Ragdoll Chronicles qouted on 1.6.18 at 0250


“There shall come a time when the moon has gone from sight and the sun is darkened as if in clouds. Then shall those who have slept for centuries return to take the land and the power from those who have come to be here and subjugate them with powers granted them by the master of hell.” Verse 18, 12th Chapter of the hidden book Ascension.

Ragdoll Chronicles at 0250 on 1.6.18

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Ragdoll Chronicles at 1619 on 01.05.2018


The phone rang in Robert Langdon’s apartment just as he was stepping out into the rain. “Oh,” he groaned, “now what.”

With little speed he approached the ringing device and picked it up.

“Robert,” Denise’s shrill voice made him move the receiver from his ear. “Robert! Where are you?”

“I am right here on the phone with you. Damnit Denise, what is it now? I am on my way over there.”

“He’s gone.”

Silence on Robert’s end.

“He’s gone, damnit didn’t you hear me. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Robert listened as Denise’s voice tumbled as if a cliff into hysterical crying. “He’s ——he’s gone, Robert.”

“What? Where?”

“She took him.”

“She? Who is she? I don’t understand. Just a minute.” He dropped the phone onto the couch and crossing the room in a bound closed the front door then back to the phone. “What the hell are you talking about Denise?”

“She—she took him.”

“Stop crying and talk to me. Who is she?”

“Runa.”

Robert’s face went white as the phone slipped from his grasp and landed on the sofa.

Ragdoll Chronicles Continued Post at 0821 on 01.05.18


Denise returned from a trip to the garage where she had a second refrigerator keeping several trays of cookie dough setting up and waiting to go into the oven. “Coffee,” she said to herself softly with a sigh as she took a small rag from her pocket and wiped her brow, “I simply need either a nap or a good stout cup of coffee.”

“Then you shall have one, a cup that is, but I need to take the boy with me.” It was a young girl’s voice that seemed to come from within every object in the kitchen including her own self.

She stopped still. Her hand went to her throat. Trembling she said, “Wha wha what? Is someone there?”

“Come now Denise, did you forget me? Has it been so long? Don’t you remember playing in the orchard by the glen near the river that crossed through and came to a small lake that was a brilliant blue and clear as the air?”

Denise stepped back, her hand tightening on her throat. “No. Stay away. You can’t have him.”

“But a deal is a deal.”

Denise felt a gust of wind and heard the sound of a hundred tiny bells ringing. Then came the touch of a small girl’s hand on her arm. Without looking, Denise asked, her voice quivering, “Runa?”

“If you recall that name. Yes. But I have many names given me over the centuries, but Runa is fine. It means secret, whisper.”

“You can’t have him.” Denise turned and stared down at the gypsy child next to her. She was fully clothed in a historical gypsy dress, the same as when Denise had last seen her. She looked as if age 12 but was far greater in age than that.

“Oh but I can and I will.” The girl smiled up and nodded. “I already have.” She pointed to where the boy had been hiding and then to the plate of cookies. Both were gone.

“NO!” Denise grabbed for the girl but she was gone. She then turned back to where Chase had been sitting. “Chase,” she shouted reaching under the table, hoping to grab onto the boy. “Chase!”

But he was gone.

“CHASE.”

Ragdoll Chronicles 0518 on 01.04.18


“Nouveau.” The sound of the word crept into Robert Langdon’s apartment. Not loud, not soft. But it came.

It came almost as a breeze of fresh air would that was tainted with the new smell of rain, and nearly as imperceptible. It came floating as Robert Langdon tilted his head back and swallowed the last bit of beer remaining in his glass. He set the empty glass down on the small night stand near his bead, scratched his head, pushing his uncombed hair into more of a mess than it had been and picked up the half empty pack of cigarettes lying there.

“Nouveau.” The word came again and this time he heard it and looked down the hall towards the front door.

“Hello?” Langdon called. But silence was his answer.

After a moment and thinking he had not really heard anything he pulled a deep drag from his smoke and leaned over to attach his shoes, slipping them back over his socks from the day before. “No shower today,” he said to himself and his left hand rubbed his beard stubble.

“Nouveau!”

Langdon jumped. “Who the hell is talking? Is someone here?” He called out as he reached into the drawer of the table and deftly extracted a small pistol he kept there for self-defense.

