Printing in low temperatures

We are customizing your profile. Application. We are customizing your profile Fermi Level "Fermi level" is the term used to describe the top of the collection of electron energy levels at absolute zero temperature. This concept comes from Fermi-Dirac statistics.Electrons are fermions and by the Pauli exclusion principle cannot exist in identical energy states. So at absolute zero they pack into the lowest available energy states and build up a "Fermi sea" of electron ... The mean temperatures for those aged 65-74 was higher than in those aged 75-84 (p < 0.001) and those aged 85 and older (p < 0.001) at 6 p.m. but not at 8 a.m. or 2 p.m. We concluded that older people have mean axillary body temperatures lower than the reference point of 36.5 degrees C (97.7 degrees F). The critical temperature for superconductors is the temperature at which the electrical resistivity of a metal drops to zero. The transition is so sudden and complete that it appears to be a transition to a different phase of matter; this superconducting phase is described by the BCS theory.Several materials exhibit superconducting phase transitions at low temperatures. Most questions can be answered by your Sea Grant Agent or on our CoastWatch Help Pages. Please send comments or bug reports to include the name of the location or file that's giving you trouble, as well as the type of software you are running. KUTV CBS 2 provides local news, weather forecasts, traffic updates, notices of events and items of interest in the community, sports and entertainment programming for Salt Lake City and nearby ... You can take a temperature using the mouth (oral), anus (rectal), armpit (axillary), or ear (tympanic). But the temperature readings vary depending on which one you use, and you need an accurate body temperature to determine if a fever is present. Medical research hasn't determined an exact correlation between... Risk of nitrogen loss is reduced when soil temperatures are continuously below 50F. Dates during the past few years when the soil temperature cooled to below 50F for various spots in Iowa: 2008-- Statewide soil temperature cooled to below 50F on November 7. Cooling to cryogenic temperatures is often carried out by the use of cryocoolers. NIST has carried out theoretical and experimental research on improved refrigeration processes and technologies to achieve cryogenic temperatures more efficiently, more reliably, and more compactly. We would like to show you a description here but the site won’t allow us.

2021.12.03 04:28 Vaxcian Printing in low temperatures

Will printing temperatures effect printing? I tried my first print last night and the print did not stick to the build plate and just cured on the vat. My room is very cold at the moment and below the recommended temperature. Should I just invest in a heater or is there some settings I can change?
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2021.12.03 04:28 Golden_Dreadhead Super Mario 64…

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2021.12.03 04:28 Lee_In_DaHood If Legoshi and haru had an argument what would it be about?

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2021.12.03 04:28 kotalby When I plug in my speakers none of these work and no audio comes oht

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2021.12.03 04:28 Kamanss Parsing and comparing html pages

I want to create a script that should track changes on the site and return the result. For example:
First I will get the html.

Article 1
Article 2
Article 3
Through half hour i will get a new html:
Article 1
Article 2
Article 4
What would be the best way to compare the resulting html files.
And get the result:
{ deleted: [Article 3], added: [Article 4] } 
Thank you for any help!
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2021.12.03 04:28 DerbmeisterCG Can anyone touch trade w me?

I’d like to evolve my Haunter and I can give you one of the three starters, an eevee or a gibble for the trouble!
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2021.12.03 04:28 AnshMidha03 Suffer

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2021.12.03 04:28 blingxpinkmr 💲 You have to spend your crypto somehow !!💲| $TRENDY | New Token for E-Commerce TrendyStore | The token you can spend on luxury products | Redistribution, BuyBack and Anti-Bot system.

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All product and company names are trademarks™ or registered® trademarks of their respective holders. Use of them does not imply any affiliation with or endorsement by them.
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2021.12.03 04:28 NfcNusratJahan What is next for 123swap?

What is next for 123swap?
123swap is a process of executing peer-to-peer minute cross-network swaps of crypto capital without lending managers or counterparties. The 123swap is an innovative market
123swap is a state-of-the-art crypto swap protocol for creative economies that allows users to:
  • You can exchange, hold, send, receive, acquire and invest your favorite assets in multiple chains.
  • 123swap offers a custodian-free service that pursues maximum safety, simplicity, and convenience.
  • They pursue safety, convenience, and convenience. Customers can see all the swap offers collected from the major crypto exchanges at once.
  • Swap offers collected from major Cryptocurrency exchanges can be viewed in one place.
  • The platform aims to have a strong community of handheld holders. through an appropriate voting system
  • Community members make important decisions, such as team tokens, through the appropriate voting system.
  • Through the appropriate voting system, community members make important decisions about adopting team or advisory tokens, such as lock duration.
#123swap #123swapfinance #private #seed #tokensale #started #Exclusive #Crypto #Trading #Trending #defi #invest #earlystage
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2021.12.03 04:28 nofclue Wen hätte man beim ZDF bestechen müssen, dass beim Großen Zapfenstreich der Farbfilm in Schwarz-weiß übertragen wird?

