Wait... What Time Is It?

Ten thirty already?  Sheesh.  You get what you get, tonight.

Goal: 5k words.

Achieved: 2300 words.  (Well, actually, 3000, but the first 700 don't count.)

---

“Jens.”  Adem motioned for his aide, who placed his firing rod in the brazier and trotted over.  “Find Magi Dell.  He should be with the commander.  Let him know that the gate closing will happen immediately, and he should attend.”  Jens saluted, and trotted off towards the main entry to the courtyard.

“First Mate Orelley - fall out, but remain with me.”  At those words, Kellan sighed and relaxed slightly.  He turned to face the gate, peering into it along with the centurion.

“Ah, there we go,” he said after a moment.  “I can hear them.”

Adem cocked his head, listening.  There was a distant sound from the gate, almost imperceptible.  As it grew, he could make out the tune of a Legion cadence.  The words, though, eluded him, until he was able to make out a group of figures stumbling through the heat shimmer of the gate.

Adem frowned slightly.  “That is not a cadence I recognize, First,” he commented.  “Was that something about a hedgehog?”

Kellan grimaced.  “Yes, sir.  That would be the Twins.  Principes Daleb and Kosheb.”  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “About three days ago, we ran into a small shedeem hunting part in the Far Lands.  They were friendly enough, but claimed that we had disrupted their hunt with our, um, ‘foul stench’, and issued a challenge.  I think they were hoping we would back down and pay a ransom.  The Captain took the challenge, and the Twins went up against their hunt leader in a, um.  Contest.”  He sighed.  “A drinking contest.”

Adem blinked.  “Seriously?  First, you are not pulling my leg?”

Kellan grinned.  “We cheated, of course.  They expect it, after all - it’s the only way they get a good contest.  Plus, the Captain always has a trick or two up his sleeve.  Stuffed the Twins to the gills with something foul that soaked up most of the alcohol.  Even with that, two on one, it was a close thing.”  He sighed.  “As soon as the hunt leader passed out, we left in a hurry.  So sorry, got to be off.  They were impressed enough that they let us go without protesting.”

“Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “most of them were already so drunk they couldn’t stand, so it wasn’t much of a daring escape.”

“Those two are going to be hurting once they get through the gate and all that arukh drink hits them at once,” Adem pointed out.  “Should we send for a physician?”

Kellan waved his hand.  “No, no.  Bear checked ‘em out, said they’ll be fine.  Though with any luck, they’ll just pass out once they get here.  It looks like Bear is herding them in the right direction, at least.”

They could make out five figures approaching through the gate now.  Two were out in front, dressed as Kellan in Legion leathers.  They were staggering and singing at the top of their lungs, obviously trying to march together, and just as obviously failing.  Behind them came a mountain of a man, carrying an oversized scutum.  His dark skin was topped by a shock of white hair and a disapproving fown.  As they marched, he used his shield to prod the two in front of him, or corral them so that they continued to move in a straight line.

Just behind him were two more.  A short, broad fellow with red hair and a red beard trimmed close walked slowly.  Unlike the others, he was wearing a denim shirt and pants, with a scout’s vest as an overgarment.  The final man was slightly taller, and carried the only weapon that Adem could see, a short bow slung over his shoulder.  He was leaning on the redhead, limping slightly.

Kellan muttered something under his breath, and turned to Adem.  “My apologies, sir.  A physician might be called for.  Valish twisted his ankle yesterday.  Nothing serious, but once they’re through, I know the Captain will want it seen to.”

Take Two

It was a cool fall afternoon, but the air was still in the courtyard of Fregyr Keep.  Soldiers moved purposefully across the hard cobblestones of the court, their boots occasionally making a dull thud as they trod on the iron spikes driven between the stones.  Their actions were tense and purposeful as each man sought out his station.  Mixed cohorts of archers and musketeers filed onto the battlements surrounding the yard.  Men checked each other’s armor and equipment, making sure that chain hauberks were settled properly.  Junior centurions kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, barking out the occasional order or stepping in to correct those problems that inevitably reared their heads when you tried to get ten score military men to perform a complex evolution.  Senior cannoneers argued with each other, gesturing expansively as they directed their loaders to make minute adjustments to the artillery pieces they serviced.

