| abstract | - Ghost Story is the thirteenth novel in The Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher, released in 2011.
- This song has been featured on the album Doa wo Aketara.
- Bioshock (1) had some (alleged) memory hallucinations caused by the ADAM you had used - memories from the gentic codes from the Splicers the ADAM had been recycled from. It was used as an alternate presentation of plot events in telling various stories/events in previous inhabitants lives. --- [[1]] Sorry RNA/DNA containing memories is a 30 years gone Sci-Fi idea. There is no way to build brain patterns either electrical temporary or physical synaps links from a maybe long molecule that encodes about 20 million(DNA) ACTG combinations (or less for RNA or DNA 'patches') -- to make this Video-Recording-like 'ghost story' effect work. Recycled ADAM might have breakdown contaminants which exacerbate brain behaviors leading to 'ghost' delusions. Subliminal whisperings (someone hiding in the woodwork? PA systems, whatever, hidden wall scrawlings) ? Jack who is now a Splicer and potentially insane hears them accumulatively and subconsciously, sees in some places the setting/props/results of the events that allegedly unfolded and his brain fills in an apparition to his conscious mind. This 'brain filling in the details' is a well documented phenomenon. Possibly the 'ghost' story he sees is not real (something different than what actually occured - if anything did) but again the result of ADAM's effects on his mind. We dont ever see the original events to compare. We do get to hear some events via Accu-Vox recordings which are detailed and played out/hinted at. Some happen to get heard after the ghost story apparition though, so its back to subliminals in the ambient location *OR* (heh) we hallucinate the played recording(think we hear it a certain way) to match the apparition we already 'saw' ??? Hows that for being Philip K Dick ??. Also possible - Coincidence that Jack imagines pretty much the same 'story' as the tapes reflect (if they hadnt been heard yet ...) Note - awful lot of 'coincidence' contrived in these games so whats a little more matter ??? -- The problem is DNA doesnt encode that - its all environmentally (life experience) generated upon the basic 'blank' structure of your brain. The detail 'info'/'data doesnt go down to that fine a level (and with 20mil crude bits of data even if it did, it is not enough info for the literally billions/trillions of very specific synaps connections in your brain to holographically build up just one of these ghost stories). As for the memories fed into the "First Utopian" -- remember THAT it is quite likely ( only ?) a delusion on Sofia Lamb's part. Apparently it never actually worked -- did it ? Gil Alexander was turned into a freakish monstrocity and he doesnt actually say that anything of the sort worked on him. Lamb was crazy as a loon thinking to eliminate human nature from humans (apart from doing THAT somehow being superior). SO she might believe in that 'memories' idea but it has no basis in reality beside some 'ghost story' effect some people think they saw, but she couldnt directly analyze herself as she wasnt a Splicer. Has Sofia really even seen any such result (and Eleanor as the 'second try' might be clever enough to play along and use it against Sofia) or had that part really even gotten started yet. (vagueness is largely what we get). (BTW- since 'ghost stores' were explained to be missing BS2 because they became too muddled with too much recycling - passing through too many people - weirdness with the Big Sisters and such ...What kind of 'memory' gibberish in the ADAM might be left to use any more (assuming that idea even worked) ???) Little Sisters seem to see 'dreams' ? Well same effect as mentioned way above (they are as ADAM addled as any Splicer). Who knows what they have seen or heard from some combination of Splicer talk, their previous life, their conditioning, media they come upon, etc.... They already have that weird view we saw thru their eyes (however THAT was supposedly done - we took POSSESSION of a 7 year old child - and we saw not just through their eyes but through their conditioned filtering how they see things ... neat but who knows what weirdness Lamb and Alexander had done to them (new ones) - Since I rely on Psi effect stuff to try to turn the plasmids into sci-fi instead of fantasy -- i can allow some kind of guided mental projection potentially with lasting results. Eleanor herself ... same thing. She might think she sees dreams from Little Sisters (who share her genetics... whatever that means) but she's been subjected to even more ADAM (first as a LS and later with whatever Sofia pumped into her and whatever else was done to her). The memories Eleanor feeds into Delta ? Well his brain was reconstituted (or never became mulch and was intact enough still to revive) and who knows how selective SHE was to pre-pick 'conditioning'/imaging/memories