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2021.12.03 04:28 FaDPeyo When should we re-submit?

Hi. We applied yesterday to a ThailandPass and haven't heard anything yet. After reading other posts we started to get anxious as our departure date is in 4 days time. Our question is: when should we start thinking about resubmitting? Thanks in advance.
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2021.12.03 04:28 ImproxAi0li What tastes nicer then it smells?

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2021.12.03 04:28 kaeyatiddies_ should i wait until we meet?

Me (24F) started dating this girl (23F) for 3 months and we kind of planned all of our future together (fellow lesbians know how it is lol), we met on an art community and we have lots of artists friends in common. This is my first long distance relationship.
The thing is i fear i’m starting to lose feelings already.
My love language is physical touch and i feel very unfulfilled from that fact alone. She also has depression and anxiety but won’t seek any professional help, even though i try to help. We haven’t facetimed yet, only sent each other pictures. She wants to wait a little more before facetiming because of her anxiety. Despite all that, we talk every day and she’s someone i feel 100% comfortable with. I like her a lot and we have a lot in common.
We are supposed to meet in february, should i wait until we meet irl and see how i actually feel about her?
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2021.12.03 04:28 Ninjamaster322 Ah, Mr. Squire. You never learn. (He’s my rival practically)

Ah, Mr. Squire. You never learn. (He’s my rival practically) submitted by Ninjamaster322 to battles2 [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 04:28 Trey_10_500 I may have an obsession

I may have an obsession submitted by Trey_10_500 to futurefunk [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 04:28 TheCitidel2022 24 Hours In A&E S25E01

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2021.12.03 04:28 pomegranatemolasses Any gay Asians here who hate looking Asian?

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2021.12.03 04:28 Sca12letBuckeye 3x Tkey for 1x Dkey

Can do up to 4
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2021.12.03 04:28 aatanasoff [REQUEST] Does anyone have the image in higher resolution for using it as a wallpaper?

[REQUEST] Does anyone have the image in higher resolution for using it as a wallpaper? submitted by aatanasoff to Windows_Redesign [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 04:28 RayGun381937 F-111 driver’s side cockpit view [2395 x 1857] [OC]

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2021.12.03 04:28 brain_rays Limited edition ‘Trese’ Funko Pops released, capturing Alexandra Trese in original comic book form

Limited edition ‘Trese’ Funko Pops released, capturing Alexandra Trese in original comic book form submitted by brain_rays to komiksPH [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 04:28 UnimelbEnthusiast What do you own a ridiculous amount of?

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2021.12.03 04:28 Daniel-Lorn Something terrible is coming for me, I can feel it in my blood.

