Hiked

I made a last minute decision yesterday to go for a big hike that I had been contemplating, one consisting of trails I'd never been on.  It ended up being nearly two miles uphill at the start, which made me second guess myself and wonder if I should turn around...often.  But I kept thinking that I would just go to the top of the rise in front of me and see what happens.  Eventually the trail did stop going up, but man was I up.  I had my light rain jacket on and sometime after things evened out I felt water running down my wrists and realized it was coming from me.  I took the jacket off and the entire inside was soaking with my own steam.  I carried it for a while to air it out and to get some cooler air on me.  At one point there was a pretty good rain shower so the jacket went back on and I kept going.  It was over two and a half hours of nearly nonstop walking, up, down, all over.  I feel good about that.  And I came away with some bad camera pics:

Duck Encounter

As I was walking my usual route by the river two ducks came all the way up the hill to my feet in anticipation of me having some food for them. These are some spoiled ducks:

I snapped these pics and thanked them but they followed me as I walked away, so I shot this vid of them chasing me:

When I Was A Photojournamalist

I was strolling along the river, trying to think of something to write here, and listening to my mp3 player when I turned to look at the river in time to see one of the rowing teams bump up against a pillar of one of the bridges.  They scraped along it a little and then just sat there, as if waiting for someone to come up with a plan.  No one seemed all that panicked, but suddenly it looked like someone had given the order for everyone to get into the water.  It took a little while for me to realize that the river had made that decision for them when it wrapped that sucker around the column and dumped everyone out.  Three people floated downstream while the rest held on to the boat.  I watched as the spotter craft went after the floaters, throwing them lifevests and getting ready to haul them in.  Things seemed pretty well in hand so I started to walk on.

"I wish I'd had my camera," I thought, then realized that my mp3 player had a camera function so I returned to the scene and took these pics.  It also has a video functionality so next time I will not hesitate to get the whole thing documented for internet stardom's sake.

After posting these pics on fb I then realized that maybe the local rag could use them so I sent them along and moments later answered a call from the editor to whom I tried to relate the story.  The original article went up the next day and I was then called so that I could fill in the details with a reporter.

Here are some links to the rag (spot the spelling errors!):

http://www.gazettetimes.com/crew-member-clings-to-disable-craft/image_a0142a50-a361-11e3-97c5-0019bb2963f4.html

http://www.gazettetimes.com/crewers-in-the-water-jpg/image_d87a6eac-a444-11e3-a3aa-0019bb2963f4.html

http://www.gazettetimes.com/news/local/shell-destroyed-osu-crew-members-safely-rescued/article_32ecdaa8-a361-11e3-be8f-0019bb2963f4.html

I have now started a collection titled BAD CAMERA TAKES BAD PICS that I hope to sustain with more examples of how a non-camera device attempts to use its sad power to take pictures.  Here are some more from near the scene of the wreck:

And some more:

Change of Pace

Wups has a YouTube channel now:

WupsTube

The Haunted House (pt. 13)

The water cannoned into the room through where the windows should have been and slammed me back and up against the wall which for some reason held, as did I.  At first all that I could do was hold my eyes closed and feel the pressure of what must have been immeasurable tons of water pushing against me which then gave way to an even weirder feeling, that of soft and slimy objects bumping into me.  I opened my eyes to see corpses, bodies seeming to have been in the water a long time in various states of decay, increasing in number exponentially like the ones that fell from the loft, only these appeared to be jostling to get at me, to run up upon myself and hem me in with their dessicated forms.

Once there was no more room for them to move about due to the sheer numbers, some type of instinct took over and I began to climb upwards, using heads, limbs, and torsos as hand- and footholds in a slippery ascent that seemed to go on forever, and now describing it I know somehow that air and breath were not a concern, for surely enough time had lapsed that I would be dead and drowned if that were to be my fate.  Finally my head rose above the water and as it did so the massive pile of forms beneath me receded, as if the water were still rising as I was carried continually further aloft.

I looked around and saw no hint of land in any direction and knew as I had since seeing that wall of water that I was in no doubt doomed.  I looked down at my limbs as I tread water and began to wonder why I bothered, why I didn't just let myself fall into the depths of fate that there surely was no escape from.  But then from behind and far below came a massive shadow, moving ponderously forward, with no discerned edge on either side for it was so large, and suddenly I was thrust into the midst of a foundational terror that had laid deep within me for all of my existence, that of being a tiny speck afloat atop an infinite ocean with some giant below me, to whom I was insignificant and powerless to prevent whatever whim may strike its fancy.  And so the dull sense of doom was shocked through with a visceral terror that tore at my senses and forced me into vivid life.  Finally I saw the end of it pass and continue on, though I was no less afraid.

