Everything is so interconnected that although the distinction between a fruit and what is commonly called a vegetable seems obvious, there is no clear definition of both. The tomato, for example, combines both. So is he a fruit or a vegetable?
On the morning of April 10, 1893, after several people had been taken to the Brooklyn Hospital, someone noticed something strange. The fact that several accidents quickly, one after the other, occurred in different parts of the city was not considered strange, but the similarity of details was noted.
Alex Bergman, Geo Sichers, Lawrence Beck, George Burton, Patrick Gibbon, James Meehan, George Bedell, Michael Brown, John Traubridge, Timothy Hennessy, Philip Aldwell and one unknown person … Within a few hours these people were injured on the streets of Brooklyn, and almost in each case, the cause was either a fall from a height, or the impact of an object falling from a height.
Again, I ask one of my questions, which looks so silly, but which may not be so meaningless. What relation could the fall of a person from a rooftop in one part of Brooklyn have to the fall of a flowerpot that hit another person on the head in another part of Brooklyn?
As reported in the Lloyd Daily News (London) for April 30, 1911, in the city of Colchester, England, on the evening of April 24, a soldier from the local garrison received a blow from which he lost consciousness. He was so seriously injured that he was taken to the garrison hospital. There he could not explain what happened to him. The next night, another soldier was taken to the hospital, severely injured by "an unconscious blow from an invisible enemy."
Four days later, at night, a third soldier was taken to the same hospital, suffering from the consequences of the blow, about which he himself could not really say anything.
At the end of March 1892, some people returned to their home in Chicago and found that during their absence the curtains "staged" a real orgy. They were scattered all over the place, lying on the floor, crumpled and torn to pieces. A painful picture of the decline in morality: things that are so fragile and fragile could still stand upright, but on condition that they were supported. Someone searched the drawers of dressers in search of jewelry - and found what they were looking for, but did not steal anything. Parts of barbarously broken rings and watches were scattered everywhere.
There are several things in this post that make it look like a ghost story. There is ample evidence of equally gratuitous and violent pogroms in homes where poltergeist cases have been reported. And here, too, is a mystery, because the police could not figure out how the unknown entered the house.
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Then word came of another house, which was "mysteriously entered" while its inhabitants were away. Everywhere were scattered curtains torn into rags and the remains of clothes cut into pieces. Jewelry and other adornments were broken, but nothing was taken.
The police were able to find out only that the residents of these houses did not have common enemies. The rage towards curtains is difficult to explain in any way, but, imagining a person with bare walls and windows, it is easy to assume that he hates all kinds of decoration and ornaments. Breaks into other houses were reported shortly after the two houses were ravaged, but no trace of how the vandals got inside were found. The curtains were torn off, many interior furnishings and ornaments were destroyed, but nothing was stolen.
New York Times, January 26, 1873: Report that in England, while hunting with members of the local Pitchley Hunting Society, General Mayo fell dead from his horse; about the same time, while hunting in the county of Gloucestershire, the daughter of the Bishop of Gloucestershire was seriously injured; on the same day in the north of England a certain Miss Cavendish was killed while hunting. It didn't take long, and a priest was killed while hunting in Lincolnshire. Around the same time, two more hunters were thrown from their horses and seriously injured near Sanders Gorse.
In one of those moments when you experience an ineradicable craving for scientific research, I suggested that various character traits of one person, it happens, are subjected to similar effects and the case, it happens, affects the entire personality of this person. But there is no reason to believe that a person's quite tangible hatred of fox-catchers roamed all over England, forcing horses to gallop at full speed and throw their riders to the ground. At the same time, there was a feeling that in England there is clearly a person opposed to fox hunters, who considers himself a farmer (whose hedges are broken, and whose crops have been trampled by the invading "red uniforms") and who has an irresistible desire to arrange a new battle for them. Bunker Hill.
The New York Evening World, December 26, 1930, reported that the warden of Sing Sing Lewis E. Lowes was ill. The boss recovered and left his apartment in the morning after Christmas. He was told that his friend Maurice Conway, who was visiting him, was found dead in his own bed. On Christmas Eve, jail warden John Hiland underwent appendicitis surgery and was in serious condition at Ossining Hospital. Warden John Wescott, who also "suffered from appendicitis," was in the same hospital. Overseer Henry Barrett was at the clinic awaiting hernia surgery.
Probably the most hated person in the New York State Prison Service was Eisele J. Granger, a senior overseer at the Clinton Prison in Dunnemora. On July 22, 1929, he decisively suppressed a prisoner mutiny. And on Christmas Day 1930, he underwent appendicitis surgery at the Champlain Valley Clinic, Plattsburgh, New York. He died two days later.
Around this time, Clinton prison warden Harry M. Kaiser was suffering from what has been described as "high blood pressure." He died three months later. In March 1926, London newspapers reported fires that simultaneously erupted in several parts of Closes Hall, near Clather Row, Lancashire, where Captain B. Heaton lived.
Fire engulfed the roof beams; Sparks from the stove were blamed for the fire. The fire originated in places that were inaccessible to an ordinary arsonist: in order to get to them, firefighters had to make holes in the roof. No fires have been reported before. It looks strange that the sparks from the stove could lead to the simultaneous ignition of hard-to-reach and distant parts of the house.
A fire in the house would not have piqued my interest: but then I read a number of similar messages. Three months later, fires broke out in ten more houses. "Scotland Yard recently took steps to get all the details of the fires in the houses in order to correlate the circumstances and uncover the likely cause of the fires."
On April 2, 1926, the Ashley-moore estate located near Leominster was destroyed by fire.
Someone or something set the houses on fire. How this happened remained a mystery. Panic began, because, apparently, these houses were better guarded than ordinary ones: but despite such serious protection measures, as a rule, there were unusual ways of entering. None of the reports provided any evidence of how the arsonist entered the house. No thefts were reported either. For several months now and then there were fires in different houses. Apparently, the Scotland Yard detectives barely had time to register them.
On November 6, London newspapers reported the thirteenth case of a house fire in about ten months. Houses were on fire in England and passionate statements were made.
At times I'm a gatherer, and only such, and I probably look vulgar and stingy, collecting stacks of notes and enjoying the purely quantitative increase in my stories. And sometimes it happens that I rejoice when, unexpectedly for myself, I stumble upon some disgusting story, which, perhaps, is not at all an invention, and that this terrible episode, perhaps, will drive the reader of my more or less decent work.
But there is always an inexplicable feeling of the interconnection of the events that I note, and it is this vague, obsessive, often arrogant understanding or suspicion that makes me accumulate, accumulate, accumulate …
From the book by Charles Ford “The Magic of Everyday Life. Wild talents."