Ask away.”
Too late, he realised his mistake as his duplicate’s face split into a grin.
“Well, just wondering—it was kind of our body too, so I think we’ve got a right to know… Kent Lankin. Was he any good?”
Chris put one fist in front of his face, in a doomed effort to hide what he knew must be a less than dignified-looking expression—took one, heavy step back--
—and fell through the glass floor he’d cracked.
He didn’t quit right there and then. After all, one did not simply quit service to the Superiors of Totality Itself. Even if he tried, They wouldn’t stand for it. He wondered, sometimes, if he’d quit a hundred times over, and the powers that be had simply rewound his timeline, each and every time, however many turns it took, until he chose to stay.
But Chris Rodonanté Cwej did promise himself one thing as he hoisted himself back up from the maintenance floor and into the crystal classroom.
After this was over… he was never--ever—teaching again.
- Published on
Hughes High School Donation Request—Response
As the last independent theatre in Illinois to comply with the shutdown request issued 02/21/20, it comes as both a surprise and relief to learn that those films which we have preserved over the years will be going to a local educational institution such as yours, rather than fall into the hands of collectors who intend to hoard them.
Naturally it would be preferable for you to take all of our remaining inventory, but we understand that as a small educational institution, the circumstances wouldn’t allow it. Moreover, it would do to be discerning with your selection, given it was the recent abysmal performance of features such as the Battle on the Easter Front that have at last forced us to sell out the theatre to yet another international coffee chain.
We appreciate the interest and the support of your theatre club in this time; in spite of the recent changes, we still believe the traditional theatre has a place in the future of our country, and we hope that you will continue to carry this mentality forwards now that we are no longer able to do so.
We thank you for your interest and support.
Regards,
Herbert Samson,
Silvernest Theater, Violethill Illinois
As the last independent theatre in Illinois to comply with the shutdown request issued 02/21/20, it comes as both a surprise and relief to learn that those films which we have preserved over the years will be going to a local educational institution such as yours, rather than fall into the hands of collectors who intend to hoard them.
Naturally it would be preferable for you to take all of our remaining inventory, but we understand that as a small educational institution, the circumstances wouldn’t allow it. Moreover, it would do to be discerning with your selection, given it was the recent abysmal performance of features such as the Battle on the Easter Front that have at last forced us to sell out the theatre to yet another international coffee chain.
We appreciate the interest and the support of your theatre club in this time; in spite of the recent changes, we still believe the traditional theatre has a place in the future of our country, and we hope that you will continue to carry this mentality forwards now that we are no longer able to do so.
We thank you for your interest and support.
Regards,
Herbert Samson,
Silvernest Theater, Violethill Illinois
- Published on
A Great Place With Great Staff! (Five Star Review, Violethill Blue Candle Coffee Location)
Mr4WDTrucker324
I’ve been a fan of the Blue Candle Coffee Company for years now, and their distinctive coffee that has a hint of sweetness even in its dark roast, has been my constant companion through a divorce, two kids, and many memories. So, I was overjoyed to find that Violethill Illinois was getting its own location!
Immediately upon entering, I was struck by the clean and well-maintained seating area, and the friendly staff. My barista was Petra, who was absolutely stellar and made me a chestnut mocha latte that is among the best I’ve ever had. This location was decorated with movie posters from classic films—a decision that was apparently made by the largely teenage staff themselves! Really great to see young people enjoying classic films like Casablanca, makes you think the future has hope yet!
I plan to visit again soon, and would encourage everyone to visit this great location.
Mr4WDTrucker324
I’ve been a fan of the Blue Candle Coffee Company for years now, and their distinctive coffee that has a hint of sweetness even in its dark roast, has been my constant companion through a divorce, two kids, and many memories. So, I was overjoyed to find that Violethill Illinois was getting its own location!
Immediately upon entering, I was struck by the clean and well-maintained seating area, and the friendly staff. My barista was Petra, who was absolutely stellar and made me a chestnut mocha latte that is among the best I’ve ever had. This location was decorated with movie posters from classic films—a decision that was apparently made by the largely teenage staff themselves! Really great to see young people enjoying classic films like Casablanca, makes you think the future has hope yet!