All attention was focused inward, on the standing stones at the center of the courtyard.  Stones that normally stood silent, but now seemed to shimmer slightly, as if they were trying to hide behind a heat mirage.

Stones that had woken up.  Or been awakened.

At one end of the courtyard, senior centurion Aras Adem stood silently by one of the larger cannons, counting time silently as the bustle of activity wound down and men settled into their final positions.  His ades, legionnaires Jens and Varys, stood by, busy stoking the charcoal brazier that held their firing rods.  One by one, senior centurions strode purposefully over to Centurion Adem to report their men ready.

As the last centurion reported his men in position, Adem dismissed him, he grunted.

“Three minutes.  Not bad.  Not good, either.”  He turned to check his men, saw that they already had their firing rods ready at hand.  “Remind me to order a drill again next week.  We should be able to manage this in two.”

“Aye, sir,” said Jens.  “Still have a minute, though.  Takes at least four for something to make it through from the Far Lands.”

Adem frowned.  “That we know of.  One of the Mazi might make it faster.  We don’t know.”  He turned and stared at the standing stones for a moment before muttering under his breath, “And I hope we never find out.”  Adem had studied Legion history as he moved through the ranks.He knew that the damage that a true Mazikeen could do to the Real was immense.  Even on Abshya itself, heart of the Empire.  Of course, there, the great Gate to the Far Lands was not hidden away inside a keep like almost every other standing stones.  Instead, it was in the middle of an immense plain.  Ringed by bunkers bristling with coherent energy weapons, railguns, and soul cannon, the Empress had stated flatly that any adrukh who so much as stepped foot on her world would be exterminated in the Real.

So far, at least, that assertion had not been tested.

From the battlements behind him, a horn sounded, followed by a cry.  “Movement in the gate!”

Adem stepped forward, drew and checked his flintlock pistol in his left hand.  “COHORT, ATTENTION!” he bellowed.  With a clatter, every man in the courtyard came to attention.  After a moment of silence, Adem’s voice voice rang off the close walls of the courtyard.  “COHORT, ATTEND THE GATE!!  Observers, report!”

Above him, a young scout with a spyglass peered over the battlements at the standing stones.  As he adjusted his glass, he called out his reports.

“One figure, sir.  Man, or at least it looks like a man.  I can… wait… yes.  Wearing legion colors.  Not moving too quickly.  Looks tired.”

At the mention of colors, Adem could feel a infinitesimal reduction in the tension of the men arrayed around him.  Almost as if the cohort had - as one man - released a held breath.  A lone figure was good.  Every man there knew that Legion protocol called for a single representative to exit the gate and coordinate exit of additional forces.

Still, it could be a trick.  The adrukh of the Far Lands were nothing if not crafty.  Even if the approaching visitor was who he appeared to be, some of the smaller spirits might try to take advange of a moment’s inattention and slip through.  That happened regularly around the commerce gates, of course.  Couldn’t be helped.  Adem was determined that particular manner  of incursion, however minor, was not going to happen on his watch.

He drew a deep breath, and raised his right hand in a fist as his voice rang out.  “COHORT, READY!”

With a clatter, every man in the courtyard moved to prepare their weapons.  Archers readied their bows, broadhead iron arrows laid and ready to fire.  Musketeers went to one knee, braced their gun and sighted them upon the standing stones.  Cannoneers took their red-hot firing rods and held them carefully above the firing ports of their artillery, ready to unload tons of iron balls and stone shot at whatever exited the gate, if needed.

Adem stepped forward to stand between the cannon and the standing stones, his hand upraised and fist clenched, and watched the gate.  After a moment, he could make out the indistinct figure of a man, as if through heavy fog at a great distance.  Moment by moment, the figure appeared to move closer.  It became more distinct, until Adem could see what the scout had reported: a lone man in Legion leathers, head down, trudging towards them wearily.

With a final step, the man stumbled across the threshold of the standing stones, a looked up, blinking.  His hair was brown with dust, and his face tan and lined.  He carried no weapon, but an iron medallion with a raised sigil dangled from a fine chain around his neck.

Adem raised his pistol, and aimed at the medallion.

The visitor glanced around and took in the sight of two hundred men aiming various weapons at him, seemingly nonplussed.  Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself, and somehow managed to march the last few steps toward Adem crisply, where he came to attention and snapped a vigorous salute.  When he spoke, his voice was low and even, but with an edge of weariness.