to foster Delta coming to save her. Delta has a 2 way radio (and a TV transmitter that seems to be used to watch what he sees??? why not a image reciever of some kind too?), but what other brain injection mechanisms was used with BDs (or at least attempted with his experimental model) to issue them orders and such. Funny is that the whole construct of 'Delta seeing Lamb order him to kill himself' could have been some recording and this daddy 'Delta' is just some (any) available Alpha body/brain which those memories were impressed upon by Eleanor's modified Vita Chamber. - The above brings up an interesting point in that Sofia Lamb's delusion required lots of Memory-rich ADAM to be 'extracted' to build her Franken-utopian. Did that mean that anyone who wasnt already a Splicer would be forced to become one (likely with nullified Tonic/Plasmidsthat would be useless/non-empowering to the 'future extractee'...). The addiction certainly would make them more susceptable to her coersion (if the thuggery wasnt being effective enough). --- --- --- Since Genetic Memories are physically impossible (explained elsewhere), and this is 'Classic' Rapture ... Ghost Stories (assisted a bit by ADAM hallucination/derangement) is actually done by crazy "Mime" Splicers covered in phoshorescent/Bioluminescent paints (BUT some talk ?? - I DID say 'crazy'...) They act out their little skits (which they practice endlessly) and have a good laugh at their confused ADAM-addled victims, and run away before the victims realize (or use it as a distraction to mug them). This is a much better explanation than the aforementioned impossible genetic vector (transmitted via recycled ADAM), or some metaphysical alternative (or interdimensional time portal or whatever). --- --- ---
- As a child, Beverly Crusher listened to ghost stories by the light of her grandmother's candle. (TNG: "Sub Rosa" ) In 2367, upon hearing of Kenicki's supposed sighting of a disappearing turbolift passenger wearing an old Starfleet uniform from Gillespie, Miles O'Brien dismissed the tale as a ghost story. (TNG: "Night Terrors" )
- In the Philippines, the most well known ghost story is that of Balete Drive. One legend says that Balete Drive's Balete trees are full of either engkantos (spirits) or kapres (Filipino horse-man monsters). Another legend says that during World War II, Japanese soldiers raped a woman and murdered her, and that woman has lived in a house on Balete Drive. One account, says that if you look in your rear view mirror on Balete Drive you will either see the raped and murdered woman, or get involved in an accident. The best way to prevent this is not to go there at night.
- Ghost Story is an episode of Rugrats from Season 6. This episode also has characters from Aaahh!!! Real Monsters. Thus, it is a crossover with Klasky-Csupo's work.
- I was an American male on the loose in Belgium in the late 80’s. The tiny village I lived in was called Cambron-Casteau and was only a few kilometers north of the French Frontier. The town was truly nondescript and an ancient abbey remained the only interesting feature it possessed. The abbey’s remains stood on fifty acres of land just beyond the town with a great house, a tower, forests, lakes and catacombs. The latter caught my attention as soon as I learned of them. I investigated the tunnels both historically and physically. Originally, it seems monks in the late 1500s connected the abbey to the church in nearby town of Lens with underground tunnels, and may even have gone as far as Mons. This is no small feat as Mons rests twenty kilometers from the abbey and Cambron-Casteau. It then appears that Hitler could not leave something like an underground tunnel alone and had it walled up during Belgium’s occupation because too many of his soldiers got lost trying to chase out the resistance fighters. There was evidence of this down some of the underground corridors where a newer wall ended all forward advances or a room was filled floor to ceiling with a pile of rocks. Despite the diminished area of the tunnels they still held my attention and I soon knew every available inch. When I was not in the catacombs I was walking through the abbey’s forests or around the lakes till the late afternoons. It was on one of these lazy Sunday walks that my life changed… forever. Call me paranoid if you wish, but the late 80’s in Europe was no time for an American to walk around alone. It seems the Nazi Party was not quite as dead as we had been lead to believe and chance encounters with young skinheads became a very real possibility and a very real danger as well. For this reason, I took to carrying a certain semi-automatic friend of mine under my coat on my left side to give a would-be assailant .45 reasons to rethink his position. I will not discuss my occupation at the time, or why I could get away with this, suffice to say that I could, and leave it at that. I was walking around the largest of the abbey’s lakes late on