I plan to visit again soon, and would encourage everyone to visit this great location.
- Published on
The Gilbert House Screening
By Staff Writer, Urban Legendarium
Shrouded in rumor, the legends of the infamous “Gilbert House Screening” of the lost silent film Soldiers of the Stone have enraptured fans of the mysterious and while not as well known as more famous incidents, has taken its place among mysteries such as Polybius among connoisseurs of the strange.
The mystery began when tickets appeared in the mail from an anonymous collector who claimed to have a print of the lost film. Buzz began to build, and with tickets to the event being exclusive, some resold for a high price to those who wanted a seat at the screening, which was to be held at The Gilbert House in Milwaukee Wisconsin. The packed screening held many famous faces, including several high profile actors and directors, as well as director Sergei Johnson who would go on to produce a controversial remake of the film for television, and who is one of the few sources who claim openly to have been at the screening.
What happened next is layered in mystery and intrigue! An organist was brought from Notre Dame University to play a score during the film, and performed an overture as the elite guests filtered into the screening. The anonymous collector did not appear, but instead sent a letter which was read by one of the theater staff in front of the screen. The letter thanked the attendees for coming, but warned them not to read the final title cards of the film for their own safety. This caused a reaction of laughter from the audience. The letter then went on to say that “Mother” was watching, and that “she” didn’t want the screening to happen.
The film then began, and by all accounts the first two-thirds of the screening really happened, and were greatly enjoyed by the audience. Accounts of the final third of the film vary greatly, and have led to the legend. A few accounts say that the film projector broke, and that the staff was unwilling to continue the screening at risk of damaging the print, so they sent everyone home. However, was this what really happened?
Another account states that gunfire broke out, and a group of teenage thugs came in armed in an attempt to steal the film, but were thwarted by men in black suits who came in and stole it instead, with the resulting firefight causing the Gilbert House’s restoration project later that year.
The final account, which doesn’t line up with the others, said that two characters in the film, Brett Harmon and Nari Park, turned to look at the audience, and their next title card gave them some sort of cryptic warning so terrible and so horrifying that the screening turned into pandemonium, and those at the screening fled, tramping over each other.
In his account, Director Sergei Johnson gives a more detailed description of the screening that seems to combine elements of all of these stories in some form or another, without matching any entirely. This has caused some to wonder if he really was at the screening, or if he simply took existing stories to make up a new one that would give validation to his own remake of the film.
Whatever the truth. The mystery of the Gilbert House Screening will continue to mesmerize and baffle people for years to come!
If you like our content please support Urban Legendarium at our Ko-Fi. Please disable your ad blocker while browsing our site.
By Staff Writer, Urban Legendarium
Shrouded in rumor, the legends of the infamous “Gilbert House Screening” of the lost silent film Soldiers of the Stone have enraptured fans of the mysterious and while not as well known as more famous incidents, has taken its place among mysteries such as Polybius among connoisseurs of the strange.
The mystery began when tickets appeared in the mail from an anonymous collector who claimed to have a print of the lost film. Buzz began to build, and with tickets to the event being exclusive, some resold for a high price to those who wanted a seat at the screening, which was to be held at The Gilbert House in Milwaukee Wisconsin. The packed screening held many famous faces, including several high profile actors and directors, as well as director Sergei Johnson who would go on to produce a controversial remake of the film for television, and who is one of the few sources who claim openly to have been at the screening.
What happened next is layered in mystery and intrigue! An organist was brought from Notre Dame University to play a score during the film, and performed an overture as the elite guests filtered into the screening. The anonymous collector did not appear, but instead sent a letter which was read by one of the theater staff in front of the screen. The letter thanked the attendees for coming, but warned them not to read the final title cards of the film for their own safety. This caused a reaction of laughter from the audience. The letter then went on to say that “Mother” was watching, and that “she” didn’t want the screening to happen.