PACT I wake up again to her memory. Her face is so clear as her image struggles to fight away the darkness. She calls out to me, but I cannot decipher the words; her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping desperately to return to its tank. I reach out from where I lay, my liver-spotted hand shaking as it nears her. But as always, she is dragged back into the night, leaving me alone once again.
The familiar aroma of dampness mixed with sweat and cheap alcohol comes with the morning—my wake-up call.
Another day.
I do not recall when she left me. Weeks or months even. Hell, it could be years. We always used to talk about it, about who would die first. However, I never imagined that it would be her who was first to go. I rub my eyes and sit on the edge of the bed. It felt like something had awakened just inside of my awareness, something which was quickly wriggling its way into focus, almost like a worm popping out of a rotten apple. It always began with the sensation and sound of deep drilling, right at the base of my skull. After that warning sign, the headache wouldn't be too far behind, and then it wouldn't be long before the banging started*—that damn banging.*
I noticed last night's empty vodka bottle discarded by the side of the bed. Whiskey used to be my poison, but the cheap stuff made me vomit too quickly, and I needed to buy time, enough time to make the headaches go away. Jesus, a whole bottle in one night, though? Rising to my feet, I tried to ignore the distant banging, which was now slowly breaking down the barriers of my mind. Something was coming, and no painkiller would suffice*—time to get back on the horse*.
She would turn in her grave to see me like this; Living like some kind of an animal. The once showroom-like bedroom, littered with throws and occasional pillows, now turned upside down into a literal rubbish dump. I hadn't changed the bedsheets since before she left me, and the remnants of cigarette butts and empty beer cans lay discarded on the carpet.
I would try to end it all, but I am too afraid. Afraid of what lurks behind the curtain of life. I always was. She used to laugh at me for this, and after a few drinks, we would always get onto the same subject. She would ask me if I believed in life after death and whether I thought we could come back from the afterlife to visit our loved ones. I used to laugh this off, but she would always continue. I remember her words clearly. 'When either of us dies, we should make a pact. A pact that we will come back to visit whoever is left alone and agree on a sign. A sign that only the two of us will know.
I stagger through the doorway, kicking a beer can out of the way as her voice continues in my memory, just like it did every day. 'Only you and I will know what the sign will be. It could be a sound, a song, or a smell. It will give us something to focus on in the afterlife; otherwise, won't we just be lost?'
My head feels like it is splitting in two; the aftermath of the previous night's straight vodka solidified in my brain, causing me to lose balance slightly. I quickly drag myself into the bathroom and immediately empty the contents of my stomach into the sink. The rancid smell of the neglected toilet sucks into my lungs each time I take a breath between vomiting.
I fall to my knees, my stomach now empty but still retching nonetheless. After a few moments, I drop flat onto the floor beside the sink; tears flow from my eyes as her voice continues. 'How about we come back to the place in which we died? To the exact place, at the precise time of day we passed away, that will be easiest, won't it?'.
My eyes glaze over, and with my stomach now empty, I pass out.
'I love you……….' The last words she spoke to me……
I wake up to the sound of her voice, from somewhere deep inside my memory, 'I love you.' As I open my eyes, I expect to see her again. However, what eventually greets my vision is the same empty toilet I had passed out in, with the cracked and moulded tiles running up from the back of the sink to the ceiling. The bathroom used to smell like lemon and honey. How long had she been gone?
The floor feels cold and damp beneath me. I reach the sink, knocking over a glass with a disposable razor inside. An orange one that she used to use to shave her legs. I remember shouting at her for using my razor, complaining that it would give me a rash. Since then, she always had some cheap disposable razors at hand. Tears blur my vision as I turn the razor over and over in my hands, trying to find the best place to break the blade free. 'If I die first, I will come back. I could come back and haunt you like a friendly ghost; keep you company. But we need to agree on a sign'.
I finally break the blade free from its housing and push it tight against the most prominent blue vein on the inside of my wrist; tears were now bleeding from my eyes. I have just about pierced the vein when a loud voice booms into the bathroom.
'NOOOOOOOOOO. Oh no, you don't!'
I drop the blade and desperately try to blink the tears away from my eyes. I swear I can see an unshaped silhouette in the doorway. As I rub my eyes, the image blurs. What replaces it sounds like slow laboured breathing in the silence of the afternoon.
I get up onto my knees and shake my head, and it feels as though the more I do this, the closer I drift back to reality. After a few moments in the silence, it becomes clear I am alone, so I stand up and make my way into the hallway and down the stairs. The smell hits me like a baseball bat to the lungs, causing me to gag as I stop to lean over, clutching my wheezing chest. I need to pull myself together. What would she say if she could see the state of this place?
I pick up my trousers and shirt from the pile of clothes lying discarded at the foot of the stairs. 'Always make an effort; you never know who you may bump into when you are out.'
Shaking her words away from my head, I quickly get dressed. There was no need for a shower. I wouldn't be able to mask the smell from these clothes that easily. Making my way to the front door, I stop dead amongst the pile of letters and junk mail that lay scattered over the porch. I hadn't noticed it at first, but as the hairs on the nape of my neck begin to prickle, I can hear something in the distance. It wasn't a loud sound; Instead, it was like a muffled voice, desperately trying to gain my attention.
