The next day I decided that now was as good a time as ever to cheer Catherine up with a trip to one of her favorite places. I called the rest of the girls together, and we all carpooled to go to the beach. It was a perfect day for such an outing, and the moment we got there I could see that everyone couldn't wait to start enjoying the day.
We set up our area and finally took the time to relax. Naomi dove into the ocean as soon as she could, with Florence not far behind. Vivian and Rebecca stayed on the sand, listening to music and reading a book respectively. My finacee and I sat on our beach chairs holding hands, admiring it all.
"I love this area, Ellie. It's so peaceful." as she said that, her eyes wandered to the perfect blue waves and sky, to the sand and the small children that splashed and yelled with joy. "I can see why tons of people flock here every summer. It's like you can forget the whole world here." With that she removed her sunglasses and wide brimmed hat, waded into the water...and proceeded to get nailed by a wave. She was alright, though, and as soon as she collected herself (and spat out some water and sand) Catherine laughed about it.
It felt so good to see my Cathy smiling again. It seemed like forever since I saw her act normally. After we hung around the beach for a few hours, we decided to head down to the Point Pleasant boardwalk. Honestly it was one of the most fun days I've had, with us playing those games and going on those rides. Just us being together having fun was amazing. And what better way to finish up such a lovely day than by eating a heavy dinner of boardwalk confectionary? We probably all gained more than five pounds, but damn, was it worth it.
The sun was beginning to set when Catherine and I took a short walk down the beach. As soon as we got back, we were all going to head home. Truth be told nobody wanted to. Catherine sighed, "It's too bad we have to leave." she said, "Please promise you'll take me here again."
Suddenly she began to cough; not violently, but softly. She wiped her mouth, and I saw a bit a blood on the back of her hand. I freaked out a little bit on the inside, and I prayed that whatever she had would pass and our lives could go back to the way they were."Yeah," I said, "I promise."
I wish I could.
As we drove home, and I dropped off the girls at their respective homes, I could see Catherine start to get a bit nervous. The night had already fallen by the time I was driving to her house. I saw her nervously bite her lower lip, as if she was anticipating some unwelcome event, or someone to just pound on our window at a traffic light. "Hey, Catherine," I said softly, "How about you take a rest, okay?"
"I'm not tired."
"I...you look really nervous. Close your eyes for a bit, and I'll wake you when we're close to your house."
"Ellie, please. I'm alright."
"Are you sure? You look very upset about something."
She didn't respond to me, only turned her head to look out her window. For a brief moment there was silence, and in that moment I mulled over what I could do to help my beloved. Suddenly, Catherine let out a choked scream. Whatever she saw was freaking her the hell out, and I pulled over to try calming her down. I grabbed her shoulders in an attepted to
I spoke to her as loud and clear as I could, asking her what was the matter, begging her to calm down, telling her to take deep breaths, anything I could think of. Within minutes she did indeed manage to stop her hysteria.
"What happened? What did you see?" I asked, hoping that her answer could give me a reason behind her sudden outburst. She swallowed heavily and said, "I saw a guy out there. Really freaky looking. I though he was coming towards the car."
"Did he looked like the guy you were drawing?" I asked, curious to see if she confirmed it or not.
I would love to say that she nodded or shook her head, but she didn't. Instead Catherine reclined back in the front seat and said nothing. I drove to her house, escorted her to the door as I always did, and went home.
The next day, Catherine went missing again.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Fear Dubh
In my last post, I talked about the title of Catherine's book purchase. I couldn't get a good look at the author, or the cover art, but I know that the book exists somewhere. For some reason I can't seem to find it not matter what bookstore I look in.
I looked to the internet to give me the answer as to who or what the Fear Dubh is, as Catherine suddenly developed an interest in it. Normally Catherine would be facinated with Irish mythology, the faeries, the heroes and heroines, not the monsters that lurked in the shadows. In my research I found this little description of it:
“In Ireland, there is the legend of the Fear Dubh (The Black Man). This creature is said to haunt solitary footpaths at night, generally those that pass through woodland. It is reputed to be entirely malevolent."