1.3.18 Ragman Chronicles


01.03.2018
There were cookies, enormous ones, brown, thick, with melted chocolate chips oozing flavor from the inside out sitting on a large plate, covering the entire surface sitting atop a table near the fireplace. The boy had been watching them for hours; his tongue tasting them while trapped inside his mouth for such was his desire to sink his teeth into one…..no two or three at least.
“Don’t even think about them,” Denise warned as she passed by where the boy hid up under the table near the fireplace where he could easily have grabbed at least say, oh, one of them. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, pausing in front of the table. These are for tonight. They need to cool. Your father,” he caught the grind in her voice upon the use of the word “father”, “will be here to get you out for fishing in a bit.”
Chris could tell she was working on her makeup using a mirror perched on the mantle above the fireplace. A shoed foot suddenly prodded him, “Did you hear what I said.”
“What part?”
“Ma’am?” she issued a correction and he knew she had stopped brushing her hair and was in a very good position for a nasty kick if he didn’t respond correctly.
“Sorry.” His voice sounded close and low.
“What?” she demanded.
“I said I was sorry, ma’am!”
Silence from above. Perhaps he had been too loud with his response.
“Are you being smart-alecky?”
Confirmation.
“No ma’am.”
“Are you ready to go fishing?”
“It’s raining.”
“You’re going,” she replied bluntly. There was no pause, no, oh I’ll look and see. No, do you have a coat, a rain coat. No, just … you’re going.
“So,” he decided to dare, “you have company coming?”
Silence. Again the sound of stoppage of grooming from above. The hair brush came down and was placed on the table above his head. Then her face appeared below and near his. “What I do when I do it is my business, little man. If I want company over then I will have said company, do you understand?”
Chris hung his head and agreed in a very low tone.
“What?”
“Yes,” he said much louder while looking at the floor.

12.25.17


Ragdoll Chronicles 12.25.17
Robert Langdon had just sat down with a fresh cold can of beer in his hands. He plopped his sock covered feet onto the scarred coffee table and snuggled a half-eaten bag of chips close beside him on his recliner. Using his remote he flipped through the channels until he found an old murder mystery movie. He was in for the day as far as he was concerned. But then the phone rang. “Robert,” his estranged wife’s voice jumped from the earpiece startling him. He brought the recliner fully up tossing the potato chips onto the floor and spilling his beer.
“What?” To say he was startled would be missing the mark. This was his day to rest and relax. Why was she calling him?
“Robert, did you forget that you had the day today to take Chase fishing?”
Robert quickly ran through the calendar and his mind. “No that’s next week.”
“I’m sorry,” a familiar sarcastic tone assaulted his ear. “No dear, your week, this week, this weekend, this hour, this very minute, you were supposed to be here to take Chase fishing.”
“What? Are you sure? I think you’re wrong. Besides that I just settled in with a beer bag of chips and a TV program and,” he glanced outside hearing a clap of thunder, “it’s raining dear heart.” This last was delivered with a sarcastic curl to it.
“You promised Chase to take him fishing, rain or shine. Now get your ass over here and take him out like you promised to do. God what sort of father are you.”
“I’m the kind of father that wants to sit and watch his program on TV and not go out in the fucking rain.”
He heard the deep sigh from the other end of the line. “It’s raining Denise. I can’t take the kid fishing if it’s raining.”
“His name is Chase, he is your son, and he is not just a kid.” The words came hard and biting. “Now are you going to get up and get over here and do your duty as a father?”
“Denise I didn’t want to be a father in the first damn place.”
“I realize that,” she sighed. “I wish I had known that before we got married. You’re not a father your sperm donor.”
He smiled. “What you seem to have liked my attention at the time.”
“Chalk it up to youthful stupidity on my part.”
“Yeah,” he smiled.
“Don’t start. He’s waiting for you.” He heard her call Chase.
“It’s raining Denise.” There was silence on the other and the phone. Then he heard her call their son again.
“Wait a sec, I’m not sure but I think I heard the door slam.”
He sat back in his chair prepared to kick the recliner back and took a sip of beer. A few moments passed and then Denise was back on the phone. “Your son just left the house. He has his fishing pole and a slicker on and he is heading down the street towards the river. Now get over here.”
Robert brought the recliner back forward, sighed, and hung up the phone. There was no getting around it, he knew that. Might as well face the music and get dressed then go get the kid. But he wasn’t going to take him out in the rain fishing. There was a bar down the street with arcade like games and a pool table in a side room. Most importantly there was a large screen TV. The Kid could play games in one room and he could watch a football game with his friends sucking down beer and eating bar peanuts in the other. Denise did not need to know. He would give Chase 10 bucks to keep his mouth shut. He’d done it before. He stood, yawned, scratched his groin and then began the search for his car keys while muttering to himself, “Damn ex-wives and dumb assed kids that don’t stay home in the rain.”