I never believed in ghosts or any of that other superstitious nonsense. Still, the void that remained after my wife left me seemed to have filled up with something I could not fathom. It would always start with an overwhelming sensation of fear. That's when I would usually reach for the bottle. It was either that or allowing myself to go crazy. You see, without the alcohol, strong alcohol, it felt like something was lurking nearby; Something menacing, which seemed to be stalking me from just out of sight. That was when the banging would start. It was like the sound of heavy fists on a wooden door. Angry, enraged banging, which felt as though its sole purpose was to make my heart stop. On several occasions recently, it had almost succeeded.
Although terrified at the time, I always managed to drink away the fear in the end and put it all down to my imagination. I was probably clinically depressed but would never know that for sure. Not at least while I was full of cheap spirit.
I close my eyes in an attempt to force all those sounds away and to try and block out the creeping, reaching sensation from the back of my consciousness. A sense of soberness brings with it a sense of urgency. I need my medicine. Maybe tonight, I will end this charade and try again with the razor. I force my eyes open and exit the front door, ignoring the now relentless banging, which seems to make the house shake at its foundations. I leave the front door and have to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight as it screams at me from above.
*'*William. William, is that you?'
I hadn't noticed the woman staring at me whilst I filled my basket with supermarket branded vodka. I slowly turn to meet her gaze. A familiar short, stout woman with a tartan shawl, curly permed hair and bottle top glasses stood before me.
'Mavis, how are…..'
'Are you ok, Will?'. Mavis looked visually startled at my appearance. Her eyes looked me up and down before she fixed her gaze on my shopping basket, frowning as she took in its contents.
'I….yes…..Since she has been gone, I guess I am not coping too well, Mavis'.
'Since who is gone, Will?'
Her words infuriate me. My wife's best friend. How could she be so heartless?
'Fuck off, Agnes!'
I leave her standing there, objectively confused, as she watches me march my way to the cashier's desk to pay for my vodka with a bundle of notes.
Since who is gone! How dare she? What a fucking bitch. I leave the shop and make straight for home. A crushing headache comes at me like waves eating away at the beach. My mind drifts back to our last trip to the coast. She is standing in the sea with the water up to her knees, beckoning me in. However, the memory quickly flashes away, replaced by her reaching and frantically snatching at me desperately from out of bitter darkness.
I almost didn't notice the car skidding to a halt just in front of me. The driver furiously holds down the horn as I step back and away from the road. He shouts something at me before driving off, wheels skidding aggressively.
I don't remember how I got home. After the near-miss with the car, I found somewhere to sit down, and it wasn't long before I must have lost my cognition halfway through the first bottle of vodka.
My eyes open once more to the distant drum of the banging again. It is dark outside, so I estimated that I must have been asleep for at least a couple of hours. As I take in the familiar surroundings of my hallway, I notice that I had managed to close the front door before securing my 'supplies' and passing out.
The bottles lay discarded around me, a pool of vomit peppered all over them and the pile of clothes. 'Now, look at this mess Will. Tut Tut Tut, time to clean things up, I think'.
Wiping my face, I manage to get to one knee before I collapse forward in front of the door under the stairs. As I lay there, I become strangely drawn to that door. My memory has been cloudy for god knows how long, and as I look at that door, it feels like I have never noticed it before.
It was dark now, but the light from the streetlamp outside offered me just enough vision to make out a padlock that holds that door closed. I reach up and flick the light switch in the hallway as I continue to gaze at this previously unnoticed doorway. What the hell is this?
At 65 years old, I have always considered myself a fit and energetic old chap. I was not too fond of the word 'old' but had reluctantly come to terms with that fact. My memory was usually sharper than most as well, albeit not so much recently. But I couldn't remember this door. Still, in a drunken haze, I pick myself up and lean against the wall.
Dementia? Alzheimer's? I laugh this notion off and shake my head. I had drunk away most of my brain cells. I didn't even know which day of the week it was. Since she had gone, I had drunk just enough to try and poison away her memory. But she was as stubborn in death as she was in life.
Wait a minute. How long had it been? It occurred to me that I couldn't recollect how long it had been since my wife had been gone.
'Since who has gone?' The memory of my wife's best friend aggressively enters my thoughts. How could Mavis say that? She knew her friend was dead, didn't she? I tried to recollect her funeral but drew a blank once again.
A palpable sense of creeping fear begins to overcome me. The kind of feeling you can only have the morning after the night before. When you can't recollect or piece together much of the memory from the previous evening*—The Fear*.
I suddenly catch sight of a key sticking out of the padlock, which holds the door in front of me closed. I hadn't noticed this before. Another jolt of fear overcomes me like a shot of adrenalin.
As my heart races, my mind is now clear, and as I unlock the door in front of me, I enter a strange trance like state.
The door slowly eases open to reveal deep unsettling darkness that floods from the doorway down into the cellar below. The smell which inflicts my nostrils causes me to gag. It is like the smell from a rotten bin. Covering my mouth, I switch the light on by pulling the cord hanging from the rafters above.
Light floods the stairwell, and immediately several flies buzz and bump into the bulb, which swings from side to side above my head. I feel light-headed as I descend into the cellar, the smell percolating in my lungs and stirring up something hidden deep inside of me. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I considered running from this place, back upstairs to drown myself in a bottle of vodka again, but it was too late for that. My mind seems to be piecing together some of the events from the past few weeks.
