Glorifying violence and good protagonists

I have been meaning to write this blog for some time, I could just never figure out what angle I should approach it, and what subjective assertions I could argue. But I've come round to it since I finally started watching ‘Game Of Thrones’, so here are my ramblings.

Now, I know I've come to the ‘Thrones’ party quite late, in the past I had tried many times to watch it but I couldn't get any further than the halfway point of the first season. The reason why? I found none of the characters relatable or sympathetic, there was no one I wanted to follow in the world being represented.

I put all that aside a few weeks ago, I would just get through each episode, and see what all the fuss is about. And I don’t regret it, 'Thrones' is a decent show, it’s certainly much better in the first three seasons, but it’s not an amazing show. Only half of the characters are interesting and flawed, while the other half are either pointless or just malicious. It’s success is hinged on its soap opera style story telling, and the twists and variety of characters are enough to keep audiences thirsting for more. And to be fair, the performances are by and large very good.

The simple, unfortunate answer is that humans have always been violent towards one another, our history is more or less written in blood, I won’t go into the details. But regardless of geopolitical or religious reasons, humans are still animals but with a conscience, social beings that can inflict relentlessness cruelty on one another, let alone other beings.

But I'm talking about violence in fiction.

Overly explicit cruelty and violence is one of the things ‘Thrones’ has plenty of, some of it so distasteful I have had to mute the sound and look away. Unfortunately it’s also one of the things that seems to attract people to the show, the show is clever in that it creates characters so repugnant we don’t feel any real emotion when something bad does happen to them.

Why do we find it so entertaining to watch people being killed? (even if it is fictional), in part it’s because it’s fantasy, it’s not real, and it’s something that most people would never be callous enough to carry out. And we also like to see the big bad guy get his comeuppance.

When I was young I was obsessed with action movies, especially the Arnie and Bruce Lee ones, but now I just find them stupid and shallow (albeit entertaining).

But there is a worrying trend that we now glorify violent protagonists as well, they can only ever achieve their aims through force and becoming the very thing that their antagonists are.  

So called strong female characters can only be written as physically competent warriors, equal to their male counterparts. A good example of this is the character Rey in ‘Star Wars: Force Awakens’, who is no violent character but someone who is just too hyper competent.

A better example is the character ‘Lara Croft’ from the Tomb Raider games. In the originals she was a sassy archaeologist who killed to get what she wants. In the rebooted version, in the cut-scenes she was played out as a vulnerable survivor, but in gameplay she is nothing more than a serial killer.

Video games can be forgiven slightly because as soon as you pick up the controller, the game becomes a sport. While video games can have wonderful stories (Life is Strange, etc), their art and purpose is entirely gameplay focused.  

But I’d like to see more remorseful protagonists in fiction, I’d like to see them succeed without using any kind of violence. While it’s easier to create an absolute evil interesting, is it possible to create someone of absolute goodness without being boring? It’s rarely tried, and I can’t think of anyone from the top of my head.

I’ll end this by saying that I think gratuitous violence in fiction ultimately desensitizes us to real violence that we see daily on our TV screens. And in regards to strong characters of all kinds of creed, I find it more interesting when violence is a last resort, and our heroes don’t define themselves by their antagonists.

  

Kung Fu Panda 3 review

A fun, beautiful, if a little formulaic animated movie, that the kids will sure enjoy.

I confess that I've never seen any of the previous Kung Fu panda movies from start to finish, so I went into this a little blind. So it was a relief to come out of the theatre with a smile on my face, as well as those of my young siblings.

The story sees Po (Jack Black) reunited with his long lost father Li (Bryan Cranston), who takes him to a secret panda village where Po originally came from. Along the way a supernatural villain called Kai is defeating all of the Kung Fu masters in China. So Po and his friends are the only thing that stand in his way.

While the story isn't particularly interesting, or anything close to the complexity of a Pixar feature, it never tries to be anything other than a beat by beat flow of comedy sketch pieces, and action sequences. And believe me, there are plenty of laughs in this movie, I chuckled many times, and there was constant laughter amongst even the adults in my screening. Much of the humour is forced and childish, but it all works nevertheless because the characters are so charming and likeable.

Fans of the previous entries will be delighted to see the return of old characters such as Tigress, Monkey, Mantis, Viper and Crane. Although there seems to be less of a group narrative in this movie as Po goes on his own journey.

But the most impressive thing is the animation, which is sublime. The bright colours of the locales and designs ooze off of the screen, and there's times when the animation cuts into a variety of 2D anime scenes, which give it a beautiful far eastern feel, while never feeling out of place.

I can't see why fans of the first two movies wouldn't like this one, my young siblings thought it was the best one they had seen yet. It also helps that the movie is fairly short at 95 minutes, and because it feels like a full on extended action cartoon, not a second feels like it's dragging.

Verdict:3.5/5    

Rise of the Tomb Raider: Review

(This is a review of the single player mode only, and on the Xbox One version)

I adored the 2013 Tomb Raider reboot, I loved it so much that I completed it on the original 360 version and the definitive version on the Xbox One. It was a thrilling joyride, with great combat and immersive platforming, everything I love in a video game. So I've been long anticipating its successor.

