Return-Path: Delivered-To: diana@transocean.com Received: from vps.transocean.com by vps.transocean.com (Dovecot) with LMTP id qceDEb/IvVhTUAAAInt2oQ for ; Mon, 06 Mar 2017 12:38:23 -0800 Return-path: Envelope-to: diana@transocean.com Delivery-date: Mon, 06 Mar 2017 12:38:23 -0800 Received: from [94.242.228.179] (port=45730 helo=mail.getwaistnone.com) by vps.transocean.com with esmtp (Exim 4.88) (envelope-from ) id 1ckzOZ-0005FV-Td for diana@transocean.com; Mon, 06 Mar 2017 12:38:23 -0800 DKIM-Signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha1; c=relaxed/relaxed; s=dkim; d=getwaistnone.com; h=Date:From:To:Subject:MIME-Version:Content-Type:List-Unsubscribe:Message-ID; i=maxine_hines@getwaistnone.com; bh=3x7xqOOl7gFt25t+ScUUGwncebY=; b=QJoacahGXKf3q9TD6XPWDG+vM+jpnMDJ0dvXSV/m8Wb+gG77C55Ui4HtqBKAFYXiD8oolu/LrBCY 5fV9bOiksFrW+tqCx11TOAGM2PXTBcFHWXa5crpjjELYnohA4dF0web1U2DQtPTpQt2Z3R7y4I0K nEW+ZaRR4ro+ZUDZZn4= DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; c=nofws; q=dns; s=dkim; d=getwaistnone.com; b=O8c4mMJ20gEnQucYVghIkF88z7h1LzWWdfs034eHgnWReHRebSPJ11pbaL/zdZXrOE48lOn5/yHn OWJ1WiQjo42sq3aVs5YfU7yfrnemxAhlmw5A00pXYduNFIn0UYSruQ+8jgtGpzGQCtHB/rIxeNnE 5dd4Upsh2EDztBPPcfc=; Received: by mail.getwaistnone.com id hnn41o0001gt for ; Mon, 6 Mar 2017 15:14:56 -0500 (envelope-from ) Date: Mon, 6 Mar 2017 15:14:56 -0500 From: "Maxine Hines" To: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_Part_1027_1818512124.1488831427074" X-SMTPAPI: {"category": "20170306-145836-383-407"} List-Unsubscribe: Feedback-ID: 20170306145836383407 Message-ID: <0.0.0.73.1D296B6529009AC.288771@mail.getwaistnone.com> X-Spam-Status: Yes, score=4.2 X-Spam-Score: 42 X-Spam-Bar: ++++ X-Spam-Report: Spam detection software, running on the system "vps.transocean.com", has identified this incoming email as possible spam. The original message has been attached to this so you can view it or label similar future email. If you have any questions, see root\@localhost for details. Content preview: this its ready for you You have been selected for this special offer Home Update: New Windows #58532855 We are so pleased to inform you that new windows for your home are available. Select from these amazing options that could increase the value of your home and make it look amazing [...] Content analysis details: (4.2 points, 3.0 required) pts rule name description ---- ---------------------- -------------------------------------------------- 0.0 URIBL_BLOCKED ADMINISTRATOR NOTICE: The query to URIBL was blocked. See http://wiki.apache.org/spamassassin/DnsBlocklists#dnsbl-block for more information. [URIs: getwaistnone.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record 0.0 HTML_MESSAGE BODY: HTML included in message 0.7 MIME_HTML_ONLY BODY: Message only has text/html MIME parts 0.8 BAYES_50 BODY: Bayes spam probability is 40 to 60% [score: 0.5000] 0.8 MPART_ALT_DIFF BODY: HTML and text parts are different 0.0 MIME_QP_LONG_LINE RAW: Quoted-printable line longer than 76 chars -0.1 DKIM_VALID Message has at least one valid DKIM or DK signature 0.1 DKIM_SIGNED Message has a DKIM or DK signature, not necessarily valid -0.1 DKIM_VALID_AU Message has a valid DKIM or DK signature from author's domain 0.0 MIME_HTML_ONLY_MULTI Multipart message only has text/html MIME parts 2.0 RDNS_NONE Delivered to internal network by a host with no rDNS X-Spam-Flag: YES Subject: ****SPAM**** New anderson-window upgrade (#58532855) available diana ------=_Part_1027_1818512124.1488831427074 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable =20 =20 this its ready for you=20 =20 =20 =20
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    open; soft yellow lamplight almost blinded me. Lockwood stood there, dressed in striped pajamas and his long, dark bathrobe. Lucy I pitched past him into the room. A ghost! My room! It s coming! His hair was a little rumpled, his bruised face tired and drawn, but he was otherwise as self-possessed as ever. He didn t ask questions but stepped backward, keeping his face toward the black opening of the door. There was a dresser beside him. Without looking, he opened the uppermost drawer with his good hand, reached purposefully inside. I felt a warm surge of relief. Thank goodness! It would be a salt-bomb, or a canister of iron filings maybe. Who cared Anything would do. He brought out a crumpled mess of wood and string and bits of metal. The metal pieces were shaped like animals and birds. Lockwood took hold of a wooden pole and began untangling the strings. I stared at it. That s all you ve got My rapier s downstairs. What the hell is it Toy mobile. Had it when I was a kid. You hold it here, and the animals hang from this rotating wheel. Makes a jolly sound. My favorite was the smiley giraffe. I looked toward the open door. Well, that s very nice, but They re made of iron, Lucy. So what happened Your knees are bleeding. An apparition. Dark aura at first, but other-light s kicking in now. Secondary effects of ghost-lock, and chill. It just followed me down the stairs. Lockwood seemed satisfied with the mobile. When he held it up and flexed his wrist, the little circle of dangling animals turned freely. Turn off the bedside lamp, will you I did so. We were plunged into darkness. No spectral glow showed on the landing. Take it from me, it s out there, I said. Okay. We re making for the door. As you pass my bed, pick up a boot. We stole toward the door, with the mobile held in front of us, and peered cautiously out. There was no sign of the apparition on the landing or the stairs. Got the boot Yes. Chuck it at George s door. With as much strength as I could muster, I hurled it across the landing. It struck the door