The silence of the cellar seemed alive somehow, inflicting in me an overpowering sense of menace. It was as if at any moment, something would burst out of the walls just as soon I was in the correct position for it to reach me. The smell was much more pungent down here—a sickening smell with a hint of sweetness and faeces. I retch before doubling over to empty the remains of my stomach onto the seemingly bleached concrete floor of the cellar, and that's when I hear a voice booming in and around my mind.
'Help….Let me out of here…..I am sorry…….'
'Please….. I cannot breathe…….'
And then the banging returns from right behind me. It was coming from the top of the stairs I had just descended. The sounds seem to be coming from inside this cellar, but no one is here but me.
I hold my hands to my head and attempt to squeeze the sounds from my mind. They were, however, unrelenting.
I attempt to stand up, but it is no use; I suddenly have no energy. Falling onto my face, I roll onto my side to see my wife; my eyes were blurred from the fall, but it was her!
She lays on the bottom step with her arms tight against her chest. She seems to be crying. The light from above somehow shines right through her; it is also very curious that she doesn't cast a shadow into the cellar. I reach a fragile arm out to her and call her name gently. Tears fill my eyes.
As if she could notice someone behind her, she lifts her head abruptly and turns to face me. I call out to her again, but she soon turns her head away and continues sobbing into her hands as though she hadn't seen me.
She is wearing a beige nightgown. The same nightgown she had worn the last time I remember seeing her. I notice slight bruising to her upper arms, like finger marks. She also has a cut to one of her forearms, just above the wrist.
I call out to her again, but strangely no audible sounds leave my mouth. Instead, though, and to my abject horror, I can hear a frantic shouting from the top of the stairs. She reaches up weakly toward the sound of whoever it was that boomed obscenities at her.
Suddenly, and without warning. The door bangs shut, locking me in a shroud of darkness—the sense of menace from before now overpowering in the sudden blackness.
It wouldn't be the first time I had had a hallucination, but something about all of this disturbed me much more than before. But then who was it that slammed the door closed at the top of the stairs.
I lay there in the darkness on the cold floor, struggling to make sense of things. Right then, I hear a movement from the bottom of the stairs, right in front of me. A garbled whimpering accompanies the sound of a person shuffling slowly and deliberately up the stairs. A light blinks on from somewhere above, and I immediately close my eyes and wish for the darkness to return, but it is no good,
I DO NOT KNOW whether I imagine the events that play out in front of me. As though my consciousness had fled my body into the darkness, I now face an unimaginable terror to which mere words could not begin to explain. One that was tearing my wife's life away from her as I watched helplessly from nearby.
She didn't know how long he had left her down in that place, but she knew that the sweet relief of death was fast approaching. It wouldn't be too much longer before her body gave out and her heart sang its final song.
Her voice hoarse from the screaming and her throat dry from her need of hydration, she barely uttered a croak as she bumped and shuffled her way up the staircase away from the deep darkness of the cellar.
Her bare arm brushed the corner of one of the steps. The pain from her open wound caused a white flash to glaze over her eyes. How could he have done this to her?
It had started several months ago, and she should have noticed the warning signs. She hadn't paid much attention to her husband's irrational behaviour at first. Nor was she concerned about his urgent notion to get up and run out of their front door in the middle of the night before returning several hours later with not even an explanation to his recent venture. Even when he shouted at invisible visitors in the darkness or visited the cellar to urinate and defecate, no, she had brushed it all off as signs of his affliction.
She had continued to clean up his mess and reassure him that everything was ok and that she loved him. That was her role in all of this, her final duty, it seems.
She had even made a deal with him that they should agree on a sign to communicate with each other when one of them passed away, should they become lost. She didn't believe in all that nonsense, but she knew that he would likely be the first one to go. It had just never occurred to her that his unstable mind could cause him to do something like this.
Her arm began to throb, the piercing pain from moments ago had subsided slightly, but the memory of what he had done was more painful to her.
She hadn't expected to come home and find him asleep and naked in the cellar, and in hindsight, she should have locked him in here, but he was her husband of over 30 years; she didn't see this coming.
She remembered his face when she awoke him, manic and afraid. He screamed at her, 'You are fucking dead. Why are you here!? Get away from me. I never told you to come back.'
Trying to calm him, she placed her arm on his shoulder, and that's when he lashed out violently and buried his teeth into her wrist. She had felt his teeth grinding on her forearm bone, and as he bored down aggressively, she could swear his eyes had turned black.
Eventually, he drew himself away from her as she flopped helplessly to the cold cellar floor. Before she had a chance to react to this attack, a light flashed before her eyes as the force of a bony foot connected with her jaw, immediately dislodging it from its joint.
After that, she must have passed out, waking up locked in here, lost in the darkness. That was a week ago now.
As she lay at the bottom of the stairs, a light suddenly leapt in as the door above her opened, causing her eyes to strain. She looked up at her husband's silhouette and reached out, but it was useless. Her jaw hung loosely from her face as she tried to beg him for help. All that followed was more obscenities, however. 'You are not who you say you are! Where is my fucking wife?'. The door slammed closed again, leaving her alone in that place one last time.