To give a brief outline of the plot, in Rise we see Lara Croft one year after the Yamatai incident from the previous game, she follows her father's research into the lost city of Ketzah and the Divine source, which promises immortality. On the way she is hunted by a paramilitary organization called 'Trinity' who are after the same thing. Much like its predecessor, the story is one of the game's weaker points, which I'll allude to later in the review.

It briefly begins in Syria, and then moves to Siberia for the vast majority of the game. First things first, the game is absolutely gorgeous to look at, the environments feel alive, whether it's the vivid sunset in the Syria section or the sheen surface of the ice cliffs you climb with the pick axe. The game is a visual masterpiece, the environments ooze off of the screen and the character models are sublime. The production values really are second to none.



Crystal Dynamics appear to have listened to criticisms that the reboot was too linear and lacked any meaningful tombs, so they've made Rise more expansive than its predecessor, and it encourages more exploration through the large hub areas in-between the game's progression. In these hubs are collectables to pick up and optional tombs to explore. Some of which can't be explored until you have certain items or ability upgrades. They're not quite open world, but they increase the length of the game, and give more agency to the player.

Transcribing murals and collecting documents adds to the story, but it doesn't always work, while it does give the game some length and player agency, the hubs can feel a little tacked on. And although it's hardly open world, it does allow the game to suffer some of the consequences that plague open world games. And that's gameplay filler, which is when small mini game tasks are taking precedence over something more meaningful, such examples include shooting down small drones, breaking communication boxes, etc etc.

The tombs are amazing, they look beautiful, their bigger role in the game is welcome and much needed. But most important of all, they're cleverly challenging. As with Tomb Raider tradition, they make the most simplest of tasks appear impossible. However, I can see why some fans will be disappointed that they're still optional for the most part, and not really at the centre of the game.

Much like the previous game, Rise is in large parts very combat heavy, and acts as a corridor shooter to get from one location to another. The combat is very fun, the targeting system is precise, and the ability to use the environment to shield yourself works perfectly fine. The range of arsenal is roughly the same, you have your basic pistols, shotguns and rifles and the slightly modified explosions option. But it's the bow which still takes centre stage.

The upgrade system has been expanded and given a bit of an overhaul, without being too complicated. The game does shoehorn in stealth elements, which work fine, and there is a certain pleasure in outsmarting the enemies and killing them from behind. But using your array arsenal is far more fun and rewarding. In regards to enemies, it's great to see the bear return to the series, and more prevalence given to the wolves, both are challenging to defeat.

As with all of the previous Tomb Raider games, my favourite part is the platforming that links the game's narrative from one place to the next. Jumping from one ledge to another, climbing up a wall with the pick axe, and swinging from one area to another (with the return of the grapple hook) is exhilarating. In general the interactions with the environments make it feel very accessible and fluid. But those moments feel too short before you're overwhelmed with more combat.



The plot is interesting at face value, but nothing is ever done with it, unlike its predecessor there doesn't feel like there's much at stake, there's no real surprises, and it's all very predictable from start to finish, aside from a minor twists. The main villain Constantine is very generic and lacks any kind of impact, There are less supporting characters, but they have a wider role, but ultimately end up being very forgettable. And the early Syria section of the game could have been utilised for far longer and it comes across as a bit of a missed opportunity, because while the game is great to look at, the Siberian snow and grey does lack variety after a while.

In conclusion, I loved Rise of the Tomb Raider, it's a glorious game that should never have been a timed exclusive for the Xbox One, and I'd recommend it to any XBOX One owner. But despite the welcome introduction of the hub worlds, it doesn't take many risks and all it feels familiar (which isn't necessarily a bad thing). And there's a serious lack of extras once you've competed the game. So it just misses out on being a masterpiece.

Verdict- 8.5

  

  

Bad Youtubers

I love YouTube, I really do, to prove this point I'm currently listening to a movie review as I write this. In fact I watch far more videos on YouTube than I watch TV, it's great because it's free and easily accessible, and you can find anything from old documentaries to boiler issues.

But there's another part of Youtube I hate, the narcissistic and often over sentimental personality channels that litter the site, what I like to call the reality TV shows for the web. Not all of these are bad, but the majority of them are. The worst of them are people who play nasty and provocative pranks on the public, to people who film their entire lives for the web, and people who basically want to get noticed for the sole purpose of being outrageous.

A good example of a bad Youtuber are those who dedicate their entire channels to the 'Fifa' video game series. There's a part of the game in which you can buy micro-transactions, these will usually be packs of cards in which you can buy with your own money or money from the game. In these packs will be random players that you can put into your ultimate team, and then play against other people online, the better the players you have the better you're going to be.

My little brothers watch them all the time, which makes me feel uneasy, not only because each and every one of these people are generally annoying, but because they are making money from something that isn't theirs. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with profiteering from something that isn't directly your own, as long as you're taking that material and using it in an informative and entertaining manner.

I hope everyone has success, no matter what they do in life (and that includes Youtubers). But for me the best Youtubers and the most productive ones are those who have something to say and something to discuss, whose channels are not driven by personality and celebrity. I see the internet as a great way of reaching out to people in all kinds of way. But its getting to the point where it has become a new platform for Z-list celebrity. Where mediocrity is allowed to flourish and be acceptable, and the serious stuff goes unnoticed.

The darkness of Peter Pan

There's a new Peter Pan movie coming out soon, well it's a prequel called 'Pan', it's a complete re-imagining of the character. The trailers have looked impressive and I'm generally interested in the whole Peter Pan universe, the concept of never growing up has always intrigued me. Until recently I've never actually read any of the novel, let alone seen the stage play.