“First Mate Kellan Orelley of the Thirteenth Legion, reporting under orders, sir.”

Adem opened his upraised hand.  Behind him, Jens called out, “Cohort, remain ready.”  After a moment, Adem slowly lowered his hand, and returned the salute.

“By whose authority do you report?” Adem asked.

“Under the authority of Empress Katarina the Last,” he responded. “May Heaven bless her reign.”

Adem nodded almost imperceptibly.  “And may Hell tremble at her Name.”

With that, Adem broke his salute, and the visitor did likewise.  Adem called out, “Cohort, the visitor is recognized!  Cohort, at ready ease!”  

There was a susurration as the legionaires around the courtyard relaxed from the ready.  Unlike the rest of the men, Jens and Varys kept their attention entirely on Adem and the visitor.  They had standaing orders from Adem in these situations: If this was some sort of adrukh trick, they were to do their duty, fire the cannon, and drink to his memory.

Adem stepped forward and murmured, “At ease.”  As Kellan relaxed, he said, “First Mate?  You’re a bit far from the sea, sailor.”

Kellan allowed the corner of his mouth to turn upward, just a hint.  “The unit started in the navy, sir.  Been years since then, but they’ve kept the ranks.  Tradition.”

Adem chuckled.  “Tradition, indeed.  You look like rode hard and put away wet, First.”  He raised an eyebrow, inviting a reponse.

Kellan’s small smile disappeared.  “The last few days have not been entirely uneventful, sir,” he responded, his voice carefully neutral.

Adem looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.  “They rarely are, First.  They rarely are.  You have orders?”

Kellan nodded, and reached into his jacket to pull out a bundle of papers bound with wire and sealed with wax.  Handing them to Adem, he said, “Sir?  The others will be close behind me.  They were supposed to wait five minutes before following, but... “ He inclined his head towards the standing stones.  “You know that time doesn’t always work out smoothly when you’re moving between the Real and the Far Lands.”

“We’ll clear out the courtyard in a moment,” Adem said.  He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, “I hate that I have to ask this, but… First, how many men should we expect?  We received a dispatch though the HQ in Canedella telling us you would be arriving, but they didn’t bother to tell us how many men we would be dealing with.  Just that a contingent of the Thirteenth Legion would be coming through from the Far Lands, and that we should render assistance, per your orders.”

Kellan nodded.  “Additional details are in the orders, sir.  Our Captain requests a meeting with your CO at his convenience, as there are specifics he wishes to discuss with him in person.  As for men, there are six of us, all told.”

Adem harumphed.  “Six hundred?  Hmm.  Well, we can house you for a while at least, if we double up on…”

Kellan cleared his throat quietly.  “Sir, beg your pardon.  Not six hundred.  Six.”

Adem blinked once, twice, and spoke slowly.  “You mean… six in the advance party?”

Kellan shook his head.  “No, sir.  Six total.  We are… a small unit.  We’re all that’s coming.”

Adem shook his head bemusedly, then turned around.  His voice rang out in the courtyard.  “COHORT, STAND DOWN! Centurions, muster the men in the outer keep for review and training!”

Even before he finished, the legionnaires had started to shuffle along the battlements.  The cool air was filled with the low murmur of military men critiquing one another, or their commanders, or the weather, or whatever struck their fancy.

Changing Perspective

One thousand, six hundred, sixty seven words a day is... quite a bit, actually.  Especially since first person doesn't really feel like it's going to work for me.  I was mulling over what I had written last night, and frankly, I think it would flow better in third person.  I'm going to re-write it and see how that works out.

Lets see if I can catch up (or at least get closer to the Day 2 milestone of 3300 words).

Seven Hundred And Seventy Eight

The cool air of Vallence was a shock as I stumbled through the standing stones and into the courtyard of Fregyr Keep.

I have been on the other side of an Entry once or twice, so what I saw waiting for me was no real surprise.  High walls, surrounding a wide courtyard.  Rough cobblestones underfoot, red with rust from the iron spikes driven in the spaces between the stones.  Openings for cannon in the walls.  High platforms on the battlements for archers and musketeers to look down upon whatever poor fool wandered in through the standing stones at the center of the courtyard.

All of them occupied by armed men looking inward.  Scores of archers readied their bows. Dozens of musketeers drew a bead. Even though I expected as much, that much attention can make a man a bit nervous.  I straightened a fraction and gathered myself.