She had eventually used up most of her strength and made it to the top of the stairs before using up the remainder of what was left to bang on that door as hard as she could. She continued for what seemed like an eternity. Still, it soon became apparent that this cellar would shortly become her tomb.
She lay alone in the darkness for the next two days before her eyes finally closed over.
After witnessing the horror that had just unfolded in front of me, it occurred to me that I had no conscious awareness of any of this. It had to be some kind of vivid dream or hallucination.
I slowly slide up the wall behind me and get to my feet, they feel unsteady, but they don't need to carry me far. Just away from this place, away from these nightmares. Several weeks ago, I recalled similar images penetrating my awareness, like a creeping notion or feeling that something was very wrong. That's what had caused me to turn to alcohol. As long as I was drunk, the demons stayed away.
I wish she were 'really 'here with me now. When it had become clear that I had Dementia, she was the one who would deal with my bad days and remind me to take the medication. She always looked after me. How could she leave me first to suffer like this? It was me that was ill.
I need to pull myself together. The door at the top of the stairs is open – I can see the light reflecting down the stairway. A glance around the cellar tells me I am alone. Other than the overpowering smell, it was me, the workshop and a few furniture items.
I make my way up the stairs with a sigh of relief and leave the cellar through the door I had entered several hours ago. The mess in the hallway mirrored the chaos within my mind. I need help.
Approaching the living room, I head over to the telephone. It doesn't take me long to find the number of my Doctor's surgery scribbled on a notepad beside the dial-up phone. My medication tray is beside the phone, containing the tablets I should have ingested over the past few weeks. I decide to call the doctors to discuss my symptoms and maybe get some more drugs to get me through the winter.
The receptionist tells me that I should come in that afternoon and bring my medication tray. I had a new doctor, and unfortunately, my medical records could not yet be seen on the system by him.
I quickly clean myself up as best as I can and leave my front door into the haze of the afternoon sun.
There is no evidence in my medical records for the medication I had been taking. Moreover, the tablets I show the Doctor cause him to frown deeply. Looking flustered, he leaves me alone to make a few investigations before returning to announce that the notes on my medical records did not indicate any diagnosis of Dementia.
As the Doctor looks at me very pensively, a feeling of impending fear and dread begins to consume me. What had I been taking for the past few months then?
Before I leave, the Doctor takes a few blood tests and advises me that someone from the mental health team will come round to the house and speak to me. There were a few things concerning him that he would have to run past the appropriate authorities.
I nod my head and leave his office. On the way past, I notice a familiar face in the form of the receptionist behind the desk.
'Hey there, how are you doing? And where is your wife today?'.
A creeping terror begins to overwhelm me from somewhere forgotten. I feel sure that I will pass out if I don't leave this place immediately. I lift my hand in response, ignoring her query as I leave the surgery. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as she watched me go.
My mind feels compelled by a terrible notion of something I cannot quite comprehend. I need some fresh air to try and shake off the feeling of menace which had remained with me since hearing those words in the surgery.
'And where is your wife today?'
Not to mention the notion that I may not even have Dementia. The Doctor must be mistaken. I was sure that I would receive a phone call later explaining that my notes must have gotten mixed up with someone else. I had initially shrugged off the events in the cellar as some hallucination or nightmare. But now, I was not so sure.
Desperate to consider all of this with a clear mind, I head toward a local park that separates the village shops and the residential area. And that when I begin to hear the distant banging. It was typically a precursor for me to drown myself in alcohol until I passed out when this happened. But this was before the realisation dawned on me that my wife may or may not have been administering me with a currently unknown medication. As I pondered this possibility, her voice seemed to drift through the banging, like a soft breeze in the afternoon haze.
'Help me……please help me…….'
I stagger as the sound of her voice shakes me from within and just about manage to remain on my feet long enough to make my way to an empty bench underneath a large oak tree. As I collapse down onto the seat, I close my eyes and try to see her somehow, try to and make sense of it all.
After an unknown length of time, I open my eyes to notice how quiet the park is. ItsIt's starting to get dark again. Damn, I must have passed out; I need to get home.
With the sun now very low in the sky, I stand up and make my way under the overgrown trees, which seem to reach out to each other from opposite sides of the path which led home. I continue with a real sense of trepidation about what horrors now lay behind the veil of my consciousness.
When I open the front door, the first thing I notice is that the phone is ringing. I pick up the receiver and hold it tight against my ear in a dream-like state. As the words unfold on the other end, a genuine and almost palpable notion of Deja vu begins to consume me.
'There is no record of your wife's death on any of the medical centre's files. I also took it upon myself to call the hospital and the funeral directors; again, there is no record of her death. I have sent someone round to your house from occupational health, accompanied by A local police support officer. They should both be with you in the next hour. Once they have looked around and made sure you are safe and that everything is ok in the house, an investigation will need to occur. The medication you brought in today is very likely to be a type of rat poison. Hello….hello, are you there?'