I went from site to site searching for this thing, and found stories of people (or people who knew people) who had encounters with this 'Fear Dubh.' The stories were the stuff of nightmares; people being abducted in the night or, even more unnerving, the day. A story in Ireland about a child and her grandmother, and how the latter died in a terrible fire that had no known cause. How the fire made strange, black cracks all over the walls that looked like the tentacles of a eldritch sea monster. The pictures that showed what was left of the house were chilling. The local county police chief died of a heart attack a few days later, and following his death the priest also died mysteriously. Odd.
There are similar stories around the world, such as Der Großmann, who was featured in several disturbing woodcuts from 16th century Germany. It, too, was a malevolent entity; it lurked in the Black Forest, who supposedly kidnapped naughty children at night, and who stalked said children until they confessed their sins to their parents and changed their ways.
After I looked everywhere I could, I went to Catherine's house to ask her about her obsession with the Fear Dubh, and what started it. Catherine had a vivid imagination, which helped us during our childhood playdates. Perhaps it had gotten the best of her. Or perhaps not.
When I got to her house, I found her drawing in the den. She didn't look like she had slept in days. On pieces of large, white pieces of paper were grim images made with charcoal. Drawings of forests, of a black thing lurking in the water, the fire, the air and the earth, of half remembered nightmares through a cracked, ancient mirror.
I asked, "What is the Fear Dubh, Catherine?"
She muttered, "Something."
Not 'nothing, but 'something.'
"What is it?"
She was silent for a time, but then said, "Everything will be fine, Elizabeth. Just...just please stay with me."
I pulled her into a hug and I whispered, "I will never leave."
We laid on the sofa, saying nothing but holding each other, and there we fell asleep.
I looked to the internet to give me the answer as to who or what the Fear Dubh is, as Catherine suddenly developed an interest in it. Normally Catherine would be facinated with Irish mythology, the faeries, the heroes and heroines, not the monsters that lurked in the shadows. In my research I found this little description of it:
“In Ireland, there is the legend of the Fear Dubh (The Black Man). This creature is said to haunt solitary footpaths at night, generally those that pass through woodland. It is reputed to be entirely malevolent."
I went from site to site searching for this thing, and found stories of people (or people who knew people) who had encounters with this 'Fear Dubh.' The stories were the stuff of nightmares; people being abducted in the night or, even more unnerving, the day. A story in Ireland about a child and her grandmother, and how the latter died in a terrible fire that had no known cause. How the fire made strange, black cracks all over the walls that looked like the tentacles of a eldritch sea monster. The pictures that showed what was left of the house were chilling. The local county police chief died of a heart attack a few days later, and following his death the priest also died mysteriously. Odd.
There are similar stories around the world, such as Der Großmann, who was featured in several disturbing woodcuts from 16th century Germany. It, too, was a malevolent entity; it lurked in the Black Forest, who supposedly kidnapped naughty children at night, and who stalked said children until they confessed their sins to their parents and changed their ways.
After I looked everywhere I could, I went to Catherine's house to ask her about her obsession with the Fear Dubh, and what started it. Catherine had a vivid imagination, which helped us during our childhood playdates. Perhaps it had gotten the best of her. Or perhaps not.
When I got to her house, I found her drawing in the den. She didn't look like she had slept in days. On pieces of large, white pieces of paper were grim images made with charcoal. Drawings of forests, of a black thing lurking in the water, the fire, the air and the earth, of half remembered nightmares through a cracked, ancient mirror.
I asked, "What is the Fear Dubh, Catherine?"
She muttered, "Something."
Not 'nothing, but 'something.'
"What is it?"
She was silent for a time, but then said, "Everything will be fine, Elizabeth. Just...just please stay with me."
I pulled her into a hug and I whispered, "I will never leave."
We laid on the sofa, saying nothing but holding each other, and there we fell asleep.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Night
Catherine slept over my house in the summer of 2011. It was a fun night, with us watching movies, making s'mores, laying on the grass and counting the stars. For a moment I didn't worry about her, and she as acting like her old self. We talked about how wonderful our new life would be, what color our room should be, the color of the curtains, that good stuff. Just her and me, in a world of our own.
We soon got tired, and as always, she slept with me. No, we didn't engage in maritals, if that's what you were thinking. We always slept in each other's bed since we became girlfriends. She curled up next to me, and together we fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of hysterical sobbing.