The film then began, and by all accounts the first two-thirds of the screening really happened, and were greatly enjoyed by the audience. Accounts of the final third of the film vary greatly, and have led to the legend. A few accounts say that the film projector broke, and that the staff was unwilling to continue the screening at risk of damaging the print, so they sent everyone home. However, was this what really happened?
Another account states that gunfire broke out, and a group of teenage thugs came in armed in an attempt to steal the film, but were thwarted by men in black suits who came in and stole it instead, with the resulting firefight causing the Gilbert House’s restoration project later that year.
The final account, which doesn’t line up with the others, said that two characters in the film, Brett Harmon and Nari Park, turned to look at the audience, and their next title card gave them some sort of cryptic warning so terrible and so horrifying that the screening turned into pandemonium, and those at the screening fled, tramping over each other.
In his account, Director Sergei Johnson gives a more detailed description of the screening that seems to combine elements of all of these stories in some form or another, without matching any entirely. This has caused some to wonder if he really was at the screening, or if he simply took existing stories to make up a new one that would give validation to his own remake of the film.
Whatever the truth. The mystery of the Gilbert House Screening will continue to mesmerize and baffle people for years to come!
If you like our content please support Urban Legendarium at our Ko-Fi. Please disable your ad blocker while browsing our site.
- Published on
The Soldiers of the Stone
Now lost, the 1921 film Soldiers of the Stone is notable for being both a biblical epic, and a time travel drama. The film follows former US World War I soldier Brett Harmon (John Johnson) as he finds a mysterious crystalline time machine that has been seemingly grown with the Devil’s help by former German soldier Karl Friedrick (Heinrich Grosse III), and chases him into the past where Friedrick seeks to stop the resurrection of Christ.
The rather unique premise was the invention of screenwriter Meredith Stella, whose husband Felix Stella acted as director. The film screened across the United States and Europe, as well as in occupied Korea. Reception was generally positive, though many critics were confused by the ending. Christ only appears at the film’s ending and says something reviewers found either shocking, confusing, or surprising. What that statement is, however, was not written down. All recorded copies were destroyed in World War II, the Korean War, or a studio archive fire. However, rumors of prints continuing to exist in the hands of collectors persist to this day.
Cast listings also include Korean actress Ji-soo Lim, whose role in the movie is unclear, and whose career in Korean silent films is also entirely lost. Her role is credited as “Nari Park”, implying she is also playing a Korean character and not a middle-eastern woman. Film historian Dave Fyodor presumes that she plays Brett’s love interest, but offers no evidence for this claim. “Winnifred the Cat” is also listed in the credits, playing herself, who Fyodor states with actual evidence is director Felix Stella’s own cat.
Later remade as the TV movie Battle on the Easter Front by director Sergei Johnson, though with the information about Soldiers of the Stone limited, it's unclear if it at all honors the original production.
Now lost, the 1921 film Soldiers of the Stone is notable for being both a biblical epic, and a time travel drama. The film follows former US World War I soldier Brett Harmon (John Johnson) as he finds a mysterious crystalline time machine that has been seemingly grown with the Devil’s help by former German soldier Karl Friedrick (Heinrich Grosse III), and chases him into the past where Friedrick seeks to stop the resurrection of Christ.
The rather unique premise was the invention of screenwriter Meredith Stella, whose husband Felix Stella acted as director. The film screened across the United States and Europe, as well as in occupied Korea. Reception was generally positive, though many critics were confused by the ending. Christ only appears at the film’s ending and says something reviewers found either shocking, confusing, or surprising. What that statement is, however, was not written down. All recorded copies were destroyed in World War II, the Korean War, or a studio archive fire. However, rumors of prints continuing to exist in the hands of collectors persist to this day.
Cast listings also include Korean actress Ji-soo Lim, whose role in the movie is unclear, and whose career in Korean silent films is also entirely lost. Her role is credited as “Nari Park”, implying she is also playing a Korean character and not a middle-eastern woman. Film historian Dave Fyodor presumes that she plays Brett’s love interest, but offers no evidence for this claim. “Winnifred the Cat” is also listed in the credits, playing herself, who Fyodor states with actual evidence is director Felix Stella’s own cat.