And why would I be, since in a short time it came back again and I began a loud and seemingly endless scream as it grew darker, for no doubt it was rising to me.  Eventually I saw the mottled and cavernous flesh upon its head and then the beak-like jaws with a single fang upon both top and bottom, slowly opening and closing as it came closer and closer.  I had the odd feeling when I saw it that I had known it was coming for me from the time I first beheld the sea.  The mouth then clasped me and I felt as though my heart burst, yet I was not rent, I was not crushed, but instead held there as the monster dove again into the unending sea.

Again breath did not seem a concern for me as the interminable descent continued until I could see some detail before me, some mass of structure set apart from the darkness.  As we came closer I saw that it was a cliff, and closer still I saw the house again, still intact upon that edge and my body rushed to those windows that were not there and the beast seemed intent on smashing through the whole thing and I could not withstand it anymore.

The next that I knew I was lying on the floor of the living room.  I will not say that I awoke for I swear that was not the case.  However, the house was as it had been before, there was no water except that which was soaking me to the bone from the clothes that I wore.  I immediately scrambled to my feet, ran to the door, grabbed my bag and headed for my car.  After placing my bag inside I strangely was able to think of placing the house key in the lockbox as instructed by the rental agreement.  I then drove my car, my wet clothes now soaking the seat, as quickly as I dared back to my home where I attempted to recuperate over the course of several days.

Epilogue

I met my friend not long after at a tavern to put and end to to the whole thing in both of our minds.  He had by then come to the conclusion with the help of friends that he had simply had a mental fit that caused him a great distress brought about by some personal pressure.  As he said this he looked at me for confirmation, as if he was only partly sure that it was indeed the case.  I assured him it was for I had seen nothing of interest myself while I was there.  How I was able to convince him of this so easily was beyond me, for I am sure that there was no way for me to fully conceal what was roiling below the surface of my demeanor, but he accepted my word and seemed relieved of it.  

Now some may think me cruel for this, but I tend to think of it as a kindness.  Yes, my friend would now be plagued with the idea that his mental state was tenuous and that at some point in the future he might fall again to such an attack, but is this not better than what I myself must suffer?  For he is to never realize that there are things in this world that go far beyond the standards of our subjective existence, things that come at us without warning and far beyond our depth of understanding that can rend us apart, destroy our fragile understanding of ourselves and the shallow ideas that we hold of where we reside.

Yes, it is better for my friend that he not carry this realization around with him as I must, and that to the grave, in fact.

The Haunted House (pt. 12)

I had left the lights off in hopes of better enticement for the phenomenon sought yet the strong moonlight above the clouds had prevented me from being lost in complete darkness.  I'm not really sure how it was that I lasted from sunset to the hour of midnight, it was all somewhat like a dream, though I must assure the reader that what came next was by no means a dream.

Shortly after I had verified the time it began.  First was a sudden and very odd breeze upon my person, as if the windows had disappeared altogether, a breeze that smelled of the ocean beyond and was weirdly warm like some attempted comfort from a long dead sanctuary.  I had barely been able to absorb this change when I noticed that upon that wind I heard something which became louder as I focused upon it, a type of clomping upon the earth which turned my gaze to the southwest corner of the living room from which it seemed to emanate.  The volume continued to rise until through the wall emerged a white, glowing mass that resolved itself into the head of a horse which continued into the room to reveal its entirety of form:  a large horse, saddled, moving unflinchingly through the corner of the house.  Though amazed and terrified I was able to note that in one of the stirrups was a foot, leading to a leg, and eventually revealed as the full body of a person being dragged along the ground, just as white and luminant as the animal.  Slowly the horse pulled its burden first through the westward wall and then exited through the southern when only the body was seen until it too eventually disappeared beyond the wall.