    switch clicked on. Behind the great round lenses, magnesium bulbs ignited, bathing the street in cool white light. High up at my attic dow, the glow returned. My eyes flicked in the direction of the door. Yes. There. The chair and heap of clothes. They formed: a black and shapeless blotbut it was higher than usual, far higher than it should have been. If I d taken all the clothes I owned in the world and piled them there with my skirts and sweaters at the bottom and my socks teetering at the top, they wouldn t have been anywhere as tall, or thin, as the shape that stood just visible in the dark place by the door. It didn t move. It didn t have to. I stared at it for thirty seconds, lying frozen in the bed. And I did feel frozen, too. The ghost-lock had stolen up on me so subtly, so stealthily, that I d been entirely unaware of it till now. The light from the street went out. I bit my lip, ignited my concentration, drove the feeling of helplessness from my mind. I wrenched my muscles into action, threw my bedclothes off me. I hurled myself sideways, rolled off, landed on the floor. I lay quite still. All my muscles throbbed with pain; the violent action hadn t done my stitches any good. But I d put the bed between me and the door, and the thing that stood beside it, which was good. It was all that counted now. I was pressed low against the carpet, head resting on my hands. Ice-cold air bit the exposed skin of my feet and legs. The carpet was covered with a faint luminosity, a thin white, swirling haze:

    opposite with a dramatic thump. We waited, watching darkness. It followed me down the stairs, I said. I know. You said. Hurry it up, George.… You d have thought he d be awake already, the noise I made. Well, he s a heavy sleeper. In more ways than one. Ah, here he is. At last George had stumbled from his room, blinking and peering like a myopic vole. He wore an enormous pair of saggy blue pajamas that were at least three sizes too big for him, and were decorated with garish and ill-conceived spaceships and planes. George, Lockwood called, Lucy says she s seen a Visitor, here in the house. I have seen it, I said tersely. Got any iron handy Lockwood said. We need to check this out. George rubbed his eyes; he fumbled at his belt-cord in a vain effort to keep his pants from sagging dangerously low. Not sure. Maybe. Hold on. He turned and trudged inside. There was a pause, followed by various rummaging sounds. A few moments later George returned, wearing a gaucho-style shoulder belt bristling with magnesium flares, salt-bombs, and canisters of iron. An empty silver-glass box hung beneath it on a string. He carried a coil of chain, and a long, ornate-handled rapier, and had a flashlight poking nonchalantly from the waistband of his pajamas. His feet were encased in enormous boots. Lockwood and I gazed at him. What George said. Few little bits and pieces I keep by my bedside. Always good to be prepared. You can borrow a salt-bomb if you want to, Lockwood. Lockwood hefted his tinkling mobile resignedly. No, no, I ll be all right with this. If you re sure. So where s this apparition, then With a few terse words I filled them in. Lockwood gave the order. We began to climb the stairs. To my surprise, the way was clear. Every few steps we stopped to look and listen, but with no result. The sense of fearsome cold had gone; the ghost-fog too had faded; and I heard nothing with my inner ear. Lockwood and George drew a blank as well. The only obvious peril was provided by George s pajama bottoms, which, with the weight of his equipment, were in perpetual danger of falling down. We rounded the corner at last. George plucked the flashlight from his