With nothing to read at the moment, I decided to buy a copy, it's not a particularly long book and I had assumed that I knew everything about the plot and the characters from the Disney movie. But to my surprise I was wrong.

Much like 'Alice In wonderland', by contemporary standards 'Peter Pan' is only a children's novel in name, it's certainly very imaginative and juvenile. But it's also very dark, and involves a lot of mature subject matter about the innocence of childhood and the responsibilities of growing old. 

Because it is the darkness of the novel that really surprised and shocked me, to put it bluntly, Peter Pan is a rather unlikeable character. Throughout the narrative we're told of his cockiness. In one of the last chapters, just before the final battle between Peter and Hook, Peter hides in one of the cabins and kills each of the pirates that are ordered to find him. Their deaths are not described, but we are told by the sounds of their 'screeching' as explained by the others on the Jolly Roger. It really is harrowing to read.

No wonder Walt Disney did not like how the character was rightly portrayed in the original animated movie. Because the reality is so different from people's perceptions of what Peter Pan actually is, the cartoony image of Peter is different from the original source material. 

Which brings me to my wider point, While the idea of never-ending childhood is admirable, it's destined to leave you alone and sad. It takes away our sole purpose in life, and that is self development. For us to become better individuals and the wider world, we have to change. Endless childhood doesn't solve this.

This is best illustrated with the character Wendy Darling (arguably the real protagonist in the novel), who decides not to stay in Neverland knowing that she will never be happy and returns home. The story is as much her journey as Peter Pan's. By the end she realises that you can't stay a child forever.

However, being childlike (not childish) is something to aspire to be. It's important to treat life like a big adventure, and discover different hobbies outside of consumer drivel and technological triviality. The world would be a better place if it were more carefree, and if we went through life without the conditioned weight of the world on our shoulders.  

The writing of J.M. Barrie is very conversational, and with many memorable quotes, and there's a deeper story behind the title. So I recommend you read 'Peter Pan', whether you liked the Disney movie or not.  

Rewinding time is the only worthwhile superpower

A couple of weeks ago I discovered a video game called 'Life is Strange', I had heard of it before but I hadn't taken much notice of it. It was only when I saw it on the Xbox online store that I had considered buying it. For £15.99 I could get all 5 episodes (Life is Strange is an episodic, digital only game, the fifth one is yet to be released). I was unsure at first, but the clips on Youtube looked interesting, it had good reviews, and it's the type of game I like.

So I bought it and I haven't regretted it since, I love it. The smallest of details mean so much. Life is Strange resembles a point and click game, but in a larger (albeit restricted) environment. Without giving any of the plot away, the game centres on a female character called Max Caulfield, a Private boarding school student who studies photography. Who one day suddenly discovers that she can temporarily rewind time. As the game progresses Max has to uncover a mystery relating to a missing person who went to her School.

Throughout the game, you get a choice of actions to pick from, those choices you make determine how the story develops. If you make one choice and you don't like it, you can always go back and choose the one that you prefer. As the player, this conjures up a dilemma, do you pick the choices you'd make yourself or those that would be best for the character in the game.

I chose from my point of view, but someone I know (who also played the game) said that I was doing it wrong, you should always play from the character's point of view. Either way, you can always go back, create a new file and make different choices. But the game has got me thinking about what such powers as rewinding time would give to you.

Because, when you really think about it, in the real world, very few superpowers (let's call it that) would actually be of any great value without abusing them, dehumanising yourself, and above all, getting found out. But the ability to be able to temporarily rewind and undo choices you make is one superpower which could genuinely be used for the benefit of the wider society around you, as well as for your own strict benefit. And it's not just the ability to change what has already happened, but the physical world around you, which I think is far more powerful.

For example, if someone got run over near to where I was, not only can I stop it, but I can prevent it by rewinding time, and warning that person of their impending danger, through persuasion or delicacy. Another (which is included in the game) is stopping someone from committing suicide.

Another example (which is included in the game) and one which could easily be abused, is the ability to pretend your psychic. If I had someone show me how much money they have in their wallet, I could rewind time, and then tell them. I'm sure there are more extreme examples of this kind of scenario.  

But the more I think about it, and the reason why I am writing this blog post, is that I believe the ability to rewind time is the only superpower which would really be of any value in the real world, whether for malignant purposes or not.

Because it ultimately gives you the power to master not only your own destiny but others around you.

What would I do? I would do a bit of both, I would certainly profit from it, nothing evil. However, at the same time, I would choose a life in which the ability to temporarily rewind time would be social good.

So, ask yourself, if you could temporarily rewind time, what kind of choices would you make?  

Into the Ravens Nest: Chapters 5&6

Here are chapters 5 and 6 of Into the Ravens Nest. Please note that this is not the final edited version, due to a computer problem I lost the final version. Howerver, there isn't too much difference aside from technicalities. Enjoy yourself.

 Chapter five:

Twilight had set by the time he returned to Forest Meadows, the town square was quiet and empty except for a few people outside of the pubs. With the street lamps and clock tower alight it made for a serene setting. Before they parted company it was agreed that Mr Wilson would help by contacting people with eye witness accounts of the supernatural at Ravens Gate, as well as Police Officer Hamilton.