It wasn't my mother; she was dead asleep. It wasn't my brother of my father; they too were asleep. It definitely wasn't me, and it wasn't Catherine at all. But in the dead of night I could hear someone in the house crying in a way that I have never heard before. I don't know where it came from, or who was crying, but it chilled me to the bone. I wanted to go look for the source, maybe even comfort them, but the fear was stronger than my curiosity. Again I looked at Catherine, who was facing away from me. Instinctively I shuffeled closer, wrapped an arm around her, and closed my eyes. The crying continued.
I could do nothing else but listen and pray that it would stop soon.
To be honest I don't know how I did it, but I finally managed to sleep. The morning came, and the crying had finally ceased. Catherine was already in the kitchen, sipping her tea and reading the news. At first I wanted to talk about the crying I heard last night, hoping that perhaps she would have any idea. For some reason I decided against it. Maybe I was just being paranoid and it would turn out that one of my family members was crying. But...but it didn't sound like any of them.
Catherine wanted to go to the bookstore to pick something up and invited me to come with her. The entire drive there was in complete silence. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. I don't think I saw her blink. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and her features softened.
Once we arrived, my beloved raced to the mythology and folklore section. Catherine had always been facinated by Irish folklore, as I already mentioned, and had several books on the topic. But she also had a ravenous appetite for folklore of the rest of the British Isles. Rebecca jokingly called her a walking encyclopedia on anything and everything relating to that subject. It was cute.
But watching Catherine flip through those books, desperate to find...whatever she was looking for, wasn't cute or in any way endearing; it was frightening. Wordlesly, anxiously, she ripped a book from its place from the shelf and tore through the pages in what looked like desperation. But as she picked up another book, a coughing fit shook her, and it fell to the floor.
I forgot to mention before: Catherine had been having these odd coughing fits on and off for a while. She went to the doctor for them, and he could find nothing wrong. Not even when she brought up that she had been having strange boughts of nosebleeds. I forgot what the doctor said, but he gave her something that was supposed to help. It did nothing.
She picked up the book and brought it to the cashier's, wordlessly paying for it and walking out the door. I couldn't get a good look at the title; she held it so close to her chest. We sat in the heated car for a little while.
"Are you okay?" I asked. I hoped that she would say something along the lines of, 'yes, I will be fine.' But all my Catherine did was weep. We sat there, in the heated car, as I held her. She told me that she loved me over and over again, and while I said nothing, I cried as well.
I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a part of the title: 'Fear Dubh.'
We soon got tired, and as always, she slept with me. No, we didn't engage in maritals, if that's what you were thinking. We always slept in each other's bed since we became girlfriends. She curled up next to me, and together we fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of hysterical sobbing.
It wasn't my mother; she was dead asleep. It wasn't my brother of my father; they too were asleep. It definitely wasn't me, and it wasn't Catherine at all. But in the dead of night I could hear someone in the house crying in a way that I have never heard before. I don't know where it came from, or who was crying, but it chilled me to the bone. I wanted to go look for the source, maybe even comfort them, but the fear was stronger than my curiosity. Again I looked at Catherine, who was facing away from me. Instinctively I shuffeled closer, wrapped an arm around her, and closed my eyes. The crying continued.
I could do nothing else but listen and pray that it would stop soon.
To be honest I don't know how I did it, but I finally managed to sleep. The morning came, and the crying had finally ceased. Catherine was already in the kitchen, sipping her tea and reading the news. At first I wanted to talk about the crying I heard last night, hoping that perhaps she would have any idea. For some reason I decided against it. Maybe I was just being paranoid and it would turn out that one of my family members was crying. But...but it didn't sound like any of them.
Catherine wanted to go to the bookstore to pick something up and invited me to come with her. The entire drive there was in complete silence. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. I don't think I saw her blink. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and her features softened.
Once we arrived, my beloved raced to the mythology and folklore section. Catherine had always been facinated by Irish folklore, as I already mentioned, and had several books on the topic. But she also had a ravenous appetite for folklore of the rest of the British Isles. Rebecca jokingly called her a walking encyclopedia on anything and everything relating to that subject. It was cute.