a Sunday afternoon when I saw a woman about two hundred meters from me near one of the entrances to the tunnels. I could tell she wore a dress, but she had some kind of cloak over it hiding any details of the garment. I did noticed her figure, but few other details. There was no obvious evidence that she was in distress or needed assistance, it was just a feeling I got as I walked toward her, and she moved toward the catacomb door. Reflexively I adjusted the comforting chunk of finely milled steel under my left arm, reassuring myself it was still there even though I knew it was. By the time I reached the door to the tunnels she had disappeared inside with only one glance back at me as I approached. The late afternoon sun was casting many long shadows and I was too far away to see her face clearly, save for her eyes. Her eyes simultaneously bothered me and drew me to her. Loose stones crunched underfoot as I left the paved trail for the gravel road to the catacomb entrance. I did not notice at the time, but she had made no noise on the gravel. My approach to the door had been from the side and I did not actually see her open the door to go in. When I reached the door I had to grasp and engage the metallic thumb latch and swing the door wide on rusty hinges. It never entered my conscious mind that I hadn’t heard the hinges when she went in, but my subconscious was pulling double duty trying to keep me alive by taking over my right arm and moving my hand to the butt of the heavy Colt 1911A1 in my shoulder rig. I had been in these tunnels often enough to know where I was. The entryway beyond the door had two exits. The one on my right led to the greatest area of tunnels. The exit in front of me was little more than a rubble-covered stairway that branched to two separate short passageways that both dead-ended. As I paused for my eyes to adjust I heard a faint indeterminate sound from the direction in front of me. My eyes had not yet righted themselves, but I moved forward anyway… I knew these tunnels… she may need me! As I moved my eyes they cleared and I noticed a faint glow like a match up a tunnel that I knew stopped at some of the Fuhrer’s masonry. When I rounded the last bend I saw her. She had her back to me and she starred at the wall. Her hair was long and straight and the deepest raven black. Her curves were not the kind to get lost in a crowd either. As I stood there memorizing every inch of her she began to turn to me. Her face was a mask of death! There were no eyes in the sockets of her dried skull as she looked at me. There was no skin on the bones of her hands as she raised them toward me. What happened next I pieced together later. My instinctual reaction was to bring up the gun in a perfect Weaver stance and dump the entire magazine into… it. I also started to back away at the same time and fell. This must have been what I had done, for when I came to my senses I was laying on my back in the pitch dark. I fished a Zippo out of my pocket and surveyed the area. I found no woman, no blood, no appreciable time had passed according to my watch, no rational reason that I could see before and now it was dark, and no real desire to stay in the tunnels one second longer. I quit the catacombs before anyone came to investigate the shots and hurried home. At home I discovered some unnerving facts. I had cut my head when I fell. When I washed the blood out of my hair, I found the most startling gray streak over both of my temples that had not been there mere hours earlier. I really wanted this to just be some kind of horrible dream, but the more time passed; the more I began to remember. This seemed totally opposite to a normal dream that one would usually forget by the end of the morning coffee. This dream was getting more vivid as time passed. I remembered a sharp pain in my gut and coughing or… no… choking! Yes, that was it… Choking! I was gasping for air! I could not breathe and my poor, sweet little girl, the child I clutched in my arms, dead… My husband… my husband had been taken away and must surely be dead also. My… WHAT!?!?!? I nearly fell. What was I thinking? I did not have a child, much less a husband?! Then I saw her. She was standing right next to me… in my own house! She was not the skeleton she had been, her smooth skin was the palest white and now looked as it must have… in life. A little shorter than me, jet black hair, even in death she was beautiful. She was pulling her hand back as if she had been touching my shoulder. I understand now. The SS must have caught her and other resistance fighters in the tunnels when they walled them up. All she wants is a decent burial. This is not too much to ask. I’m leaving now with a pick and a shovel to do the right thing. The labyrinth beyond the walls is unmapped. I do not know where she died. I only hope she stays around long enough to lead me back out of the tunnels when my work for her is done. If she does not, however, I leave this testament to any who come looking for me that they may at least have a clue as to where my body may lay… Credited to SFC_HeadShot