The phone bounces onto the floor, immediately cutting off the voice on the other end. In both a state of shock and panic, I turn to look at the closed cellar door. It feels like my soul is leaving my body, seemingly guiding me forward. I now make my way slowly and deliberately into the hallway without hesitation.
I can see the cellar door moving strangely from the very little light that struggles to penetrate the darkness consuming the house. It is as though it was being beaten heavily from the other side. As I venture forward, my sense of sound seems to have dissipated somewhat. I almost have to imagine what that sound would be like, as the cellar door continues to bump and vibrate. The sound seems to travel from somewhere in the distance, but I begin to hear a voice as I approach that door.
As I grab the door handle, I finally realise that the sound is a voice calling to me. It seems too high pitched to be human as it screams my name, begging me to open that door.
The screaming ceases as the door opens and bumps against the wall inside the cellar. Silence replaces the sounds of desperation, and I notice the smell again, drifting out of that place. Although it is deathly quiet now, I begin to feel my heart booming in my chest. I can't distinguish whether it is the sound of my heart or the feeling of it, banging aggressively against the walls of my chest.
Continuing forward, I can't help but notice that as my heart pounds, it feels as though it was the banging of someone urgently trying to gain my attention. I was halfway down the staircase when I noticed something moving awkwardly on the floor of the cellar. The meagre light from behind me only served to cast a long shadow forward and down. At first, I mistook the movement below for my flickering silhouette. But as I now stood frozen on that staircase like a statue, the shape on the floor below me began to writhe and struggle as freakishly long limbs worked aggressively to ascend the stairs towards me.
As this creature creeps menacingly toward me, I attempt to turn and flee, but as though trapped in a terrible dream, my feet feel cemented to the spot. All I can do is watch as it gets closer and closer to where I stand, petrified with a level of fear which I cannot imagine possible. As its head swings from side to side, I catch sight of its terrible face, its jaw hanging down unnaturally, lumps of flesh hanging off and dropping to the floor like melted wax.
Finally, it is on top of me, spitting and dribbling over me as its face meets mines. Before I pass out, the last thing I remember is the familiar pattern on my wife's beige nightgown. My eyes close over, and I awaken into what initially seems like a nightmare. God help me and forgive me for what I have done.
She shook the tablets free from the foil wrapping and emptied them into an old medication container. He wouldn't notice either way, but at least if they had visitors, no one would be any wiser should they decide to go snooping around.
It had taken around one week for the effects of the poison to be noticeable. She had ground them down initially and sprinkled a little onto his food at dinner time. At first, he had begun to feel sick as his body tried to reject the poison. After a couple more weeks, one of the side effects she noticed whilst the poison coursed through his body was memory loss and confusion. That's when she had the brilliant idea to tell him that the Doctor had given her some tablets which may work and that it was likely Dementia.
William, being William, would never visit the doctors unless it was a life and death situation. Much of the medication he had taken was over the counter pills and lotions, which she had brought home for him. She smiled, realising that it would be much easier now to increase his dose of poison in a pill form. With any luck, it wouldn't be too much longer before he finally passed away.
She couldn't remember when she had fallen out of love with him. He was a good man; he had always been there for her and had never looked at another woman. It was she who had the wandering eye.
For the past 20 years, she had been cheating on him. At first, it was just a bit of fun, but as time went on, her appetites increased, and before she knew it, she had become addicted to her selfish indulgences. Her initial plan was to leave William. That was until she was going through some paperwork and realised that William was worth a lot of money. Reading over his insurance policy, it was clear that she would be more prosperous to the tune of just under half a million pounds should he die.
She had always been a selfish woman and often wondered why William had stuck with her. She wasn't the prettiest girl, but he quickly became besotted with her. Things had been fine for the first decade of marriage. That was until he started drinking regularly. 'I have some demons from childhood', he would always say before making a joke about how ironic it was that alcoholic drinks were called spirits. 'These spirits act as a medium to take away the demons' before he got into another drunken stupor.
It was easy to pick holes in him in the end. He hadn't looked at her with so much as an inkling of desire for the past 20 years. Yes, it was his fault that she had turned out the way she had. That's what happens when you allow someone to slowly and subtly steal away your life. Her feelings for him had soon turned into a creeping hatred. Yes, it was easy to blame him, and with all that money from his life insurance, she would at least have something to show for the past 30 years.
I knew exactly what I was looking for when I entered the cellar. Illuminating the darkness with a small pocket torch from the old sideboard underneath the staircase, I stared intently at the old chest freezer I had purchased many years ago. I remember claiming, ironically now, that 'It would come in handy.'
I remember her scorning me for this, passing the notion off as yet another waste of money. It had become clear as I now followed the torches glare; she had stopped loving me many years ago. I could argue the toss that it was all my fault. I wasn't a very ambitious man. Hell, I was happy with a six-pack of beer and an old western movie, but she had always wanted more. Kids, money, the list goes on; there would have been many motives that caused her to change her feelings toward me. But this! To poison me! To try and kill me! Had I been that bad as a husband to warrant this?
