Press J to jump to the feed. Press question mark to learn the rest of the keyboard shortcuts
Best
1

Hi,
First post on here - I am a passionate movement practitioner and I build spaces for movement. Here is a picture of my work relevant to the question.

I have a Hole Hog from Milwaukee and a 12 inch long 1.75" bit that I use to put holes through the beams - those holes are a little larger than the size of the pipe - 1.66" external diameter.

I would like to be able to easily slide on beams, stack them, and slide bars through them no problem. Right now a little bit of moisture, a hole cut a little bit off, or warping all can make that very difficult. The beams also provide significant stability to the structure so I don't want to go so big that the bars just wobble inside of the holes.

I was thinking about making some kind of oversized drill press and was wondering if anyone had any guidance for that.

Thanks,

Jesse

1
comment
1

December 1st, 2003

I decided to write these notes, in case I don’t make it.

My name is Kyle Dukes, and my friends and I crashed our biplane into the side of a rocky, snowy mountain. Both of my friends are dead, and I have no idea where I am.

I was being an idiot, “just let the wind take us where it wants to take”, I said it. Thanks to me, our plane ran out of fuel, and I already explained the rest.

Thankfully, I’m not injured, but I’m still trapped on the cold, bitter mountain with no food, water, and the corpses of my two friends to give me anything resembling company.

If anyone finds these notes...please...at least make sure they get a proper burial. There names were Justin Scotts and William Drover. Their parents are great people, who cared for me like I was their own.

Don’t let them be buried here because of my mistake...please...

December 3rd, 2003

I have no idea why I’m even bothering with dates. I don’t have a single functioning way to tell time, and I only assume it’s been two days because of how hungry I am.

I found a solution to my thirst problem, I simply take some of the show outside, then bring it into the plane so I can melt and drink it...It wasn’t damaged too much in the crash, and is warm...in the loosest definition of the word. Still, much better than the frozen wasteland outside.

I’m still starving, though. And I’ve been unfortunate enough to not see a single sign of life here besides me.

If the snow lets up at all outside, I’ll go searching for some trees. If I can’t eat any of the animals hopefully living somewhere around said trees, I can at least try to get a makeshift fire going, maybe get to work on a tent I can build from whatever survived the plane crash.

I may need to toss Justin and William’s bodies out into the snow. I don’t want to! Really...I don’t! Those two were like brothers to me, but I just can’t deal with their smell!

December 4th, 2003

At this rate, I’m writing dates to keep myself from going completely mad.

I found some trees, Thank God. No animals though, just my luck.

I managed to get that makeshift fire and tent going, but my stomach is keeping me from enjoying any part of this victory. I keep drinking more and more of this melted snow, hoping it will help, but it never does!

One step forward, two mighty steps back.

December 5th, 2003

This is it, I can feel myself slipping away with every passing hour.

I didn’t want it to end this way...not like this...

To Mr. and Mrs. Scotts/Drover, please forgive me. I killed your children with my stupid idea, and know I’m suffering God’s wrath for my crime.

I just hope you, and him, can find the strength to forgive me one day.

December 6th, 2003

God forgive me. I was ready to die, I really was...but it hurt too bad!

I tried to accept it, to lay down and die like a man...but I couldn’t.

I’m not going to sugarcoat anything, I cutoff pieces of William and Justin...and I ate them!

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!

I was just so hungry!

The pain was too much!

Oh God, William, Justin...what did I do?!

December 6th, 2003

I get the feeling that date is wrong. To be blunt, I haven’t written in this thing for a long time, and I thought now would be a good time to change that.

I died...after I ate my friends. I ate them, and I died anyway. I went through all that, for nothing!

Well...not nothing.

You see, I came back! As a ghost!

I read up on my fair share of Ghost and ghouls while I walked among the living. During my studies, learned that ghost lose all since of emotion, due to being trapped on the physical plane after a painful and traumatic death.

That certainly explains why I felt nothing as I devoured what was left of Justin and William after I came back.

That’s another I learned while reading up on the subject of ghost. After they die, they begin to obsess about the last thought that went through their heads. Since my last thought was hunger, I was cursed with a stomach that will never be filled.

It also came with a benefit, however, as I now leave puddles of ectoplasm I can use to teleport. I intend to use this to satiate my eternal hunger.

July 4th, 2006

When those books said time means nothing to a spirit, they weren’t kidding. I was apparently up on that mountain for three years without noticing.

I have no clue why I’m still writing in this worthless book, I guess it’s more of a joke, now.