- BY ORDER OF THOSE BEST CAPABLETHE HIGH-SENATOR OF TERRA SEQUESTERED LAW DOSSIERSAUTHORISED PERSONS ONLY•••••••••••••• CASE FILE 112:67B:AA6:XadPlease enter your authority code> Validating... Thank you LAWYou may proceed TRANSCRIPT OF WITNESS RECOUNT OF THE MURDER OFMatthew Murdock.LOCATION: TERRA INTERROGATION CELLS, NOVA YORKADATE: 223.M41I’m afraid I can tell you little more than I have done so already. I have sufficient knowledge of the extent your Law [Expletive Deleted] are willing to go to not attempt to mislead you. If you are unwilling to believe that which I have told you multiple times before it is simply due to the unwillingness of the majority of humanity to accept that which lies beyond the scope of their normal experience. I say again I did not murder Matthew Murdock. I will not deny that I was the last human to see him alive, nor will I deny my presence with him at the entrance to the deeper cities. The Nova Yorka Catacombs(mazes of the cities beneath Terra proper), upon which the metropoli of the planet where built, and beneath which the inhabitants of the dark times were trapped, those pitiable souls who were incapable of securing transport to the newer cities were trapped. Into these mazes, I will not deny, me and my friend, Murdock, descended. That fact is not in dispute, but what occurred beneath the metropoli of terra you seem unwilling to accept. I say again, we entered those dark catacombs, remnants of the barbaric times scattered around us. There was no light that filtered through the cracks of the world above to allow us to see in that place, although our other senses were not thus impaired. The area smelled of dust, and of dried up blood and rotted carcasses.The silence was broken solely by our footsteps, which echoed throughout the caverns for minutes on end. The air felt counter-intuitively thick, as much air was blocked off from the upper levels, there was no way for it to access the caverns. Despite this the air felt so thick it was a constant pressure upon my skin. Prior to entry Murdock had forbade me to speak, so he could keep count of the steps he took, with no sensory input to give him knowledge of his location. As time went on, unable to see the end of the tunnel I began to think it infinite. While Murdock gave me the occasional instruction to turn right or left, I felt myself to be utterly isolated, alone in the darkness.After a indeterminable time spent walking, I was startled by a sudden yell of surprise and a heavy thump. “STOP! Stop stop stop! We are here!” I heard my friend call, his deep, basso voice echoing in the cavernous, seemingly infinite catacombs, and he being the expert in ancient-earth archaeology, I did so. I heard a rustling, and strained, in vain, to see what was going on despite the lack of light. This area, more than others, the air seemed thick. The pressure upon my skin was almost painful here. The rustling abruptly stopped, and the eternal shadow was broken by a blinding light, the light caused me such pain that I reflexively covered my eyes with my hand, after a moment, I saw fit to remove my hand from my eye so I could see what has caused the light, and saw the light was not in fact bright, but my eyes had simply become so accustomed to the absolute darkness it seemed that by comparison. It came from a small trapdoor in the ground, runes I could not recognise nor describe lined the walls of the chute it led to, those runes let off a dim, sickly green flickering glow.“Michael,” My friend said, his voice echoing so greatly after his first few words it became difficult to differentiate between his voice and the echo. “When we venture down into this portion of the catacombs, we go down into an area long since abandoned by those whom exist solely in the world of three perceivable dimensions. Even those humans of the dark times did not venture here. You will stay with me, Michael, for if you leave my sight the mortality of humanity will most likely be shown once again. Do you understand?” Murdock was never a cowardly man, quite the opposite in fact. He frequently went into places others would simply refuse to even attempt to enter due to fear, and came out unshaken. The simple fact he seemed almost scared of what is down in those tunnels unnerved me greatly. Despite this, I was unwilling to go this far into the catacombs without completing the task I came into this place to perform. And besides, without my friend, who would never consent to returning now, was the only one who could guide me back. If I attempted to venture back alone the darkness would consume me and I would be killed by the cannibals who are reputed to inhabit here. I agreed to enter those tunnels again.We carefully climbed down the chute, the cold stone of the walls and the sickly green glow of the runes giving a feeling of death and decay, the smell of rotting