Protocol must be followed.

In front of me, the largest cannon I had ever seen was pointed directly at me.  Three stern faced soldiers in iron half-helms and rusty chainmail stood behind the cannon.  Two of them held an iron rod glowing cherry red, obviously just taken from the glowing brazier before them.  The glowing ends of the rods hovered over the firing hole of the cannon, waiting.  The third was dressed similarly, but had a officer’s badge over his shoulder.  He also carried a flintlock pistol in his left hand.

Pointed at my heart, of course.

I saluted the men on the cannon, and in my best parade ground voice, stated, “First Mate Kellan Orelley of the Thirteenth Legion, reporting under orders.”

The pistol-wielding cannoneer carefully returned my salute without letting his aim waver.  His voice was steady and deep, with a slight hint of tension. “By whose authority do you report?”

“Under the authority of Empress Katarina the Last,” I responded. “May Heaven bless her reign.”

All three of the cannoneers responded, “And may Hell tremble at her Name.”  With that, the officer broke his salute, and I did likewise.  He took a deep breath, then bellowed, “The visitor is recognized!”

There was a noticeable relaxation among the men on the walls pointing their weapons at me.  That suited me just fine.  Unlike the rest of the men, the cannoneers kept their attention entirely on me.  As their officer lowered his pistol and stepped towards me, they each took the opportunity to exchange their firing rods for a new one taken from the brazier.

Coming up before me, the officer murmured “At ease,” and I allowed myself to relax.  “You look rode hard and put away wet, First.”

“The last few days have not been entirely uneventful, sir,” I responded, deadpan.

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, quickly, then he was back to business.  “Orders?”

I reached into my jacket to pull out the paperwork he needed.  Handing it over, I said, “Sir?  Permission to signal through the stones?”

He took the papers from me, examined the seals, then nodded.  “Permission granted.  Corporal Jens!  Visitor will be signaling through the stones, by…” He paused and nodded at me.

“Red painted wooden ball,” I said.

“Red painted wooden ball”, one of the cannoneers repeated.  Jens, I assumed.  “Aye, sir.”

While the officer waited, I fished the ball out of my pocket and rolled it back through the standing stones.  It clattered and bounded over the cobbles before taking a final bounce through the stones and out of this world.  I turned back to the officer, and saluted once again.  “Signal sent, sir.”

“Very well,” he said.  He hesitated for a moment, then said, “First, how many men should we expect?  The dispatch we received only specified your unit.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Six, sir.”

He frowned.  “Six hundred?  Hmm.  We can handle that, if we double up on…”

I cleared my throat.  “Sir, beg your pardon.  Not six hundred.  Six, total.”

He blinked once, twice.  Looked at me again.  “Six? You mean, six in the advance party?”

I kept my face carefully neutral as I shook my head.  “No, sir.  Six total.  We are… a small unit.  We’re all that’s coming.”

Linked List

Glanced at briefly, filed away for future reading, and presented here for your edutainment.

• Idaho's most expensive home goes up for auction.  $21.5 million, no minimum bid.  Time to crack open the piggy bank and hope that nobody else shows up.
• The IEEE talks about Lessons From a Decade of IT Failures.
• The nuclear black market is alive and well in Eastern Europe.  Paging Doc Brown...
• You'll soon be able to buy Fallout's Nuka-Cola.  Remember to save the bottle caps!
• Due to a gang war, the Yakuza have had to cancel Halloween.  Yes, those Yakuza.
• The Laws: If Jews Celebrated Halloween.  Religiously hilarious.
• I never played Tribes, but I hear it was pretty good.  And now it's free.
• China has ended their one-child policy.  They are also considering allowing citizens to laugh without government approval, but they don't want to just rush into these things.
• An interesting data visualization that shows how large Europe's immigration crisis really is. 
• Emperor Palpatine won an election to the Odessa, Ukraine city council.  No, really.
• Even more shocking: Chewbacca has gone over to the Dark Side, and was arrested for campaigning for him.
• Apparently those cookies really are that good.  (Seriously.  Check out that recipe.)
• A man showed up at a Virginia middle school, started singing Justin Bieber songs over the PA, and they put the whole school on lockdown.  Seems reasonable to me.
• Freefall discusses essential life skills for the serious AI.