I was close enough to the chest freezer now to see the bloodstains dotted on the floor around it. I now remembered splashing bleach over the floor and having a go at cleaning this place up after what I had done; The memory corrupted somewhat with the mixture of rat poison and alcohol.
I freeze as my thoughts are interrupted by an urgent banging at my front door. I quickly dismiss this as unimportant. I am ready to face the horrific fruits of my reaction to the drugs, which was now clear my wife had been administering to me.
It was easy to hide things in the back of your mind. It just took copious amounts of alcohol and a fragile brain. I initially wished that I hadn't woken up when my wife found me naked in here, that it was me who had passed over first. Then I could be the one honouring our Pact and coming back to haunt her for the rest of her days.
I pause for a moment before I open up the chest freezer. The banging on the front door above me is becoming ever more urgent the closer I get to reveal what I knew now to be inside.
The first thing that strikes me is how brutally disfigured she is. My torch hovers over several savage bite marks across her face and chest. The bite marks were so clear that I could see the incision patterns of my teeth. Her naked and mangled body was stuffed awkwardly into the freezer. It would have been far too small to fit it in without breaking a few bones and stretching a few joints.
I turn my head away and start to vomit. Even though the memory had recently come flooding back, this was not the act of a sane man. The authorities wouldn't care, though. They wouldn't care that she had been gradually poisoning me with something she had attained from god knows where. They would just see the state of her butchered and half-eaten body and lock me away for the very few years I likely had left.
I must have crammed her into that frozen coffin after finding her on the floor. My memory was still unclear on some of the events. Still, I remember her waking up before I got a chance to put the lid down on the freezer; I had then lashed out and started to bite her for some reason.
I had become out of control. The poison had utterly ruined my state of mind; however, it also seemed to have awakened something inside of me at the same time. A passionate desire which had been ignored and drunk away as a morbid fantasy. One that I had never shared with anyone.
As the front door above me bursts open, followed by some booming footsteps, I quickly shove the lid down on the freezer and make my way to the staircase towards the voices coming from nearby.
She visits me every night. That's when the drinking had initially started. The slow poisoning had caused hallucinations and confusion. That's when things got out of control, and I did what I did, but I now couldn't be sure if I could purely blame this on the drugs my wife had used to try and kill me.
She got what she wanted, though. I had finally got off my backside and chased my dreams. And she had helped me. The act of her trying to kill me had awakened something inside of me. I had initially tried to dismiss this 'something' as the confusion of the damage those drugs had afflicted me.
It had been easy to satisfy the Occupational therapist and the Police Liason Officer. Worried as I was at first, they were merely concerned about my wellbeing. Once they had checked the place over and made sure I was safe, they even organised someone to come over the next day to clean up. That gave me plenty of time to clear away the blood residue around the chest freezer in the cellar.
No one ever questioned where she had gone. Luckily for me, my wife had told a friend of hers that she intended to run away and leave me, so that's what they assumed had happened. Even better was the fact that the friend just so happened to be the woman I bumped into at the supermarket a few days ago, Mavis,
I feel my wife will continue visiting me until I have consumed every last drop of her body. The freezer will keep her fresh, and once she is all gone, she will require replacing. The banging on the door was something I now looked forward to every night. The banging from that cellar door. That is what had been our agreed sign; our Pact. When one of us died, that would be how we communicated to tell the other that something inside us continues on the other side—something which bursts into existence at the moment of our demise.
I smile as I lay there, listening to her desperate soul trying to make contact with me. Once I have finished with her remains, I will revisit the supermarket again and hopefully bump into her close friend Mavis. I had never liked that woman, but I was excited to tell her all about my wife. About how she never really left me, not in the way she had plotted to anyhow. I bet you that this was all Mavis' idea in the first place. That meddling bitch. First, though, I would invite her round for dinner, then she could join her dear old friend in the cellar. Together, they can bang on that door for eternity.
I cannot wait.

AFTERWORD Firstly, thank you for taking the time to read PACT. I wanted to try something very different with this short story but remain true to my writing style.
The idea for PACT came to me shortly after reading The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe. Once I started writing, the words and direction of the story just seemed to develop naturally, taking me just over two weeks to write and format.
As a very new writer on the scene, I am incredibly excited to gain some feedback on my stories, especially from those who love horror as much as I do.
I have already outlined how my next story will commence and its direction for the readers. I just require an appropriate ending, but I will worry about that when I start the job. I plan to release VOID by the end of 2021.
Thank you once again for reading my work, and I hope you enjoyed PACT. Please check out my other stories, 'See You Later', 'Chosen', and 'The Fear of the Devil', all available now on the kindle store.
Yours in Horror.
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2021.12.03 04:28 seafoodsucks Society has changed so much in the last half a century, what will change in the next 50years?

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2021.12.03 04:28 Comfortable_Pay6676 Facebooku nieznany, co pozwalaż papiesowi balowanie

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