At the very moment that it was gone another white and glowing form suddenly appeared at the top of the loft and fell to the floor.  Though stunned I was struggling to rise to see what it was when I was beset by the knowledge that it was a small child in a long nightshirt, the type that would be worn to bed in times past.  A sickness was added to my terror, yet this was not the last of it. Another, identical form appeared in the same spot at the top of the steps and also fell as the first, this one atop that other prostrate body, and as soon as it had another and another came until there was a mound of bodies piled nearly five feet into the air of countless small forms all simulating a fatal fall from the loft above.

My terror giving way to more fascination, this is when I was able to finally rise from where I had sat rigid on that couch, attempting to move closer to what I was seeing to try to reach out and test its veracity when something that had been happening finally caught my attention, the increasing roar from the ocean and the breeze still blowing upon me.  My head turned with my realization and I saw beyond the windows, beyond the cliff edge at the back of the property a massive wall of water, still far off but moving rapidly inland, so high that the top was hidden behind the ceiling of the living room.  Again I was frozen as I watched and heard the unbelievable approach of what had to be my doom.

The Haunted House (pt. 11)

This latest discovery did not deter me in the least in regards to the pursuit of whatever it was that lurked behind all of these odd doings.  In fact, I would say that my ire was raised a bit and I began to take things a little more personally.  I admit that I had hopes that I would return to my friend with nothing to report and nothing to back up his own reaction to the place, but now I felt that I must know where it all was coming from, being as how I knew that there was something there after all.

The first thing that I then did was to pack my bag and have it ready near the door.  I had a feeling that I might need to exit hastily and I did not want to ever have to even consider returning for something that I might leave behind in haste.  I then settled into the couch again with the knowledge that I would likely be parked there for a long while.  I occasionally looked out the windows at the beautiful day passing by with loathing, for there was no chance I would partake, being that I was now locked into the course I could no longer deny and it was such a contrast to what I saw out there that the ironic juxtaposition made me all the more angry, both at myself for being a fool on a fool's errand and at the house or whatever it was that had vexed my friend and now was toying sadistically with myself.

Over time I read a great deal, drank many caffeinated beverages, and when beset by hunger finally gave in to cooking the pizza that I had brought, though my mind did not seem to want it, yet it was my gut that won out.  It was a hard battle.  Eventually there took place a wondrous sunset that seemed so very mocking in its brilliance and as the darkness encroached upon the horizon I felt that time was finally progressing after having been frozen in all of that sunlight throughout the day.  I felt that I had finally entered the long hallway that would bring me to the threshold of what it was I was now expecting.

However, it was still a long time before the real experience began.  It seems somewhat foolish now but I never thought of how all of those stories had laid such significance at the hour of midnight, but it was apt that shortly upon the striking of that hour I was taken to the depths of what many would call hell.

The Haunted House (pt. 10)

I moved into the kitchen and retrieved another knife from the drawer, one that I felt was much more substantially suited for the endeavor.  I had lost track of where the previous one from the night before had gone to.  Since I had not been cautious in entering the house this time I doubted that I could catch anyone by surprise, yet also found myself doubting that I would find anything at all.  In fact, instead of fear I began to feel much more anger and frustration bubbling to the surface.

After I had made a cursory search and confirmed my suspicions and, since I knew that I would not be going anywhere until I knew all that could be found, I opened one of my coffee drinks and began a slow and thorough examination of the entirety of the house, knocking on walls, checking closets, inspecting carpets and floors, all in the search of any panels or hidden doorways that might have allowed this type of concealed egress which led to these odd episodes that I was consistently late to discover.  I could find nothing along those lines anywhere throughout the place.

I then set about examining my belongings and how they were strewn about, utilizing my television- and movie-related experiences of sleuthing to try to find some clue as to whose hands had been responsible.  Again there seemed to be nothing to find and after my hours of investigation I sat upon the couch in the living room with another drink on the table before me and looked out of the windows to the beautiful day outside that I knew I would not be experiencing.  I had now missed two events that had occurred, there was no way that I would do so again.  I pulled my book from the floor and began to pass the time with reading.  

As I went to turn a page something caught my attention and I turned my eye to the chair in which I had passed the night.  Some oddity there held my gaze as I moved my head for another perspective.  It was then that I saw what it was, that the knife I had held the night before had been buried to the hilt in the chair back.  

So now the events unfolding began to drift beyond simple mischief and take a turn to the dire.