Rules For Being Human

Came across this today.  I don't entirely agree with #9, but man, #10 is spot on.

1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the entire time you are here.
2. You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called life. Each day in this school you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like the lessons or think of them as irrelevant or stupid.
3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error, experimentation. The “failed” experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiment that ultimately “works”.
4. A lesson is repeated until learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it, you can then go on to the next lesson.
5. Learning lessons does not end. There is no part of life that does not contain its lessons.  If you are alive, there are lessons to be learned.
6. “There” is no better than “here”. When your “there” has become a “here”, you will simply obtain another “there” that will, again, look better than “here”.
7. Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects to you something you love or hate about yourself.
8. What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the tools and sources you need.  What you do with them is up to you. The choice is yours.
9. Your answers lie inside you. The answer to life’s questions lie inside you. All you need to do is look, listen and trust.
10. You will forget these rules.

– Author Unknown

Historical Swordfighting

Flagging to watch later.  This is a subject that has always fascinated me.  I have always wanted to see about seeking out some instruction in saber fencing, and this looks much, much more interesting.

A Question

An old though, prompted by this article in the NYT:

Holly Leonard has been homeless on and off for years. There was a stint in jail and, more recently, a period in a women’s homeless shelter, while her husband slept in their car.

But last month, the two moved into a one-bedroom apartment in San Jose, Calif., complete with a small garden. Ms. Leonard found it on Craigslist while using her Nexus 5 smartphone — a donation from Google that she got from a San Jose nonprofit called Community Technology Alliance.

“People don’t put out ‘for rent’ signs anymore, so the Internet is the best way,” Ms. Leonard said. “You can’t even go get a paper application for a lot of things. You can’t get a job unless you get online.

“Before I got a free phone, it was like you’re almost nonexistent.”

The smartphone giveaway program, though small, typifies the way Bay Area tech companies have started to respond to the glaring homelessness problem right outside their luxurious company campuses: not by donating clothes or serving food, but by using technology.

Now, here's the thing.  While I might take issue with the idea of a government agency doing this, that is based on the premise that government should not be taking money by force from one set of people and giving it to another group without a compelling reason.  In my mind, keeping someone alive (food, shelter, clothing) meets that standard; providing smart phones, no matter how useful, does not.

That said, I do not have any problem at all with the idea that Google or a non-profit organization is doing exactly that.  I think it is commendable in this case; they are taking their money (or, money given to them voluntarily) and using it in a way that they think helps them meet the needs of others. If they believe that buying smart phones for the homeless is the way to go, I would not only say "more power to them", I would absolutely agree. A smart phone, as the article points out, is a game changer.  It gives people not only the chance to survive, but the ability to improve their lot and prosper.

Now, here is a scenario for you to consider.

Suppose that another individual - Joe - and I are discussing this issue.  Joe and I both happen to think that providing smart phones to those less fortunate is a Good Thing.  We disagree on how this should be accomplished, though.

Joe favors the idea of a government program to provide smart phones for the less fortunate.  What level of government we are talking about does not really matter to him.  He thinks that there is a compelling interest in such a program, and that the government should spend up to $X a year supporting such a program.

I point out to Joe that there are already private organizations - Google and the CTA, for example - that are doing exactly that.  I think there are obvious advantages to having a private organization continue to do this type of work, and would rather see their efforts encouraged and expanded upon. To that end, I propose that instead of the government spending up to $X a year supporting a smart phone program, they could instead offer $X a year in tax credits to those who make contributions to existing programs.

Why a tax credit instead of a tax deduction?  A credit is a 1:1 reduction in the amount of taxes owed, which is a much stronger encouragement that a deduction.  More importantly, it makes the amount of spending in each case identical.  Either individuals are making $X a year in contributions to these programs, or the government is taking $X a year and using it to fund their own, equivalent program.

There are two major differences in these competing proposals.  One is the reliability of funding.  Joe can argue that a government program will generally be fully funded, while a program of voluntary contributions may fall short of the desired funding.  US charitable giving ran to over $316 billion in 2012, though.  I think it is safe to say that if there is private funding to be had, these types of programs will be able to find it.

The other difference is who is in control.  In Joe's proposal, control of the funding and the program resides with the government.  In my proposal, control of the function and the program excludes the government.