Later remade as the TV movie Battle on the Easter Front by director Sergei Johnson, though with the information about Soldiers of the Stone limited, it's unclear if it at all honors the original production.
- Published on
No one is coming to save you.
That's what her mother always said, but it was always a hollow warning; she never thought anyone was going to. No, being saved was something that happened to other people, not to her. Maybe her mother just saw how she stared up at the night sky from her bedroom window, as though a shooting star would come down and reach a bright hand down to lift her up to something more. And so, they thought she was a dreamer, when she said she was waiting for someone who would come back for her. She drew him on her tablet, a strong man with blonde hair in blue armor, like a heroic knight, only his face was as comforting as a teddy bear.
“She has such a big imagination,” they'd say. And the girl would lower her face ashamed that none of it was her imagination at all. “How cute,” they’d say, and it wasn’t a compliment.
Her dreams were just a passing whisper. She'd grow up and grow out of dreams, as though those two things were opposites. Because no one was coming to save her, the adults said, and they'd smile at each other wistfully, remembering with bittersweet fondness when the sparkle had been snuffed out of their own eyes.
But the grownups didn't know anything.
They’d already let her down. They sat there, musing on her innocence and their own wisdom, forgetting that they’d already left her to deal with all her struggles on her own. But that only strengthened their convictions. Sure, she’d suffered, sure, she’d been through some horrible stuff. But she’d get over it. And she’d be just as miserable as them, and that was a comfort.
Because they were wrong, and the girl was right.
There was someone out there, a bright and shining hero who stood out taller than the most looming shadows. And he would come back for her. And even if they laughed at her, she held onto that bright star in her sky, riding its tail through the doldrums of life.
He had taken her hand, and she knew that there was a world bigger than herself. Whenever she looked up at the sky, she knew the stars weren't just lights, they were beacons. Calling her to something beyond her day to day life at school.
“Are you drawing him again?” her friend had said, sighing.
The girl nodded. “It's nothing,” she lied.
“You're just going to be disappointed. You've made up a bunch of stuff in your head. He's just a character from those books you read.”
“He's not,” she mumbled. But she didn't press the issue. It wasn't worth fighting.
Time kept passing, and every day she looked more foolish to her friends, to her family, and to her teachers. A little girl caught up in a fantasy that some man was going to take her away from her ordinary life.
But she wasn't sad. Because all her classmates, all her teachers, and all her family were wrong.
The man was coming back.
And she was going to be ready for him.
That's what her mother always said, but it was always a hollow warning; she never thought anyone was going to. No, being saved was something that happened to other people, not to her. Maybe her mother just saw how she stared up at the night sky from her bedroom window, as though a shooting star would come down and reach a bright hand down to lift her up to something more. And so, they thought she was a dreamer, when she said she was waiting for someone who would come back for her. She drew him on her tablet, a strong man with blonde hair in blue armor, like a heroic knight, only his face was as comforting as a teddy bear.
“She has such a big imagination,” they'd say. And the girl would lower her face ashamed that none of it was her imagination at all. “How cute,” they’d say, and it wasn’t a compliment.
Her dreams were just a passing whisper. She'd grow up and grow out of dreams, as though those two things were opposites. Because no one was coming to save her, the adults said, and they'd smile at each other wistfully, remembering with bittersweet fondness when the sparkle had been snuffed out of their own eyes.
But the grownups didn't know anything.
They’d already let her down. They sat there, musing on her innocence and their own wisdom, forgetting that they’d already left her to deal with all her struggles on her own. But that only strengthened their convictions. Sure, she’d suffered, sure, she’d been through some horrible stuff. But she’d get over it. And she’d be just as miserable as them, and that was a comfort.
Because they were wrong, and the girl was right.
There was someone out there, a bright and shining hero who stood out taller than the most looming shadows. And he would come back for her. And even if they laughed at her, she held onto that bright star in her sky, riding its tail through the doldrums of life.