The Haunted House (pt. 9)

I awoke in daylight, the knife laying somewhat precariously in my lap where I had eventually dropped it.  I remembered that I had lasted a long while keeping alert but had no clear idea just what time it might have been when I finally succumbed to the exhaustion that all of the tension had wrought, nor did I recall ever waking up over the course of the slumber.  I had no recollections of the dreams that I experienced, nothing beyond vagaries and the the knowledge that I did indeed dream.  There was the echo of the overarching presence of the ocean whose roar I was still hearing outside and the uncanny feeling that I had inhaled seawater through my nostrils.  There was also the faint idea of some type of warning relayed, given by a presence that I could not recall yet touching on something fundamental in my individual mythos.

I arose to many bodily pains as the chair was not really meant for that type of repose and began my normal morning routine of yoga that proceeded at a pace greatly slowed from the norm and punctuated with many additional aches.  As I did so I realized that I was feeling as though I was suffering some type of hangover though I had not imbibed nearly enough to experience one of the typical flavor.  Once finished I splashed some water on my face, for I could not bring myself to use the shower knowing what we all do about such situations from our cultural cinematic experience.

Instead I put on a hat and, without changing my clothes, drove into town and located a sufficient diner where I could down large amounts of unremarkable coffee and a substantial breakfast. Feeling slightly better I then made my way to a supermarket where I purchased the least horrible frozen pizza that I could find knowing that I would not be leaving the house again once I had returned for better chance of finding out whatever it was that I was trying to experience, for this would be the last day and night before the rental would expire.  I also bought many more coffee drinks to sustain me.

I returned to the house, unlocked the front door that I knew unquestionably that I had locked when leaving, and upon entering the kitchen knew that something was amiss.  In the living room my bag was upended and all of my belongings were strewn about in a mad fashion.  Something had happened in my absence and I was again feeling the terror of the unknown, though somewhat dulled now by my previous experiences and the effects of said upon my mental and physical well being.

The Haunted House (pt. 8)

I feel at this point that I owe the reader, if not an apology, at least an explanation.  Obviously, as I am relating this tale from the present and of the past I am already aware of how it all ends, but in the process of telling the story I find it necessary to use a certain approach in an attempt to portray my own mental state in the moment and hope that it does not come across as some gimmickry for the sake of mere titillation. As with the previous chapter my intent was to put the reader in my place as the events unfolded to better explain where the following moments then took me.

I am a idiotic fool.  Of course the image before me was as the picture had seemed, for it was my own reflection in the full-length mirror on the further wall of the bathroom.  It was not too long after my terror when this dawned upon me, the paroxysm died into nothing, and the self-ridicule began.  At that point I simply made my way to the toilet and sat down on the closed lid to stew a bit upon the reality of the situation.

Though I had covered the entirety of the house I was still uneasy with fully accepting that I was indeed alone there.  I sat for a long while waiting for any audible clue that I was wrong but it never came.  I made one last check of the interior, this time including under beds and every hidden corner while also verifying that all windows and doors were secured and locked.  Once this was done I turned on many lights and sat in the corner of the living room with my back to two walls still holding the knife at the ready.

I knew that I was a long way from sleep that night and sat and waited for whatever was to occur to do so.  I had seen the light from outside, I had seen evidence of the same inside, but there was never a hint of where it came from once I started looking.  Something had happened here, something now without any logical explanation. Perhaps it would happen again.  Perhaps if I turned the lights off it would come back.

But I could not bring myself to do so.

The Haunted House (pt. 7)

As I was sinking into the mass of dark fears that I had begun to create, I made my way back to the kitchen and started slowly opening drawers, trying to remain silent while fighting against their tendency to squeak, until I found a large knife that gave me the slightest hint of assurance for the next endeavor.  My intention was to make a circuit through the house looking for whomever might be lurking, ideally before they knew I was there.  Thinking  back now I wonder why it was that I did not simply flee.  Perhaps I did not really believe the ideas running through my mind as thoroughly as I seemed to feel them.

It was a slow movement through the rooms that lead to nothing.  Once I had finished I went back again and started opening closet doors to be sure that there was nothing hidden from me.  There wasn't.

That left one last place to be searched, the loft. It was somewhat of a precarious ascent with steep steps of a ladder-like construction securely fastened between the floors, especially difficult when one holds a knife and is ready to jump from their own skin.  I took it very cautiously, with my eyes always riveted to the spot at the top of the flight, for if there was to be trouble it would come at me from there.