12.22.17 RagDoll Chronicles.


12.22.17 Ragdoll Chronicles

“Gypsy girl?” Nouveau said looking from Listen all the way around the surrounding group to end at Cawkin who was standing close to him but was not paying him any attention. “What is a gypsy girl?”
Just then Cawkin stepped up close enough to be within whisper distance wanting to assure with polite and soft tones that all was well. “Nouveau,” he said under his breath, “It is no secret here that a gypsy band moved through the glen and actually set up camp here for well over 9 months. We need to find them and the girl who created you.” He then turned back to the congregation of cats and crows and added, “There is ample sign further in and over by the entrance along where the water flows. But we must forget this fact and concentrate on other issues for the time being. We must honor this new life and seek guidance from one another on how to protect it. We will deal with the gypsy girl later. She may yet be an ally, so no harm must come to her.”
Listen turned to face her Clowder of Cats. “We will seek guidance from the trees. They were talking earlier, mumbling I guess more than talking. We couldn’t make it out, but I am sure they are aware.”
Cawkin turned to the crows. “Starter,” he said to the closest of them, “while I wait here with Nouveau you and the others climb to the clouds and see if you can spot the gypsy caravan, it can’t be too far down the road, maybe in the next village. We need to talk to that girl.”
“Yes, talk to her, talk to her,” Nouveau said with his voice growing more silent and taking on distance as if he was perhaps moving away. “We must … find … must …with … her.” And then his voice was gone from the circle.
“Let’s hope we don’t get the same or similar greeting from them that we did the last time,” Starter said, his voice conveying his concerns. “Remember, Cawkin, they shot arrows at us.”
“Yes, I remember,” Cawkin said, “and if I recall I got it straightened out after I found you with the King’s daughter riding on your back.”
“She was having the time of her life,” Starter said slightly defensive, but grinning.
“But they thought you had captured her for a meal.”
“I know, I know. It was her idea after she came upon me in the woods where I had gone to take a ….”
“I don’t need to know what you were doing. I just want to make sure it won’t happen again.”
“Agreed. But she was so cute in her gypsy dress and….”
Cawkin just stared at Starter and the message sank in.
“Yes sir, I will do as you say.”
“Thank you.”
Then, after giving more instructions and having individual discussions with several of the crows that had come forward, each in charge of separate sections of the Murder in which Cawkin was the central leader, Cawkin turned back to speak to Nouveau and found him gone.
“Nouveau?”

Ragdoll Man Chronicles 12.21.17


“We saw it too,” a voice from the tree line said. “We have been sitting and watching.”

The crows all looked in that direction as a very large female cat emerged slowly walking with several like it following. “We all saw it,” they said in unison. “A young girl with magic like we have never seen before,” the lead cat said.
“Listen, is that you?” Cawkin called out.
“Yes. We’ve been sitting here at the edge of the wood watching all of this play out.”
“Just like a cat hiding in the grass ready to pounce,” Tender said with a bit of sarcasm. “Are we to trust you now?”
“Oh come now,” Listen began, “I thought we had this all worked out. I don’t chase you and you don’t chase us. Isn’t that how we worked this out? We have nothing but friendship to offer you.”
“And we you,” Starter joined the conversation.
“Yes,” Cawkin said. “We haven’t talked in a long time, Listen. How have you been doing.”
“Just fine, Cawkin, just fine.” She and four others had managed to cross to the center of the Glen where the crows opened a path and let them enter the inner circle.
“My name is Nouveau,” the Ragdoll Man said proudly introducing himself.
“Yes,” Listen said and closed to the point where she could sniff him. “Yes, you are quite Nouveau.” She then turned to Cawkin. “So, what to do with…” she hesitated with a sideways glance at Cawkin, “it….I mean…that….I mean, him?” She pointed with a paw.
“Is there anything that needs to be done?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know.” She sat down. “I’ve never been in such a situation as this. I mean, a Ragdoll Man in our midst. What do we do with him?”
“Do,” Nouveau said, interrupting Listen, “what do you mean what do we do with him.” His head tilted to one side.
Listen continued, “He is obviously alive.”
“Alive,” Nouveau echoed, “yes, obviously.” His eyes were wide with curiosity trying his best to follow the conversation that was about him and yet he wasn’t sure if it was.
“Exactly,” the old cat said. “Has anyone thought this through?”
“Thought,” Nouveau said and rubbed his chin as his nose twisted to the side. “What is there to think about? Do we need to think? I find that it gives me a headache to — uh—think. I think.”
“No, I think not, Listen” Cawkin said ignoring Nouveau who he knew was just trying to be a part of the discussion but not realizing they were really talking about him. Cawkin’s brow furrowed in thought. “How could it be? We have never run across such as this.” He raised a wing and pointed it in the direction of Nouveau.
“No, not,” Nouveau joined in smiling and raising his arms and hands. “Who would have thought? I never would have thought. Would you have thought?” He put his question to Listen who moved a bit away from him.
“How could we?” Tender also asked. “We just now came upon him.”
“Just now,” Nouveau added shaking his head up and down. “It just happened. How could we when it just happened.”
“Well, don’t look at us,” Listen said and stepped back further waving a paw in front of her in dismissal of the situation.
“Yes,” Nouveau said, “and don’t look at us either.” He pointed to Cawkin and then to himself. And then he added, “What gypsy girl?”
Copyright 2017 Gordon Kuhn