Anyway, I know now that my puddles also slows my prey down. Really helpful when it came to catching up to that teenage girl after I pulled out her boyfriend’s liver and ate it in front of his face

Before you ask, yes, I did kill two teens who were making out. Cliche, I know, but when you see two free meals making out in front of you, you tend to think like a bad horror movie villain.

Anyway, I think it’s time I leave this book behind. As I continue my eternal quest for food, my grasp on the English language is beginning to slip. Even as I write this down, I am now completely incapable of human speech. I theorize that I soon, I will be nothing more than i mindless animal, searching for my next meal.

If I still had my emotions in tact, I suppose that might’ve upset me.

1
comment
3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven: The End

"Hello?"

After a brief period of scrambling, Rufus had helped Frank back into his wheelchair, and the old man now had the receiver pressed firmly to his ear. The conversation with an alleged ghost on a telephone with no power source would have been much more frightening to me had I not known of the invention of wireless landlines. So, as Frank continued to speak on the phone, I was no more apprehensive than I had been before.

“It didn’t work, you said---“Frank paused for a moment. “Yes. Alright.” Then, he hung up the phone, and sat quietly for a moment.

Apparently committed to playing along with a blind old man’s delusions, Dr. Reid spoke next. “What did he say?” she asked.

Frank sighed heavily, looking altogether wistful, and patted the telephone with one withered hand. “It seems I’ve gotten the recipe wrong. I need something else.” He paused, ever so slightly. “Human blood.”

There was silence as the three of us guests shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what was to happen next. As a group, at this point, I believe we didn’t consider ourselves to be in much real danger. The experience was odd, yes, but not malicious. But, this new information could change things.

Then, Frank laughed, the sudden sound making me jump. His teeth were still black from the mixture. Together, with his opaque, unfocused eyes, his dark grin gave him an unsettling, other-worldly look. “Rufus, how I envy you, to be able to see their faces,” Frank said with another chuckle. The tall man next to him, seemingly looking off at nothing in particular, offered no response.

“Don’t be worried,” Frank continued. “I don’t need much. Just the prick of a finger.” With that, Rufus procured a small needle that was nearly impossible to see in the dark light. “Now, do we have a volunteer?”

Dr. Reid, Sasha, and I, once again found ourselves looking at one another expectantly. Sasha, past the scholarly confidence he had shown before, shook his head immediately. “I’m not good with needles,” he said. Then, it was Dr. Reid and I’s turn to look at one another. Though I was sure that if I declined, Dr. Reid would have done it, I didn’t exactly feel good about putting her in that position. Plus, a journalist should always try to immerse himself in the world of his story.

“Just a few drops, right?” I asked, taking a few steps towards Rufus.

“Just a few drops, Samuel,” Frank answered, his smile still making me uncomfortable once again.

I stopped in front of Rufus, and offered him my left hand. He took it, gripping it tightly in his cold hand, the needle poised above my pointer finger. I was watching his hands, but as the needle stayed unmoving for another moment, I looked up at the man in front of me. For a moment, we met eyes, just as we had a few times before, and just like those times, there was something in his expression that made me feel off. Like I was missing something. But, before I could ponder once more what that something was, there was a stinging pain in my finger.

The needle was out and in quickly, and then my hand was pulled somewhat roughly over the pit, causing me to stumble. As Rufus squeezed my punctured finger, a few drops of blood fell into the pit. Then, he pulled me back, and let me go. I wiped my finger back on my pants, and walked back over to Dr. Reid and Sasha.

Then, essentially, the ritual was redone. Rufus stirred with a metal rod. Frank was helped out of his chair, and lowered in front of the pit. He consumed the mixture from his hand, and then sat back, with his eyes closed.

There’s something very uncomfortable about watching someone drink something that you just put your blood in. Just as a side note.

Again, we waited. And, again, nothing happened. To his audience, this wasn’t very surprising; but to Frank himself, it was thoroughly frustrating.

“I don’t understand,” he said, exasperated from his spot on the dirt. “I’ve done everything.” He put his head down in defeat.

“Mr. McKinley,” Dr. Reid said carefully, “I know you’ve had a difficult life. But you can’t depend on superstition, and a belief in ghost stories, to try to make sense of losing your family.”

Frank said nothing, only sat, head down, on the ground.

“Losing family is hard. But you can’t let yourself be guilty over something that wasn’t your fault,” she continued. Still, Frank said nothing. He wasn’t moving, either.

Dr. Reid began to speak again, but I raised a hand in her direction, stopping her. I took a tentative step towards the old man. “Frank?”