When my head had reached the level of the upper floor I slowed even more, rising until my eyes were above and I could see what was before me.  Again there was no movement, no bodies, nothing. There remained the small bathroom to the back of the room but I made sure to stand a long time at the top of the steps and wait for a sound.  When nothing came I moved to the doorway of the bathroom and froze.  Suddenly ahead of me was a figure in the dim light standing and looking back at me.

I began to scream when I realized that it was a perfect replication of the weird picture taken back at the beach!

The Haunted House (pt. 6)

As I stood there like I was cemented in place and watched the light dance about the interior of the living room I am somewhat proud to report that my mind did not leap to a supernatural explanation but instead to one more practical, though upon further examination that practicality was tenuous. I came to believe that the people whom I had met on the beach had somehow gotten into the house. Perhaps they had followed me surreptitiously as I had wandered back and forth noticing that I kept considering the stairway before moving on.  They may have garnered that it was the way I would eventually go once I cleared my confusions and had covertly made their way up and then broken into the locked house to play some type of game with me.  Perhaps they noticed the flavor of shock that struck me when the photo was revealed and thought that I was primed for some promising manipulation.

Well, I was having none of it.  They had crossed the line by gaining illegal access and there would be no good cheer when I confronted them and revealed what was becoming a simmering rage at the ploy building inside of me.  I finally broke from my stance and cautiously made my way around to the front door.  It was still locked.  As quietly as I could I inserted the key and opened the door, knowing that it would be to my advantage to give no hint as to my approach and catching them with their guards down as they continued their shenanigans inside.  I waited a while as my eyes became accustomed to the dark of the house and then slowly and silently began towards the living room.  On the walls I saw the reflected light and shadow of the still bobbing light as it waved about in the darkness.  

I crouched low and made my way first to the kitchen counter and then carefully looked around it, past the dining area and into the room where I was sure that they would be.  The light had gone. Throughout all of this there had been no sound, including any that I would have made, and so I was sure that if they had been there they would be there still.  And yet I saw nothing, no sign of anyone standing in that room nor sitting on any of the furniture.  There was no movement at all.  I stood up and crept to the corner with a full view of half of the room which was empty and slowly pivoted my head around to see that the other half was doubly so.  There simply was no one there.

And just at this moment a new thought came to me, one that still carried on the thread of my original idea, that those from the beach were now in the house and engaged in some chicanery, but the supposed motive took a very dark turn.  What if these revelers were not as light-hearted as I had first assumed?  What if they were some type of thrill-kill group who liked to single out a victim by taking a very specific type of picture of them so as to put them into a state that was fitting for what they intended as their release from this world in some terrifying sadistic ritual which would feed the dark powers that they nurtured in themselves, cutting a bloody path through humanity on a crazed crusade?

Just what was this that I had wantonly and quite stupidly walked into?

The Haunted House (pt. 5)

I did not linger long after that revelation which had sent my mind into a strange spiral of agitation. The others were curious and wanted to take another photo of me but I declined and made lame excuses as to my sudden exit.  Part of me wonders if it was simply my usual flair for the melodramatic, a need to seem enigmatic as opposed to dull, that made me act so but more likely and more memorable was the palpable fear that began to build in me and drive me back to the house with haste, one that made me imagine that any other picture taken of me would surely show the exact same phenomenon.

The problem that then ensued was that I had a very difficult time finding the stairway at the bottom of the cliff.  I walked past it many times before retreating, each time convincing myself again and again that I had indeed gone too far, but there was something so unfamiliar about the location of the stairs that kept me from accepting that I had reached my goal.  Perhaps I simply had not taken note of my surroundings enough to recognize them again upon my return, but even as I started up the steps I remained in doubt as to whether they were truly the right ones and am embarrassed to admit that I even turned around a couple of times once I had convinced myself that I was wrong.  The twists and turns that they took just did not seem correct to me at the moment and it took the descending despair of my mood to finally force me up to face whatever unknown territory might lie ahead.

Now I know that it was the culmination of what had started with that strange picture that was clouding my thoughts so.  The tension had been slowly rising and a weird panic was gripping me at the base of my consciousness.  It was eased little when I finally came to accept that I was on the right stairway after all and that the rooftop that I could see above the plant line was the roof of the house I needed it to be.  But then it all fell back and much deeper when I realized that the thing that was bothering me about what I was seeing was that there was no light coming from the back of the house, the lights that I had left on when I had started out on this trek to the beach.  The darkness continued to the top of the stairs and beyond and was not dissipated at any point all the way to the house and even inside.  I stood at the top of the flight and stared into the darkness of those windows and tried to tell myself that perhaps a simple power failure was to blame, but knowing that I had no alternate light source made that less of a balm for my creaking nerves.