On entering, the first floor of the Golden Swan was half packed, and this was because a football match was due to start at some point. Reuben hated football, after a few visits to White Hart Lane in his late teens, he had completely ignored it ever since. From behind the bar Harry immediately noticed him enter, a concerned expression was evident in his eyes.

As Reuben walked towards the stairwell Harry called out his name to get his attention. He came out from the other side of the bar, a lighter and a cigarette in hand and said “follow me”. Without giving Reuben the chance to respond he stormed to the back of the Inn, Reuben followed him through a side door which led into the outside garden.

They sat down at one of the numerous hexagon shaped benches.

“Do you smoke?” he held out the cancer stick close to Reuben’s face.

He didn’t want to take it but the offer was too tempting, so he reluctantly accepted. At once they both lit up and took a drag before conversing.

“Sorry to pull you out here, I’m due a break and I’m dying for a cigarette, did you go to the abandoned prison?”,

“Very briefly, it was more of a stop off, first viewing before I start the investigation thoroughly from tomorrow”,

“And what did you make of it all?”

Reuben tried to be as honest as possible, without trying to go into too much detail “It’s stating the obvious but it was much more imposing in person than it is in the photos i had seen, far more than i expected”.

“I ask because i’m fascinated, but I don’t have the guts to go by myself, I’m too scared that I will find out some cold truths I don’t want to believe”,

“I don’t blame you, I’d probably do the same thing, what you don’t know can’t hurt you”.

Reuben stubbed out his cigarette, although there was still about half of it left, he couldn’t relax for the simple reason that he didn’t like to smoke for social intent. Harry on the other hand was a heavy smoker, Reuben could tell by the frequency in which he brought the cigarette up to his mouth, breathed heavily into his lungs and exhaled the smoke. Making an annoying sound like a stuttering steam train.

“Remember when I mentioned the lake in the forests”,

Reuben couldn’t remember, but he he politely nodded anyway,

“if i can get the time at some point this week and you’re still here, you’re more than welcome to come along with me, it’s too late in the year to fish but I like to go there from time to time, to clear my head. You’ll also get the opportunity to see the better side of those forests”.

“I will take you up on that offer, just let me know and I’ll see if I can come along”, he couldn’t see the point in going, but on second thought it could provide him respite from his work, and an opportunity to explore the forests outside the perimeters of the abandoned prison. He was also, never comfortable refusing generosity from others.

Harry had gone out of his way to be welcoming to him since his arrival at the Inn. Reuben was sure that It was as much to do with Harry’s fascination with the prison as it was to do with Reuben, the outsider.

He was beginning to feel the cold so Reuben got up from his seat, “I’m calling it a night”.

“why don’t you come in for a drink, the football’s on”

Harry’s generosity was naive but Reuben was appreciative, “I’m okay, but thanks, I’m going to go get in my room and prepare for tomorrow”.

“Well if you need anything, just let me know and I will help you out”.

He left Harry smoking his second cigarette.

When he was back in his room, Reuben sat at the desk writing notes on his early interpretations of Forest Meadows and Ravens Gate. It would help him when he assembled his investigation together and the writing process began, it was the small details that still mattered so much in his articles. It was also a good idea to write those small details down as soon as possible, although he had a very good photographic memory, the notes would give him a clearer picture when he’d return to them.

When he was finished, he showered and changed into a comfortable pair of clothes, and lay awake on the bed. He wanted to finish the rest of the newspaper he had bought earlier but found it pointless in reading what was now old news.

He remembered the bible which was in the drawer, he pulled it out and began reading the first few pages, until his eyes tired and he decided to call it a night.

He awoke once during the early hours of the morning when he could hear something coming from outside of the window, it sounded like two pieces of metal clanking together. He recognised what the noise could be, but to make sure he got out of bed. With sleep bogeys sticking to his eyebrows, he lumbered across the room to open the curtains and the window.

To the side of the road, close to the pavement, was a pair of black horses carrying racks of bottled milk in the back carriage, they were the old glass pint bottles, which he assumed had been left to the consignment of the past. A sense of nostalgia came back to him as he watched the carriage ride past his window and out from the square.

Sunrise was in the early stages of blooming, so without checking he guessed that the time wasn't too far past 6.00 am, so he crawled back into the bedcovers. For a while he lay with the back of his head against the pillow, he hadn’t noticed it before, but the pillow was hard, his pillows back home were soft, and he only had to put his head on them to fall asleep with little effort. When he found himself comfortable he snuggled up and slept until nine.

He woke up with a sense of excitement, today was the day the investigation would really begin. The downstairs bar was empty except for one couple seated in the dining area at the back, Harry was absent from the bar. He sat at a table close to the garden door and ate breakfast.

When he’d left the Inn, the outside weather was grim with simmerings of sunlight trying to break through the clouds. As soon as he drove out from the vicinity of the town he pressed his hand drawn map against the steering wheel.

For a while he listened to a radio phone in show, he quickly got bored and switched on classic FM. It was only when the signal suddenly began to cackle that he switched it off completely. He didn’t think anything of it, it was understandable that the signal would be weak from where he was driving through.

He stood and examined the prison with closer scrutiny. Now that there was stronger daylight he could see the small square window holes that spiralled from the ground floor up. He circled the building, snapping photos as he did, each of the holes must have looked out from inside of the cells.