corpses (Which I recognised from a trip to Calderon... Don’t ask) only served to add to that impression. As we descended down the chute the air grew ever thicker, almost smotheringly so. Eventually we reached the bottom of the chute and found ourselves in a room lit solely by the glow from the runes of the above chute. That light cast shadows everywhere, and their occasional flickering gave an impression of movement being concealed within them. The room looked like a page from a history lesson, huge, wooden rectangular containers used to house the shells of the dead lay ordered in rows, each one individually carved with the image of an ancient torture implement. The ground was made of damp biomass, and, from what we can see, so were the walls. A huge, torture implement stood laid against the wall, green rust spread all across its surface. Murdoch looked around, amazed, moving between each container to inspect it, and spending a good half minute marvelling at the torture implement against the wall. “I’ve got to see the inside of one of these things!” He exclaimed, taking from his pack a large crowbar.He picked a container, which upon closer inspection had runes carved below the image of the instrument of torture, shapes which were faded into illegibility. At its base and across some of its side grew small fungi, most likely poisonous, I decided. With the care of a medical man, Murdoch used the crowbar to open one container. It opened with a loud, slow creak. The smell of a rotting cadaver rose from it, and suddenly an explosion of dust erupted from its interior. I stepped back, startled at the sudden eruption, and clumsily toppled over a container behind me. I blinked no small amount of dust from my eyes and covered my mouth with my sleeve so as to not inhale any. The dust in addition to the pressure of the thick air was most uncomfortable, as particles of grit played across my already smothered skin.FURTHER ACCESS DENIED TO CURRENT AUTHORITY LEVEL BYSenator Utaron••••••••••••••Please enter the relevant exceptions code Validating...You may proceedThe dust made seeing anything beyond a foot before me nigh impossible, but I could quite clearly make out a form in front of me, Murdoch I reasoned. I called out to him, asking why the dust was so thick. No reply, and the form moved, no, nigh glided through the dust. I called out again, this time asking why the dust had not now settled as it logically should have. The form did not reply this time either, but it suddenly stopped, inhumanly frozen. Humans do not stop like that, they still move, still breathe. This form just stopped, as a statue would. A voice called out from behind me, “Michael, where are you?”. Murdoch. The form in front of me was not my friend, but another entity entirely.The form glided through the dust towards me, and I froze, realising that this entity must be millennia old. I watched it, unable to move for fear that it would incite hostility in it, as it glided inhumanly, steadily, towards me. Murdoch called to me again, asking my location. The entity must have been not thirty centimetres in front of me, and I could from this distance see no substance within it. As if it were not something within the vision-obscuring dust, but the dust itself formed into an anthropomorphic form. Every instinct I had told me to bolt, but I could not move my legs to do so. It reached out what appeared to be a hand to touch me, and my instincts screamed at me to run. But frozen by terror I remained. I heard a yell of frantic warning from Murdoch, and a yell of agony, nigh-unrecognisable as having come from a human throat, and that sudden sound spurred me to action. I finally turned to move away from the entity, to run. I felt a rough surface brush against my back, and from there I have only fractions of memories to tell me what occurred. My mind twisted, and my legs must have buckled because I felt myself colliding with the floor. I recall a voice calling out, but I do not recall or could not make out what was said, I recall being dragged to the ladder and up the chute, and of walking through the blackness for another indeterminate amount of time. And I recall being here, in hospital treated for radiation burns. But despite this fracture of my memory, I know full well what occurred down here. We inadvertently released a creature from the ancient times. A creature laid dormant for millennia, and a creature not bound by the three dimensions humanity can perceive, and a creature that most certainly killed my friend.DOCUMENT SEALED TO PUBLIC ACCEDD BYSenator UtaronDESTROY ALL RELATED DOCUMENTSELIMINATE ALL RELATED PERSONNELELIMINATE WITNESSSANITISE THE NOVA YORKA CATACOMBS
- "Ghost Story" is the first segment of the 106th episode of Rugrats. It is notable for featuring a guest appearance by the characters from Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, and as such, is the first official Nicktoon crossover.
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