And then the real terror started.  From within the pit of that darkness came a pin of light, one that slowly intensified before it began to float about inside.  I was a statue of fear with only my eyes in motion to follow the movements of that bright point when a new depth to internal darkness was plumbed as I recognized that the motions were identical to the ones that I had first spied back on the beach.

The Haunted House (pt. 4)

I heard the voices before I was able to see anything specific beyond the moving light, despite the constant roar of the ocean at my side.  Bits of yelling and laughter were the first to my ears and eased me along a bit in my querying.  There were five people running about on the beach ahead, one with a handheld light that continued in almost constant motion with a purpose that eluded me for the moment.

I gave out an old-timey and half joking yell of a greeting to try to smooth my sudden appearance among people who probably had been under the assumption that they had the coast to themselves and never gave a thought to being spied upon.  It sent an immediate wave of tension through the group resulting in silence that lasted for a long stretch of time as I made my way closer.  My appearance must have had a calming effect as they eventually acknowledged me and slowly thawed in their reactions.

It seems that they were taking pictures of each other while one of their group ran the light around them during a long exposure that resulted in a subject haloed in light and bordered with an impromptu painting of luminance.  They showed me the results of their efforts and I agreed that it was a wondrous effect.  They then asked if I would like to pose for one.  I thought about it only for a short time before acquiescing.

I stood in place as the photographer gave notice that the shot had started and the manic light waver did their thing.  It was a good minute spent on the image and then it was over.  As they cued up the results on the camera I began to exchange names with the group, all of us becoming more comfortable with one another.  However, when they had brought up the picture there was another wave of apprehension that shot through those viewing it that I immediately felt.  In the sparse light I saw expressions that seemed extra darkened and furrowed brows abounded.

Smiling, I went to look at what was so concerning and felt the ground disappear below me as I saw it, a picture of me like the others with the light painting about me and the glow, except....the glow did not touch my face, in fact that part of the image was completely black.  The confusion was palpable among us all.  There was no explanation for it, no example of the same throughout all of the images from the night, nor even from the experience of the photographer who had been at this technique for a long time.

With all that was in the back of my mind in regards to my adventure with the house and now being confronted by this phenomenon, I suddenly felt a chill and foreboding that began to rise in what at the time seemed a foolish panic, but later would fit itself into the full narrative of that evening in a much more meaningful fashion.

The Haunted House (pt. 3)

From the light pouring forth from the windows I could discern a break in the foliage at the back of the property where what seemed the beginning of a wooden handrail jutted forth, ideally indicating the start of some type of stairway down to the beach.  In my haste to get on with the adventure I had forgotten to bring from home any flashlight, along with what I was sure would be many things that I had yet to think of.

I left the lights inside the house on for all of the aid that they would avail me, locked the doors, and made my way to the spot that I had espied. There was indeed a set of wooden steps that started there and made their way into the dense vegetation, quickly disappearing from the light of the house.  I slowly began to make my way down them, trying to remember to test each step before lending it my full weight and then moving on to the next.

The moon must have been large behind the clouds for even without the light from the house, once it had been left behind, my eyes began to see a great deal of what I was heading into, though not enough to ease my fears.  Many times the stairs would fall into complete shadow from the bordering plants and there really was no way to be sure that they continued beyond that blackness.

It seemed to take forever, but I finally reached the lowest level of the cliff face and set foot on a fall of loose rock that sloped at an incline to the sand of the beach.  I made doubly sure to take note of the setting so that I would recognize it upon return, getting lost down there being a very real concern at the time.  I then turned north and began to walk along the roaring ocean for some distance.

It was hard to know how far I had gone when I was seized by a weird panic upon seeing what I had caught a glimpse of.  Off in the distance was a small light, jumping and weaving in an unnatural manner, the sort of thing that you might expect of the fabled "will-o'-the-Wisp".  I froze in place as I watched it moving about, my unease increasing as the random pattern continued.  Eventually, though I was feeling no more brave, I continued forward on a course to take me to whatever it was that was causing me to shake so.

Shirts

Kicking around some ideas for Wups shirt designs...