Suddenly, his head snapped up, looking directly at me, and I took a step back. Then, as I watched, a slow, black smile crept across his lips. “Not his fault?” he asked, but no one answered him. “Not his fault?”

Then, as we watched, the old man slowly and jerkily stood up.

He stood in front of the pit, still smiling, still looking at me. Looking directly at me, not with the semi-inaccurate look that I was used to seeing from Frank’s blind eyes. This was actual, genuine eye contact.

“Frank?” I asked this time.

The smile stayed frozen on the man’s face. Then, he spoke. “I was called up here to give this old man some information. It’s a pity he won’t be here to hear it.” He paused then, and, turning all too quickly, he pointed a finger at Sasha. “I was supposed to be inside you, Dr. Bazarov, not this broken down, sorry excuse for a man.”

Sasha looked as though he might faint. I, too, was feeling sick to my stomach as I watched Frank, or whoever was inside Frank, move around the pit in staggered motions, like a puppet being controlled with strings. His voice, too, was slightly different from the old man’s. It had an almost southern drawl to it.

“Who are you?” I heard myself ask, then immediately fell silent as that disturbing face turned back towards me.

“You can call me Will, but that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m a man of my word. The old man wants to know who killed his wife and his little boy all those years ago? Well, how about I tell you, and when he gets back, you tell him?”

Dr. Reid and Sasha only looked blankly back at Will, who was still staring at me. I nodded, because what more could I do but agree.

“He did.”

I half expected a raised finger pointed in the direction of Rufus at this. But, none came.

“What?” I asked.

“You as deaf as Frank is blind, Samuel?” I was taken aback at the use of my own name. “Frank McKinley murdered his own wife and child.”

“But, he was knocked out,” Dr. Reid said carefully

“More like black out drunk,” Will continued. “His wife got to arguing with him. He’d had too much to drink. And then he just started cutting.” His face was still contorted into that black grin as he kept talking. “Cutting, and cutting, and cutting, and there was blood, so much blood. And he was angry too, because she was dead after the first couple. That’s when the screaming stopped. But he kept going.”

Will laughed a little bit at that, as though he were recalling a fond memory. “And then, of course, with all the noise the little lady was making, his little boy walks in, sees his daddy all slick with the guts of his mother. It took old Frank about five seconds to turn the knife on him too.”

There was nothing but shocked, sickened silence in the basement. “So there’s Frank, on his knees, covered head to toe in blood, the mangled bodies of his family on the floor in front of him. And I guess he sobered up a little bit, because he dropped the knife and got up, a little panicked, and tried to run away. And then, he slipped. Dumb ass slipped, busted his head on the corner of the coffee table.”

“So how does he get off, innocent?” Will continued. Then, he turned and looked to Rufus. “Do you want to tell this part, or should I?”

Rufus said nothing, his expression as stoic as ever.

“Rufus cleaned up. Washed Frank’s clothes. Got rid of the weapon. Made everything look like someone else had come in and done it. And Frank, when he woke up, didn’t remember a thing.”

There was quiet, as we stood there, Will still smiling at us all.

"Don't blame him, murder is a tricky thing," he said. "But don't go blaming Rufus, either. He was only doing his job. Even now, he makes sure nothing's kept in the room where it happened." He paused. "Well, almost nothing."

My mind flashed to the Rabbit Room. Two rabbits, sitting in darkness, where once two bodies lay.

“Well. I’ve done my part." Then, breathing deeply and rolling back his shoulders, still smiling, Will said, “It’s good to be back.”

Then, Frank collapsed to the ground. Rufus rushed forward, dragging Frank back into his chair, the telephone pushed to the ground next to him. His eyes were closed, but after a moment, they fluttered open.

“W-what happened?” he asked with a croak. “Did you speak to him? Did he tell you?”

There was silence as Sasha, Dr. Reid, and I, all only looked back at Frank, unsure of what to say. But, it was Rufus who spoke.

“It didn’t work Frank. We’ll have to try something different.”

Frank let out a disappointed sigh. “I thought maybe, this time...” He trailed off. “Alright, back to the house then.”

And, just like that, Rufus began pushing Frank back through the basement, the way that we came.

The walk back to the house was a strange one. Frank was talking in the pleasant manner he usually did, but without much response from his guests. When we finally did ascend the dark basement stairs, and back into the main house, it felt a bit like returning to reality, after being somewhere... else.

We made our way back into the parlor. “Ah, Rufus, fetch Samuel his bag, won’t you.” Rufus silently left, heading towards the dining room. Frank, his mouth still dusty and dark, smiled at us. “I thank you all for coming, though I’m sorry that once again, my experiment has failed.”