The iron door opened with ease, before entering he switched on his torch, he left the door ajar so there was some daylight getting through. His clothes quickly pressed against his skin, and the sweat was already swarming his forehead.

The only thing he’d brought with him was his camera, he wanted to scout the inside of the building before anything else. He had a process to each of his investigations, beginning with an understanding with the place or places he was investigating. So he got underway and took a photo looking up at the ceiling, one from the entrance looking into the building, and one looking up towards the stairwell about halfway up.

He decided to number each of the cells from number one at the bottom to number thirteen at the top. Before entering the first cell he put his right eye in front of the round peephole. It was pitch black inside, so he couldn’t see anything other than the slightest of daylight coming in from the small hole in the wall, shimmering like a symbol of hope inside a place that offered none.

He slowly unlocked the bolt and opened the door outwards, he took a photo and walked through, directing the torch over the stone walls as he entered.

The cell was small but not tiny, and entirely desolate, not even a bed, there was absolutely no trace that it had ever once been occupied by a living person.

He ogled the outside view from the tiny square hole, he wasn’t high up but the natural greenery would have been a teasing reminder to the prisoners that their freedom was no longer in their control.

Reuben turned round and looked back at the cell before exiting, he couldn’t fathom an existence in such a squalid and deprived environment. He found himself beginning to feel claustrophobic and boxed in, so he ascended the stairs again. Without entering any, he glanced in each of the cells, moving from one to another, he did this until he reached the last cell at the top of the spiral steps.

Each of the cells were entirely identical to one another, there was no writings on the walls, there were no objects left behind. There was simply no evidence that anyones existence had ever passed through any of the cells to the prison.

He looked down to the foot of the prison, with the help of the darkness it didn’t look quite as tall from above. From his viewpoint, there was something that he had missed at the back of the prison, illuminating under his torchlight was a much larger than usual manhole. There was surely no sewage system within the building, so what else could it lead to?

He would only find out by opening it.

For a couple of minutes he observed the inside of the building from its top, there was nothing but silence, he didn’t expect anything to happen, it was rare that anything would happen on the first night of his investigations. It was only when he went in search for something that he found it. The same could be said of the supernatural. Despite his belief that the supernatural was largely re-enactments of the past, there were extreme occasions when the supernatural lived off its own free will, often consumed with hatred, and when it communicated it was often willing to harm.

To hear the density of his surroundings he tossed a two pence coin into the air, and watched the spinning silver freefold into the darkness before a pinging sound echoed subtlety through the air once it had hit the ground, before fading away.

The sudden sound of his phone ringing made him jolt. It was Mr Wilson on the other end, the reception wasn’t good so he had to bring the phone tight to his ear, when he answered he could hear his muffled voice being repeated, and the signal was hollow.

“I have some good news for you, I have managed to get you an interview with Officer Hamilton. I just need to know when and where you want to interview to take place, so we can get the whole thing arranged”.

Reuben evaluated his options, he could have left the interview until the next day, but he agreed to a meeting at 3.00pm, to take place in the Golden Swan. The earlier he gathered his information for his article the more it would give him time to expand on it.

“I’m sure that would be perfectly fine” Mr Wilson continued to speak, “but there is one condition, I want to be there when this interview takes place”.

“Why?” Reuben queried,

“It’s not that I don’t trust you”, between the crackled signal, the pitch in his voice lowered and the gaps between the words were replaced with ums and ahs. The question had clearly thrown him off a little.

“I don’t want you to misrepresent what he tells you”

“you can trust me, I will not change anything he says to me” Reuben softened his voice so that he came across as reassuring, “the interview will be taped so you can listen to it once the article is published and, so that you know I have used the quotes in the appropriate way. It would also be best if you weren’t there for authenticity reasons, I need to know that what he tells me will match what he has said to you, with you present the chances of him telling me the entire truth could be jeopardised”.

“That’s fine” his voice cowered as he admitted defeat, “I’ll pass it onto him, and I’ll see you at three o’clock, unless anything changes”.

When the conversation had ended, Reuben put the phone back into his jacket pocket, and descended the steps.

He looked into cell thirteen without entering, he intended to look in each of the cells as he made his way down. Just as he closed the door to cell twelve a loud thud hit hard against one of the doors below.

The same sound was repeated again, and then again, each time with harder force. The constant pounding sounded like someone was using their fist as a club against the door. With a steady pace Reuben followed the steps downwards, he was sure that the noise was coming from cell five. The deafening echoes continued to bellow out from the cell and rose high up to the ceiling, and never showed any signs that they were going to cease.

He could feel the vibrations from under his feet.

He passed the door to cell eleven, it was only when he was within a few steps from the next cell, that without warning and no expectancy. All at once, the banging was coming from every single one of the cell doors.

A thunderous chain of tremors followed.

It was so loud that he had to cover his ears to compress the throbbing air pressure, It reminded him of the experience he always had when he was aboard a plane, when minutes before it would land, his ears would hurt with no end in sight. It felt like someone had put a screwdriver through one earlobe with the intention of going through the other.

His earlobes popped when he took his hands away, it took a few moments to adjust and to get his footing back to normal. However, the calming silence was short lived when the thundering bangs returned from cell five, he listened carefully as his feet scraped the tops of the steps as he continued to descend the stairs, following the noise.