But watching Catherine flip through those books, desperate to find...whatever she was looking for, wasn't cute or in any way endearing; it was frightening. Wordlesly, anxiously, she ripped a book from its place from the shelf and tore through the pages in what looked like desperation. But as she picked up another book, a coughing fit shook her, and it fell to the floor.
I forgot to mention before: Catherine had been having these odd coughing fits on and off for a while. She went to the doctor for them, and he could find nothing wrong. Not even when she brought up that she had been having strange boughts of nosebleeds. I forgot what the doctor said, but he gave her something that was supposed to help. It did nothing.
She picked up the book and brought it to the cashier's, wordlessly paying for it and walking out the door. I couldn't get a good look at the title; she held it so close to her chest. We sat in the heated car for a little while.
"Are you okay?" I asked. I hoped that she would say something along the lines of, 'yes, I will be fine.' But all my Catherine did was weep. We sat there, in the heated car, as I held her. She told me that she loved me over and over again, and while I said nothing, I cried as well.
I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a part of the title: 'Fear Dubh.'
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
This Day in History...
Today was to be our wedding day. We were supposed to have traveled to DC and gotten married in a lovely ceremony. What was to be the happiest day of our lives isn't, and no matter how many times I call her number, she never picks up. No matter how many times I beg for her to answer me and just tell me what happened, there is no one there. It's a bizzare kind of isolation that nothing can cure. Her parents are distraught, obviously. The police have found no trace of her anywhere.
If anyone has seen her, please let me know.
If anyone has seen her, please let me know.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
New Year, New Problems
2010 had come and gone, and 2011 came with heavy snow and record cold. It was a bitter, gelid winter that seemed to have no end in sight. The storms that came were relentless to the point of cruelty. Luckily for us, school and planning kept our bones and hearts warm.
Rebecca, Florence, Naomi and Vivian were to be our maids-of-honor, my little brother the best man. My family, Catherine's family, and some friends were invited to the wedding.
The invitations that we had sent out were adorable: it was a single white card, elegant script joyously proclaiming our wedding day, the place, the time, all those little details. Vivian thought that it would be interesting to add in some scents to make it more personal, like gardenia or jasmine. It was a neat idea that Catherine and I liked. We decided that jasmine would work perfectly, and added some glitter in the envelopes for that extra sparkle.
The goings on in our lives were hectic, with the wedding stuff, work, and college. How we managed would have been anyone's guess, but we did it and we did it with pride.
Rebecca (surprise, surprise) got the best report card out of us all. She always did, really. Only one B- in a sea of A's and A+'s. In November of last year she told us that she was seriously considering transfering to Miskatonic University in Massachusettes, and wanted to see if any of us wanted to apply with her. Now, MU is one of the most prestigious universities out there, on par with Harvard and Yale. Someone with Rebecca's smarts would get in without a doubt, but us? It was a 50/50 shot.
Florence was often found in the fitness center after classes, burning off all the stress and any thoughts of doubt, she would say. And when she wasn't getting her cardio in, she was at home writing down business plans for a company that she wants to start. Fürstin is to be her company's name. At first, Florence wanted to work for Vogue, but decided that she could do much better. She always wanted to be a businesswoman, and she wants Naomi to write for her magazine.
Naomi's true love has always been writing. She's been a part of the creative writing club for so long that she may as well be the person who runs it. Since as far back as I can remember she was always writing and reading all these incredible stories. She had written some pretty poems that she submitted to the newspaper often, and had a rough draft of a book series she eventually wanted to get published, but told us that she wanted to also write for a magazine. That's where Florence came in and proposed that Naomi write for her.
Vivian has wanted to make music for the longest time. The stuff she makes now are really catchy and well-made. It's nothing like what the pros do, not yet anyway. She is on our college's radio with her own show, called "Music of the Spheres." It's a hoot and a half listening to her. She hopes that after college she could find someone to help with her music career. She knows that the business is tough, but if anyone could handle it, Vivian would be at the top of the list.
As for Catherine, her grades went down and she dropped out of her beloved home ec club. I feel like a broken record saying this over and over again, but that was totally out of character for her. Yet again, she refused to open up and brushed it off, stating that she just had things on her mind. When she and I were talking about a book we had been reading, there was a stinkbug that had wandered into the kitchen and had begun to fly around obnoxiously. It was crashing into the ceiling and walls like it was drunk, and I laughed at the poor thing's antics. But Catherine...she reacted bizzarely.