There was only quiet. “It was no problem,” Dr. Reid said, but her usual calm demeanor was betrayed by the slight tremor in her voice.

“No problem,” Sasha echoed with a croak.

“And Samuel,” Frank said suddenly, “I do look forward to the article. Be sure to send me a copy.”

“Of course,” I said, as Rufus reentered the room. He brought me my bag, placed it in my hands, and gave me one last, strange moment of eye contact. Only this time, I think I understood what he was trying to say.

We walked out the door, and onto the front steps. It was nighttime now, the outside light casting a yellow glow over the front of the house. Frank’s wheelchair was in the doorway, Rufus looming behind him, as we began walking away. “I’ll invite you back soon,” Frank called to us. “When I finally get it right!”

We said nothing, not to Frank, and not to each other. Keeping our heads down, we got into our cars. And, we left 21 S. Main Street.

If you’re like me, you have a lot of questions after hearing this story. Well, let me try to clarify some things for you.

I do not believe that I spoke to a ghost that night in the basement. I believe that I spoke to a sick man, a fragmented version of Frank McKinley. A portion of his subconscious that manifested its own personality. A psychological break.

I also am unsure over whether or not what “Will” told us was true. It’s entirely possible that Frank murdered his family, and Rufus helped to cover it up. And Rufus didn’t deny these claims. Or, does Frank just feel so guilty about not being able to protect his wife and child, that a part of him feels like he’s actually the one who killed them?

One thing that I am certain of, is that no one, not I, not Dr. Reid, not Sasha, and not Rufus, will tell Frank McKinley the truth of that night. It was as if we were all in silent agreement of that fact. Frank would go on searching for answers, whether from telephones, or computers, or any other form of technology he believes will put him in contact with the spirit that inhabits his house. He’ll go on looking, probably until he dies himself.

One more thing: When I was home, looking through the photos that I’d collected from my night at 21 S. Main Street, I found something odd in my camera bag. It was a tiny green book labeled “Diary 1932” on the cover. I flipped through it a bit, but the entries were few and far between. They were mostly deaths and burials, a few wedding dates. Thoroughly insignificant to me. Until, I got to August 15, 1932. The first line reads “Mrs. Alice Truitt buried”, but it’s the second line I was concerned about.

“Will Elliott gassed himself."

3
comment
2

The aliens culture revolves around the ship on the moon and their space race was to go to the ship, where they find a test left behind by the humans. Their sciences revolve around solving the puzzle until other aliens attack.

2
1 comment
1

Time makes memory grow dim.

How bright is the sun,

when I recall it blinding.

1
comment
1

Berywam from France compete with a 4 minutes human beatboxing showcase in the crew category of the 5th Beatbox Battle World Championship elimination round on stage at the Astra Kulturhaus in Berlin, Germany. MB14, Rythmind, Beasty, Wawad and Beatness showed up with this music set one of the best human beatboxing A cappella showcases in the history of the world cup event series.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19G10o8gPRY

1
comment
1

I spent a bunch of time getting these 20 year old stickers to put on a cough vase. It’s looking really pretty and cool but I just realized those stickers are definitely not staying on for more than a week. I was considering covering it with a layer of mod podge, but I don’t want ugly streaks on the parts of the clear glass that peek through. Has anyone else found a good glue/sealant to keep sticker like things on glass?

1
1 comment
Join the fun
Did you make a video recently? Take a picture of a funny dog? Try a new recipe? Find a relevant community and share it with them.
Create Post

Best OC from last week

My mom finally completed her biggest counted cross-stitch masterpiece on linen which took over 3 years to complete and has over 606,800 stitches. We are unable to transport and enter this monster in any competitions so I figured I would share her stunning artwork here.

95.2k points1.4k comments1d

My latest acrylic painting. Getting super weird with it.

77.5k points2.1k comments1d

My wife and I went swimming with turtles on our honeymoon, so I painted her this for our first anniversary [OC]

50.7k points607 comments22h
Top Communities this week
r/Overwatch

1,483,531 subscribers

r/comics

991,095 subscribers

r/itookapicture

885,426 subscribers

r/DnD

695,411 subscribers

r/woodworking

770,058 subscribers

r/drawing

553,084 subscribers

r/vexillology

196,629 subscribers

r/nosleep

12,588,308 subscribers

Cookies help us deliver our Services. By using our Services or clicking I agree, you agree to our use of cookies. Learn More.