When he came to cell five the banging from the other side of the door rather coincidentally stopped. He drew his right eye to the glass peephole, the white square opening in the wall at the back of the cell looked miles away when in fact it was only a matter of meters.

He remained calm, steadied his heartbeats.

He grasped the bolt of the door, pulled it back, the creaking sound in tune with his racing pulse. The cell was empty, he peered through without stepping forward. The room’s temperature was cold, his hands and forehead quivered.

Although he could see nothing he knew something was here, there was no mistaking that he had heard the loud bangs against the frame of the door.

He walked through, the coldness engulfed him, the circulation in his blood made his hands reddened. It wasn’t coming from the square hole because there was no draft coming through, and it wasn’t cold enough outside. Nevertheless he walked over and gazed out of the window in the stone wall, where he could see his car.

Once again he couldn’t comprehend what a depressing and wasted existence it must have been, to be locked up in an never ending nocturnal living for the rest of existence.

With his eyes still fixed on the daylight a cold sensation wrapped round his right hand. On instinct he pulled his hand away, it was only then that he felt what he could only describe as a hand flitter away from his own, he felt the compressions and the texture of someone else's skin.

But no one else was present in the cell with him.

The drastic drop in temperature didn’t last long. His blood circulation returned to normal, although his right hand felt a little numb.

His attention was elsewhere when a loud thump echoed from outside of the cell, he didn’t have to wait long before the same sound was repeated once again. gradually the successive thumps got louder against one of the other cell doors.

On this occasion It was coming from one of cells on the upper levels of the prison.

He set forward and tracked the sounds to cell nine, once again the banging against the other side of the door stopped when he was within inches of from the door. The view from within the cell looked out to the forests west of the front entrance.

Again the temperature in the room had dropped substantially, and once again he felt the presence of something else with him.

With nothing of any interest he turned his back and tread towards the exit when he was grabbed around the jugular, and forcefully dragged back into the cell. The powerful grip tightened, and his throat was being pressed from what felt like two thumbs from either side, as though a pair of hands overlapped one another.

Phlegm spewed from his mouth as he struggled to breathe, the next thing he knew he was being swooped up in the air, where he was held high from the ground. He could still feel two hands, its grip frozen and stinging his skin, as the pain got worse from the bruising he could feel growing.

From out of the darkness a set of bright, white eyes appeared in front of him. It was only now that he could see the outline of a black apparition float towards him, its hands wrapped around his throat. Its appearance like a moving veil of thick, black smog, shaped like a human shadow.        

The grip around his neck was crushing him, his tongue outstretched, and his eyes rolled upwards, His arms ached, the bones feeling like they were about to rupture from under his weight, so he gave up and dropped them to his waist, in doing so the torchlight fell out of his hand, the light flashed in the eyes of the apparition.

For a second a terrifying thought came to him. That he could die in this godforsaken prison.

He closed his eyes expecting death.

And then he felt his knees buckle as they hit the floor. He opened his eyes but he was unable to react in time to stop himself landing on his left shoulder. He ignored the impact and caressed his throat, he could feel the mark that had been left behind, and the swelling of the muscles from under the flesh.

Coughs of spit came out from his mouth as he lay looking down on the ground. He crawled out of the cell and when his breathing stabilized he lay on his back. He was panting furiously, unable to maintain steady heartbeats.

As he lay down, somewhere from above him, the loud thuds returned from one of the other cells. His throat hurt but the rest of his body resumed normality, with little effort he got up and closed the door.

Cell ten was empty when he opened the door and again the banging from inside ceased. It was clear that whatever supernatural entity it was that was haunting the cells, it did not want him to leave, and it was willing to harm in doing so.

He closed the cell, he would revisit the them another time. Before disembarking, he tried to pull up the manhole by its handle but it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he tried. As he was about to leave the loud bangs returned, this time it was happening in multiple cells.

From the front door he looked back, his eyes followed the steps from top to bottom, It was not too long ago that he learned the reason why spiral staircases were used in medieval castles and fortresses. It was for defensive reasons. The narrow walkways and spiralling stairs were ideal for those who were defending their ground from an invading army, it was harder for an army to attack an enemy from above, and there was less chance of multiple attackers successful in their pursuit.

However this was not the case with Ravens Gate, the prison was large and open, purposely very easy to manage with as limited people as possible.

Outside the grey clouds were gathering in the sky, the forecasts were appearing to be correct, which could hinder his work. His thoughts were a little confused when he drove back towards town, spinning around his head like a carousel. There were many unanswered questions, and not all of these questions were to do with the strange activity he had witnessed.

For what convictions were the prisoners sent to Ravens Gate for?

And what was the connection between the forests and the prison?

And what was beneath the manhole?

Chapter six:

Reuben went back to his room, he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, at either side of his neck were slight, pink bruising, they only hurt when he touched them, otherwise there was just a tightening of the muscles. Afterwards, he examined the photos he’d taken on his camera, but nothing out of the ordinary came from it. So instead he sat at the desk and wrote further notes on his first proper visit to the prison.

When it was ten minutes to three he left his room for the bar. Harry was still nowhere to be seen, instead there was a heavy weighted, middle aged woman, it might have been his wife, he thought it would be rude to ask. He took his drink and sat down in the corner where he could keep a close eye on the front entrance.