RAGMAN CHRONICLES 12.18.17


The Ragdoll Chronicles: I Am Nouveau

As the two stood in the Glen they suddenly noticed they had been passed over by a shadow. In fact the sky above them had shifted from a light blue to a growing and respectfully ominous gray. The sudden increasing darkness caused them to look up, and there they found that the flock of crows that had ascended with Cawkin had turned back earthward after noticing he was missing from their formation.
Searching for their friend from high up among the clouds they quickly spotted him on the ground engaged with what appeared to be a pile of brightly colored rags. Concerned and curious at the same time, they wheeled as one and headed down in mass, their bodies closing upon one another, wings tucked in tightly, blocking out the sunlight causing the sky to turn from light blue to gray to almost a worrying black.
And then, magically it seemed, Cawkin and Nouveau, were suddenly surrounded by a mass of at least 100 crows all of them as tall as Cawkin was at 6 foot. One hopped up close to where the two were standing and said, “Sir, is there a reason you left the formation and may we be of some assistance?”
Cawkin replied, “There is no need for concern, Starter. I spotted my newfound friend standing alone here in the Glen and I decided to speak to him.”
Starter glanced at the oddly constructed ragdoll man next to him. “Do you mean this gentleman?” He nodded in the direction of Nouveau.
“Yes,” a third crow broke in. “Who is this—this creature?”
Cawkin cleared his throat doing his best to remember to be calm and yet he knew the others would not understand. “He is who he is.”
“And that is?” A chorus of voices rose up around the pair. He felt the slow crush of feathers as the group moved closer.
“Nouveau! That is my name,” Nouveau proclaimed proudly.
“He is but a pile or rags,” another said in a complaining voice.
“Yes, Nouveau, that is your name. Do not be afraid, my friend.” And with that Cawkin lowered his head and said into the surrounding blackness of wings, “He is my friend.”
The crowd of crows stepped back and the 2nd crow moved closer. “Cawkin,” her female voice had softened from her first try. “He is a pile of brightly colored rags. Can you not see that?”
“Of course I can see that, Tinder,” did you think that I have gone blind?
“No,” she stepped closer. “He began his life here in this Glen. Gypsies I saw them.” She leaned in closer. “It’s was a young girl, she did magic. I heard them tell her to do the laundry, to wash the rags, but she chose to do magic. I saw her. She dumped the rags out on the ground from her washtub and spoke to them. I saw that Cawkin.”
Starter pushed his way into the conversation. “And yet you said nothing? You said nothing to the rest of us of the Gypsies doing magic in the Glen?”
“I— I— I didn’t think that—”
“That is a problem Tender,” another voice broke in. “You never think.”
12.18.17 Copyright Gordon Kuhn All rights reserved.

The Ragman Doll Chronicles Two


The Ragdoll Chronicles continued 12/13/17

The crow stared at his new found acquaintance. He shuffled back a step or two and shook his head. “Why,” he began gently, “I thought everyone knew what dead meant.”
The animated collection of colorful rags that had formed into a shape resembling a man blinked his eyes. But it was clear he was confused.
A moment passed as the crow thought about how to move forward with this strange creature as he watched the ragdoll man for some sign that might help. Then he said gently, pointing to the other’s shirt pocket, “May I see your friend?”
“Oh, most certainly,” the other replied happily. “Let me get him out. I think he’s sleeping,” he said as if confiding something very secretive. The crow watched patiently as the creature carefully extracted the remains of the butterfly. He held them in the palm of his hand and placed it out so the crow could see. “There, you see my sleeping friend?” he asked doing his best to cover his excitement by lowering his voice. “He is my very first friend.”
The crow knew instinctively that the butterfly was dead. But he was not sure how he should tell this newborn to world before him. His eyes drifted from gazing at the ragdoll man before him to the butterfly then back to the man. Finally he tilted his head to the side and, clearing his throat, asked softly, “Do you have a name?”
“Name?”
With that response, Randall the Crow, said, “Never mind.” He stepped forward and with the wave of his wings said, as if crowning a king, “I shall name you. From this point forward your name is Nouveau.”
“Nouveau?”
“Yes, it means new.”
“Nouveau?”
“Yes, it’s French for new.”
“Nouveau. I am Nouveau!”
“Yes, you are Nouveau in many, many ways, my friend,” Randall the Crow said as a tear ran down the Ragdoll Man’s face.
“I am Nouveau.”