She tracted that thing down and smash it into oblivion. Catherine wasn't the biggest fan of bugs, and should she encounter one, she would only swat it away or go into another room. I had never once seen her do that. The she told me that the bug wasn't ordinary...it was watching us.
The explaination was strange, silly, bordering on paranoia. Actually, no. It was paranoia. But after making sure that the bug was dead that no other insect was crawling around us, she calmed down and resumed our discussion as if nothing had happened. The grip Catherine had on my hand, it was as if she believed that she and she alone could protect me.
Rebecca, Florence, Naomi and Vivian were to be our maids-of-honor, my little brother the best man. My family, Catherine's family, and some friends were invited to the wedding.
The invitations that we had sent out were adorable: it was a single white card, elegant script joyously proclaiming our wedding day, the place, the time, all those little details. Vivian thought that it would be interesting to add in some scents to make it more personal, like gardenia or jasmine. It was a neat idea that Catherine and I liked. We decided that jasmine would work perfectly, and added some glitter in the envelopes for that extra sparkle.
The goings on in our lives were hectic, with the wedding stuff, work, and college. How we managed would have been anyone's guess, but we did it and we did it with pride.
Rebecca (surprise, surprise) got the best report card out of us all. She always did, really. Only one B- in a sea of A's and A+'s. In November of last year she told us that she was seriously considering transfering to Miskatonic University in Massachusettes, and wanted to see if any of us wanted to apply with her. Now, MU is one of the most prestigious universities out there, on par with Harvard and Yale. Someone with Rebecca's smarts would get in without a doubt, but us? It was a 50/50 shot.
Florence was often found in the fitness center after classes, burning off all the stress and any thoughts of doubt, she would say. And when she wasn't getting her cardio in, she was at home writing down business plans for a company that she wants to start. Fürstin is to be her company's name. At first, Florence wanted to work for Vogue, but decided that she could do much better. She always wanted to be a businesswoman, and she wants Naomi to write for her magazine.
Naomi's true love has always been writing. She's been a part of the creative writing club for so long that she may as well be the person who runs it. Since as far back as I can remember she was always writing and reading all these incredible stories. She had written some pretty poems that she submitted to the newspaper often, and had a rough draft of a book series she eventually wanted to get published, but told us that she wanted to also write for a magazine. That's where Florence came in and proposed that Naomi write for her.
Vivian has wanted to make music for the longest time. The stuff she makes now are really catchy and well-made. It's nothing like what the pros do, not yet anyway. She is on our college's radio with her own show, called "Music of the Spheres." It's a hoot and a half listening to her. She hopes that after college she could find someone to help with her music career. She knows that the business is tough, but if anyone could handle it, Vivian would be at the top of the list.
As for Catherine, her grades went down and she dropped out of her beloved home ec club. I feel like a broken record saying this over and over again, but that was totally out of character for her. Yet again, she refused to open up and brushed it off, stating that she just had things on her mind. When she and I were talking about a book we had been reading, there was a stinkbug that had wandered into the kitchen and had begun to fly around obnoxiously. It was crashing into the ceiling and walls like it was drunk, and I laughed at the poor thing's antics. But Catherine...she reacted bizzarely.
She tracted that thing down and smash it into oblivion. Catherine wasn't the biggest fan of bugs, and should she encounter one, she would only swat it away or go into another room. I had never once seen her do that. The she told me that the bug wasn't ordinary...it was watching us.
The explaination was strange, silly, bordering on paranoia. Actually, no. It was paranoia. But after making sure that the bug was dead that no other insect was crawling around us, she calmed down and resumed our discussion as if nothing had happened. The grip Catherine had on my hand, it was as if she believed that she and she alone could protect me.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Happy 22nd, Vivian!
Happy birthday, Vivian! I hope that you have a happy year, and good luck with finishing that electronica album you have been working on.
Haus of Laub is a pretty neat title, if I do say so myself.
Haus of Laub is a pretty neat title, if I do say so myself.
Monday, May 28, 2012
White Out
Months went by, and life continued as normal. Catherine and I proudly wore our engagement rings for the world to see, continuing to make plans and saving up. But she still avoided forests (and any wooded area) and playgrounds like the plague with no real reason.