He sat impatiently as the time passed three o’clock, the bar wasn’t busy as he waited. By the time Mr Wilson showed up with Kevin Hamilton, it was the Police Officer who walked through first, while Mr Wilson held the door open, he caught sight of Reuben and pointed him out, with Mr Wilson behind him, the police officer stepped out of the shadows and into the light coming into the inn from the front window.

It was only then that the horrifying scars from both sides of the policeman’s jawline were revealed. It was clear from the difference in skin texture that surgical work had been used, where the skin appeared flaccid and creased, and with blemishes that looked like old yellow bruises. They came over and sat down, Reuben tried his best not to make his curiosity obvious, even when they shook hands and made eye contact.

“Let me get the drinks” Mr Wilson said enthusiastically,

“I thought you were going to leave us to it” Reuben quietly intruded, doing his best not to create any ill feeling between the three of them.

“Well, Kevin will only do the interview while I’m present”

Without saying anything Mr Hamilton nodded in agreement. Reuben couldn’t help but look at the sleek, oily surface of his face, which had only done a partial job of covering over the lines where the damage had been done. He thought back to the article he read which described Mr Hamilton’s unfortunate ordeal with the white eyed shadows.

There was little he could do and the situation was out of his hands. It was silent until Mr Wilson asked what drink Mr Hamilton wanted. When he left, Reuben got out his notebook and tape recorder.

“you don’t mind if I record this do you? it will help me when it comes to transcribing the interview into print, and you can trust me when I say that everything you tell me will be quoted in the article in the correct manner”,

he looked at Reuben with an untrusting expression,

“which newspaper do you work for?”

“I don’t work for a newspaper, I am an investigative journalist for a magazine called The unknown, it focuses on the Supernatural”.

His expression did not change, his dark hazel, ageing, eyes strayed from side to side, as though he couldn’t believe what he had been told. His expectations had overwhelmingly not been met.

“so is it okay to record the interview?” he reluctantly asked the question again, it was obvious that their first meeting had unfortunately started with a hostile atmosphere.

“If it helps, then do as you please”,

it remained silent between the two of them until Mr Wilson returned, he placed the drinks on the table and sat on a small stool to the right hand side of Mr Hamilton.

After a short spell of small chit chat, in which they spoke in relation to the newspaper story Mr Wilson had written of his incident in ‘The Outskirts’, and he also learned that Kevin Hamilton had retired from the police force not too long after his incident. Reuben mentioned that he had been back to Ravens Gate, but he lied in regards to what had happened, merely brushing the question aside.

“Everybody knows not to go anywhere near that place” Mr Hamilton continued, not once did he blink as he spoke “you should do yourself a favour and leave it to decay in those forests”.

To get things moving along Reuben said “why don’t we just get this interview underway shall we”.

He switched the recorder on, and with his pen and paper in hand, he began with the interview “Please tell me when it was and why you first visited Ravens Gate?”, Reuben wanted to get him to remind himself of a few things, recollect his memory, and then he could move onto questions about the night he was attacked by the white eyed apparitions.

“It was common knowledge among many people in the local police that Ravens Gate was a bit of a strange place, at first I thought it was a load of bollocks. That was until we got a call through about a missing film crew who had visited the prison. Over many years we have had cases where empty cars belonging to the missing have been found in and around the road that leads to the prison”.

By not answering the questions directly and giving information he hadn’t been asked, suggested to Reuben that the ex police officer was fascinated with the prison, and it still lingered in his thoughts. It was also a good indication that he was telling the truth, a good interview was one where the interviewee spoke at great lengths with very little need for disruption.

“There are very, very, few of the missing that have ever been found. The prison has always been haunted, but the forests beyond it are just as haunted as well, I know that from the only time that I ever came close to the prison”.

“Please explain” Reuben insisted,

“The only time I ever came close to Ravens Gate was when we went in search of a missing film crew, their vehicles had been parked in front of the prison so they had been there at one point, I myself never went inside, i was part of the search party in the forests to the north”.

Reuben caught sight of the fact that he repeatedly placed his right hand up to his forehead and then quickly slapped it down onto the table, unaware of his body language, it was a sign that there was plenty of information running through his mind that he wanted to let out.

“Everything was fine at first but we reached a certain point where we began to hear this constant crying and screaming, there were so many different voices all overlapping one another. Never have I heard such desperation in my life. And I really don’t know how to put this but there was no one else with us, it was like they were coming from absolutely nowhere”.

Reuben made a special note of the mysterious crying, “how would you describe this crying you heard, you said that it sounded desperate, what do you mean?”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked up at the ceiling before looking directly at Reuben again. His eyes were determined, challenging Reuben for any sign of disbelief,

“the only word I can think of is helpless, it sounded like groups of men terrified for their lives”.

Reuben underlined Mr Hamilton’s description in the shorthand notes he’d written.

After another sip of his drink, Reuben carried on with the interview “Please continue, what happened from then onwards?”.

“We wandered further and further into the forests, when suddenly a flame appeared in the distance, we followed it, thinking that it might’ve been someone who’d got lost. We were calling out but we got no response, we stopped when the light disappeared. None of our radio equipment was working, so we just wandered aimlessly into the forests, we were about to turn back, and then all of a sudden we came across these…”; he searched for the appropriate word to use, “creatures lurking around the trees, at first we could only identify them because of their bright white eyes, you could spot them from a mile away in the dark. At first we assumed it might be some kind of animal, so we approached them. It was only when we got close that they seemed to notice us. They slowly walked towards us, it was only then that we knew they weren’t any of the wild animals which inhabited parts of the forest”.