He had taken her hand, and she knew that there was a world bigger than herself. Whenever she looked up at the sky, she knew the stars weren't just lights, they were beacons. Calling her to something beyond her day to day life at school.
“Are you drawing him again?” her friend had said, sighing.
The girl nodded. “It's nothing,” she lied.
“You're just going to be disappointed. You've made up a bunch of stuff in your head. He's just a character from those books you read.”
“He's not,” she mumbled. But she didn't press the issue. It wasn't worth fighting.
Time kept passing, and every day she looked more foolish to her friends, to her family, and to her teachers. A little girl caught up in a fantasy that some man was going to take her away from her ordinary life.
But she wasn't sad. Because all her classmates, all her teachers, and all her family were wrong.
The man was coming back.
And she was going to be ready for him.
- Published on
FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY — DO NOT COPY
Security Code: AXX333829EB2
Note: This material is classified by the governments of the United States of America and the United Kingdom.
The following document contains the transcript of the last day of the investigation undertaken by United Kingdom (REDACTED) operatives Harold Armstrong the Third and Scarlette Goldling. This material contains (REDACTED) and has been approved for viewing only by (REDACTED).
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS:
Harold Armstrong the Third: This makes no sense.
Scarlette Goldling: I know, it’s ridiculous. Students disappearing and not a single theory lines up at all.
[scratching noises in the background]
Harold: (audible sigh) Why did they even send us here? We’re not Geneva Eternal or whatever letter agency is the big one right now.
Scarlette: Probably penny-pinching, let’s be honest. Heck, the fact that we’re here at all is a miracle, considering… recent events.
Harold: You know that we don’t have to censor ourselves. We’re literally hiding in a soundproof room. You can swear you know.
Scarlette: Well, yeah, but it’s a school, I’d feel wrong doing it.
Harold: Scarlette, my dear, kids in this school have been watching beheading videos on their laptops and I’m pretty sure there’s been at least one instance of one couple getting nasty under the stairs. These aren’t innocent little angels here, I’m sure they can handle a few little swear words if some of them managed to pick up what we’re saying.
[more scratching]
Scarlette: Okay, okay, you win. Let’s focus. So right now, we have students disappearing. No traces of them left behind, no notes, nothing.
Harold: It’s gotta be shadows. Something’s feasting on their souls, I can feel it.
Scarlette: Yeah, but what happens with the bodies? I still say that something is taking the students and hiding them in the walls. I mean, they were able to give us this soundproof room, maybe the school’s got more to it than we thought.
[even more scratching]
Harold: But if they’re in the walls, why can’t we smell them? Dead bodies stink you know. Heck…
Scarlette: (laughs)
Harold: Damn, I mean hell (laughs) hell, I’m sure that when we die, our flesh will stink pretty badly too.
Scarlette: Well hopefully we’ll die together so no one will have to smell that.
[scratching]
Scarlette: Back to my theory. Hasn’t there been some kind of metal men that can turn bodies into robots?
Harold: I don’t know, we don’t have that high a clearance.
Scarlette: (coughs)
Harold: But if the files that I snuck out when I wasn’t supposed to say anything, yes, but it’s not that simple. There’s still the flesh and that would smell regardless if they’re robots or not.
Scarlette: Well in that case I honestly don’t know where to go from here.
Harold: Neither do I. Hey, is this like, good enough for your notes? Cause I know we’re going on and on and I’m guessing that you’re somehow going to be next?
[scratching stops]
Delilah Gibbons: Yes, this is perfectly fine. In fact, why don’t you wrap up about now? You’ve got an early flight tomorrow.
END OF TRANSCRIPT
FILING NOTE:
As of (REDACTED) Harold and Scarlette have been reassigned to York, United Kingdom.
Security Code: AXX333829EB2
Note: This material is classified by the governments of the United States of America and the United Kingdom.