Sometimes Catherine would not return home for long hours after her shift at work without explaination, and Mr. Moore called more than once to see if she was with me or anyone else, as he could not reach Catherine by phone. But each time she would come home as if nothing happened, confused as to why we were all nervous. She told us that we had absolutely nothing to worry about. One thing you should know about Catherine: she never lied. Ever. So we all believed her.
One cold night we decided to go somewhere nice to eat, since we thought that it would be good to get out of our respective houses. We decided on a new German restaurant that opened up near us.
An old woman, so old we thought she would fall apart at any second, gently grabbed Catherine's sleeve and asked politely if she could have a sip of water. The poor woman was without any money, and she had been thirsty all day. With a smile Catherine gave her the entire water bottle. She drank it down in what seemed like a single gulp. The old woman tossed the bottle into the nearest garbage can and thanked my fiance many, many times as she hobbled away. We never saw that woman again.
That Christmas my family came over to our house to celebrate. Nothing unusual happened at all that night, but I did see Catherine look through the windows once or twice. My gift to her that year was a purple floral headband, her gift to me was a necklace.
The day after a heavy blizzard came in and covered our world with pure white. That was pretty much the sign that the time had come for an epic snowball fight. The roads, however, were far too dangerous for any of my friends to come by, so I instead played with my brother. He won, in case you were wondering.
Later in the week, Catherine texted me to go take a walk with her in the snow, which I of course agreed to. As we walked down the street, we talked about where she had been and what she had been doing. Catherine confessed that she had been looking for an apartment for us to rent out and had been doing research on where we could go for our honeymoon. It was supposed to be a surprise, she said.
That still doesn't explain why she hated forests and playgrounds. And not soon after our walk she began to dislike snow. No matter how much I tried to get her to open up and talk to me about these new fears, she refused. Even when I told her that I wouldn't judge or make rash assumptions. Catherine's parents, when they questioned her, had the same amount of luck as I did. I don't know what else I could've done to ease her fears. If she was nervous about the upcoming wedding, she never said anything. Catherine was never the one to hold feelings in.
Sometimes Catherine would not return home for long hours after her shift at work without explaination, and Mr. Moore called more than once to see if she was with me or anyone else, as he could not reach Catherine by phone. But each time she would come home as if nothing happened, confused as to why we were all nervous. She told us that we had absolutely nothing to worry about. One thing you should know about Catherine: she never lied. Ever. So we all believed her.
One cold night we decided to go somewhere nice to eat, since we thought that it would be good to get out of our respective houses. We decided on a new German restaurant that opened up near us.
An old woman, so old we thought she would fall apart at any second, gently grabbed Catherine's sleeve and asked politely if she could have a sip of water. The poor woman was without any money, and she had been thirsty all day. With a smile Catherine gave her the entire water bottle. She drank it down in what seemed like a single gulp. The old woman tossed the bottle into the nearest garbage can and thanked my fiance many, many times as she hobbled away. We never saw that woman again.
That Christmas my family came over to our house to celebrate. Nothing unusual happened at all that night, but I did see Catherine look through the windows once or twice. My gift to her that year was a purple floral headband, her gift to me was a necklace.
The day after a heavy blizzard came in and covered our world with pure white. That was pretty much the sign that the time had come for an epic snowball fight. The roads, however, were far too dangerous for any of my friends to come by, so I instead played with my brother. He won, in case you were wondering.
Later in the week, Catherine texted me to go take a walk with her in the snow, which I of course agreed to. As we walked down the street, we talked about where she had been and what she had been doing. Catherine confessed that she had been looking for an apartment for us to rent out and had been doing research on where we could go for our honeymoon. It was supposed to be a surprise, she said.
That still doesn't explain why she hated forests and playgrounds. And not soon after our walk she began to dislike snow. No matter how much I tried to get her to open up and talk to me about these new fears, she refused. Even when I told her that I wouldn't judge or make rash assumptions. Catherine's parents, when they questioned her, had the same amount of luck as I did. I don't know what else I could've done to ease her fears. If she was nervous about the upcoming wedding, she never said anything. Catherine was never the one to hold feelings in.
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