Here is the question: all other things being equal, why would an individual choose one proposal over the other?

I suspect that there are a number of folks out there who honestly want to help the less fortunate, and would be happy if either proposal was implemented.  If $X a year is going to be spent on smart phones, the important thing is that $X a year is spent - not who has control of the program and the spending.

I also suspect that there are a number of people who would fight, tooth and nail, to see that one proposal or another was accepted, because for them, the issue is not whether or not homeless people get cell phones, but who gets control.

Marriage Singularity

Today is a special day for me... a milestone, a waypoint, a marker on my path in life. A singular moment, if you will.

I was born on a certain day in 1969.

Eight thousand, five hundred and forty-nine days later, I married the lovely Mrs. Robb.

Yesterday happened to be 8,549 days from that amazing day when my life changed.

So, as of today... I have spent the majority of my life married to the most beautiful, amazing, wonderful, fantastic, and lovely woman in the world.

Mrs. Robb - you are my best friend, the love of my life, and I am eagerly looking forward to the rest of my days with you. I pray that God would grant us another eight thousand days together, and more besides; but however many days we have together, each is precious, and wonderful, and better than the last, because I have you to share them with.

The Murder That Wasn't

Just in time for Halloween, I came across a bizarre story from the Daily Mail in 2010:

Firefighters who responded to a hotel blaze stumbled upon a blood-spattered hotel room littered with bottles of alcohol and even a piece of a scalp. Police Chief J.R. Blyth, who was called in to investigate, described the discovery at the George Washington Hotel in Pittsburgh as 'the most grisly murder scene in his 35 years in law enforcement'.

Horrific! Except...

Detectives had spent eight hours of overtime on the investigation before Chief Blyth realised the blood wasn't real and that the murder scene was in fact the leftover set of a horror movie filmed two years ago with Corey Haim.

The film called New Terminal Hotel shot a scene in the hotel and the owner, Kyrk Pyros, decided to leave the room untouched in case the crew had to come back for re-shoots.

Now, this has all the trappings of a classic urban legend - especially including the fact that pretty much all the reporting of the incident seems to trace back to the above story. Seeing as this is in my neck of the woods, though, I decided to do a little digging.

After posting the above link on the Book of Face, an old friend who works with the Pittsburgh police pointed out that Pittsburgh records show that there has never been a police chief named Blyth on the force. That would seem to be a big red flag right there.

On top of that, the owner of the hotel that caught fire was reported as... Kyrk Pyros. Seriously. A fire in a hotel owned by Mr. Pyros? How... delightfully karmic.

Smelling more and more like an urban legend, isn't it?

Except...

The George Washington Hotel really does exists, but is not located in Pittsburgh - it is in Washington County, which is south of the city. Now, the Daily Mail is an ocean away, so I'll give 'em an A for effort. They managed to get the right area of the country, at least.

More importantly, while there has never been a Blyth as police chief in the city of Pittsburgh... well, we should be looking at Washington County, shouldn't we? Apparently the chief of police in Washington County from at least 2009 until 2012 was one James Roger Blyth.

What about the oh-so-conveniently named Mr. Pyros, though?

Turns out that he's not only a real person, he's a builder who specializes in restoration of historic structures. He did indeed buy the George Washington hotel in 2007 with an eye towards remodeling it. Said remodeling was derailed a bit in 2010 by a fire that started in one of the hotel's laundry rooms.

On top of that, IMDB says that yes, there was a horror movie titled "New Terminal Hotel" that was released in 2010, starring Corey Haim, and it was filmed in... Washington, PA. (Which is apparently the place to go if you want to film a low-budget horror movie for some reason...)

So the major characters, the events, and the timeline all seem to match up. At this point, I suppose that it could still be a very well-put together hoax. Take all the elements, toss in an unusual hook, and bingo! If someone pulled that off, I would honestly have to tip my hat to them; the details certainly seem to check out.

One of the benefits of this being a local story, though, is being able to stir up other people's memories. After doing the above digging, a friend of mine from college commented on Facebook, saying:

Sam, I worked for one of Kyrk's companies and kept an office at the GW circa 2011. This story was told to me a couple of times back then. Pretty sure it's true. The room was on a floor that hadn't been remodeled, yet.

I would say that's a pretty reliable source right there!

So, there you have it. The true story of a freakout over a false murder.