He stopped talking and moved his face away, and looked starry eyed to the floor. Again his thoughts were tangled, he was struggling to put them into a sentence.

“With our torches pointed in their direction, they looked like shadows at first, dark walking figures with no characteristic features about them. But it was when they we got too close that one of them came at me, it managed to wrap itself around my back and with both pairs of hands, it began pulling and pulling at the bottom of my face, their sharp nails dug into my skin”.

His naked eyes no longer strayed from side to side, and he looked directly at Reuben once again, “it was so strange because it  as it pulled at my face, I stared into its bright white eyes, it was only when the light was flashed in its face that it got off of me, and disappeared into the darkness, screaming in pain, not desperation”.

Mr Wilson raised an eyebrow when Reuben gave him a glance, as if to say he had heard the story a hundred times before, unable to believe every single word of it. Reuben had seen the white eyed apparitions for himself, and he’s spoken to many others who had also witnessed manifestations not that different to those that he and Mr Hamilton had come into contact with. These were vengeful spirits whose anguish and suffering were the cause of their own restless existence, frightened of the living as much as the living were frightened of them.

“If you can remember, what else was significant about them, please try and recollect, if you can”.

He clapped both hands over his cheeks, his mind pondering before he released them,

“for a split second, and it was only a split second, when my light reflected into those eyes, I could swear I saw its face reveal itself, I’m sure it was blooded. But I was in so much shock that I really couldn’t describe what I saw”.

Reuben noted what he said, underlining it before moving on,

“And how tall would you say these things were?”

“It didn’t come into my thoughts at the time, sitting here now, looking back, whatever it was it wasn’t strong, it was just the way the bloody thing came at me with such speed”.

“How many were there?”

“I can’t remember exactly, I was hardly counting, but if I was guessing I’d say there was at least a dozen. All lurking in this one spot in the forests”.

“Have you ever been back to the forests?”,

“No, and I wouldn’t want to”, his response was sharp and to the point.

“Did any of the other officers suffer facial injuries which were similar to yours?”

“No, the prison and area around it are known to be avoided, after our incident no one felt the need to go back when it was dark, and the missing were never found.

While writing his shorthand notes, a curious question popped into his head. Reuben took his eye away from the notepad, looked directly across the table to the elderly man and asked, “do you believe in the supernatural Mr Hamilton?”.

The question had thrown his interviewee off a little, this was self evident in his face. Where he had previously shown signs of hostility when he was uneasy, he now seemed a little helpless. He looked at Mr Wilson, who merely raised his eyebrow and kept a stiff lip. He turned his attention back to Reuben, at first his words stuttered,

“No, before that night I would have said no, but I’m not sure, I can’t bring myself to believe in something that can’t be explained”.

When Reuben closed his notebook, it was he who was asked a question, “what do you think these creatures are Mister Elza?”.

It was a strange question because he had a theory and a belief, there was no absolute answer to the question.

“In my experience it’s uncommon for the supernatural to cause harm on those that cross their paths, unless it is a specific person, and because there is no connection between you and the prison, this can’t be the case. The supernatural commonly haunt places that are of some significance to them, when they manifest into something other than what they were, these white eyed apparitions that you came across is a complete mystery to me. But my theory is that they are unrested spirits, their life or the end of their lives was so traumatic, that they have become something malevolent after death”.

There was one thing which Reuben had not told him. It was also very common for the supernatural to haunt places of where they have died or been buried, especially if the particular place of burial or the cause of their death was to do with murder. He didn’t say any of this because he did not want to give them any ideas that he was yet to substantiate in relation to what he did not know.

He switched off the tape recorder and closed his notebook. With his glass half full, Mr Hamilton rose from his seat,

“Where are you going?” Mr Wilson asked in the tone of a concerned adult speaking to a child,

“I’m going home, I think my time here is done, isn’t it?”, he looked down at Reuben for a response,

“I have everything I needed, thank you for your time, I really appreciate it, when the article is published I’ll make sure one is passed onto you”.

He immediately regretted the last part of what he said, he had come across as an unsympathetic salesman, and he hated salespeople.

“Why don’t you let me give you a drive back home” Mr Wilson stood up, and he got an answer he wasn’t expecting,

“It’s okay, I needed to get something in town anyway, but thank you for the offer”.

As soon as Mr Hamilton left the table, Mr Wilson swapped seats so he was directly facing Reuben.

“You’ve been back to the prison right, I can tell that you were lying when you said you hadn’t because you didn’t seem very agitated when he described what had happened to him”,

Reuben did not respond, he chose to stay quiet.

Mr Wilson gulped down the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on top of another table next close by, and stood up.

“I haven’t explored the inside of the prison, but I have heard enough stories to know of what has happened to those who have entered, and too many people have gone missing in those forests. I can only wish you luck”.

“I’ll be careful” Reuben whispered from under his breath.

Mr Wilson put his jacket on and said “when you go back to Ravens Gate don’t venture into those forests at night, you’ll find nothing other than what you have already been told”.

For my earlier entries in 'Into the Ravens Nest', just keep scrolling down.