    ghost-fog, an occasional side-product of a manifestation. I closed my eyes, tried to calm down, open my ears, and listen. But what s easy when you re fully clothed and equipped, and have a gleaming rapier at your side, isn t so simple when you re in your pink-and-yellow nightie, sprawling on the floor. What s fine when entering a haunted house on agency business doesn t work so well when you re in your very own bedroom, and have just seen something dead standing a few feet away. So I picked up no supernatural sound at all. What I got were life s essentialsmy beating heart, the pumping of my lungs. How the hell did it get in There was iron on the dow. How could it get so high Calm down! Think. Did I have any weapons in my room, anything I could use No. My workbelt was on the kitchen table, two full floors below. Two floors! It might as well have been in China. As might my rapier, lost back at Sheen Road, burned and melted in the fire. All our spares were in the basement, and that was three floors down! I was completely defenseless. There was probably plenty of equipment scattered nearer in the house, but that was useless too, because the thing was hovering by the door. Or was it Air shifted. My skin crawled. Lying on my stomach as I was, I couldn t raise my head too far, not without supporting myself on my hands. All I could see was the nearest bed leg, gray and granular, strands of white-green ghost-fog, and the wall. My back was to the open room. Something could be drifting up behind me that very moment, and I wouldn t know anything about it. The light in the street came on again. I straightened my arms, craned my head up, peeped back over the edge of the mattress… And felt my heart nearly stop in fear. The shape was no longer by the door. No. It had moved up, slowly, silently, and was now hovering above the bed. It hung there in a stooped, investigative posture, plasm trailing on the mattress, its long dark fingers blindly probing the warm patch on the sheet where I d just been lying. If it had stretched t

    hose fingers to the side, it would have touched me. I ducked back down. In many ways the spare bed that I slept in was a dismal affair. Probably it was the very one Lockwood had snoozed in all those years ago as a little kid. Its joints were rickety, its mattress a wilderness of humps and springs. But one good thing about it: it lacked those built-in drawers you get with modern beds. So there was plenty of room beneath for crumpled hankies, books, and dust, even for my little box of stuff from home. And plenty of room, right then, for a swiftly moving . I don t know whether I crawled or rolled; I don t know what I crushed or broke. I think I hit my head, and I must ve torn the bandages off my forearms, because I found them later all bloodied on the carpet. One second, maybe two: that was all it took for me to shoot beneath the bed and out the other side. As I emerged I was engulfed by something cold. It was big and soft, and flopped on me from above. For a split second I thrashed about in utter terrorthen I realized it was just my bedspread, slumping off the bed. I hurled it away, struggled to my feet. Behind, on the bed, came a flare of angry other-light. The patch of darkness sprang into focus: a pale, thin shape drifted after me with outstretched arms. I leaped to the door, tore it open with a crash, and launched myself desperately down the stairs. Onto the first floor landing, colliding with the banisters, threads of cold air clutching at my neck. Lockwood! I shouted. George! Lockwood s door was on the left. A little crack of light appeared beneath it. I scrabbled at the handle, staring over my shoulder at the pale glow extending swiftly down the stairs. The handle moved uselessly up and down; the door was locked, it wouldn t open. I raised a desperate fist to hammer on the wood. Around the angle of the stairs came fingers, a shining, outstretched hand.… The door swung

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