The following document contains the transcript of the last day of the investigation undertaken by United Kingdom (REDACTED) operatives Harold Armstrong the Third and Scarlette Goldling. This material contains (REDACTED) and has been approved for viewing only by (REDACTED).
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS:
Harold Armstrong the Third: This makes no sense.
Scarlette Goldling: I know, it’s ridiculous. Students disappearing and not a single theory lines up at all.
[scratching noises in the background]
Harold: (audible sigh) Why did they even send us here? We’re not Geneva Eternal or whatever letter agency is the big one right now.
Scarlette: Probably penny-pinching, let’s be honest. Heck, the fact that we’re here at all is a miracle, considering… recent events.
Harold: You know that we don’t have to censor ourselves. We’re literally hiding in a soundproof room. You can swear you know.
Scarlette: Well, yeah, but it’s a school, I’d feel wrong doing it.
Harold: Scarlette, my dear, kids in this school have been watching beheading videos on their laptops and I’m pretty sure there’s been at least one instance of one couple getting nasty under the stairs. These aren’t innocent little angels here, I’m sure they can handle a few little swear words if some of them managed to pick up what we’re saying.
[more scratching]
Scarlette: Okay, okay, you win. Let’s focus. So right now, we have students disappearing. No traces of them left behind, no notes, nothing.
Harold: It’s gotta be shadows. Something’s feasting on their souls, I can feel it.
Scarlette: Yeah, but what happens with the bodies? I still say that something is taking the students and hiding them in the walls. I mean, they were able to give us this soundproof room, maybe the school’s got more to it than we thought.
[even more scratching]
Harold: But if they’re in the walls, why can’t we smell them? Dead bodies stink you know. Heck…
Scarlette: (laughs)
Harold: Damn, I mean hell (laughs) hell, I’m sure that when we die, our flesh will stink pretty badly too.
Scarlette: Well hopefully we’ll die together so no one will have to smell that.
[scratching]
Scarlette: Back to my theory. Hasn’t there been some kind of metal men that can turn bodies into robots?
Harold: I don’t know, we don’t have that high a clearance.
Scarlette: (coughs)
Harold: But if the files that I snuck out when I wasn’t supposed to say anything, yes, but it’s not that simple. There’s still the flesh and that would smell regardless if they’re robots or not.
Scarlette: Well in that case I honestly don’t know where to go from here.
Harold: Neither do I. Hey, is this like, good enough for your notes? Cause I know we’re going on and on and I’m guessing that you’re somehow going to be next?
[scratching stops]
Delilah Gibbons: Yes, this is perfectly fine. In fact, why don’t you wrap up about now? You’ve got an early flight tomorrow.
END OF TRANSCRIPT
FILING NOTE:
As of (REDACTED) Harold and Scarlette have been reassigned to York, United Kingdom.
- Published on
Battle on the Easter Front (☆ ½ stars)
Jeremy Crass, Truth Times
Director Sergei Johnson’s 15th film is at least more creative than his last ten. I genuinely didn’t believe that the movie would be so bold as to have US soldiers time travel to the time of Jesus, fighting to stop demon worshipping ninjas who want to stop the resurrection of Christ. I didn’t think that because it’s a terrible idea in a terrible film, but I’ll give it this, it’s not boring.
Even so, it’s amazing that this is getting aired on TV, even in a late-night slot, instead of premiering in the back aisle of your local video store. This does give the movie one advantage though—you can watch it for free if you tune in, cause I sure as heck wouldn’t rent it.
Jeremy Crass, Truth Times
Director Sergei Johnson’s 15th film is at least more creative than his last ten. I genuinely didn’t believe that the movie would be so bold as to have US soldiers time travel to the time of Jesus, fighting to stop demon worshipping ninjas who want to stop the resurrection of Christ. I didn’t think that because it’s a terrible idea in a terrible film, but I’ll give it this, it’s not boring.
Even so, it’s amazing that this is getting aired on TV, even in a late-night slot, instead of premiering in the back aisle of your local video store. This does give the movie one advantage though—you can watch it for free if you tune in, cause I sure as heck wouldn’t rent it.