The unexpected is nearly always heavily planned by someone or something.
Take, for instance a bench that sits underneath a suspiciously shaded tree, far along the path running right through the heart of the Isselsteine Marshland Reserve. It was such a remote location that a bench, while being useful for tired travellers, was not necessary as it had been declared the nation's 2nd least visited national trust property. Even if anyone were ever to travel so far in it would appear to be nothing more than a memorial to somebody by the name of Rupert Rosenbaum who passed on in 1832.
Looking closer at the bench they would note how lichen-covered the bench seemed to be, almost as if it had grown out of the marshland itself as opposed to having been built in memorandum to someone who clearly treasured their place beneath the suspiciously shaded tree. A tree whose shadows seemed to moved with every blink, and not in ways that shadows should.
If anyone were ever to travel so far into the marshlands and if they were to sit on the bench they would find themselves sucked right into it as though it were a steep waterslide and they were a child's lost pool-float.
The name on the bench would change and it would wait for its next visitor, just as it planned.
Another such unexpected occurrence in situated in the sole pub of Avitoise, France (a town that boasts about its 452 residents). Among the well used and darkly polished chairs there is one pale stool made from European Ash. It looks freshly made with a small pile of sawdust circling it but it isn't what it seems at all.
The pub's owner, a man known only as Barbet, placed the odd mix of sawdust and salt around the stool first thing in the morning and late afternoon. Over the course of the day the air around the stool would shift, gradually blowing the dust away as the soft sounds of scraping wood clashed with the gentle murmur of friendly conversation.
If asked Barbet would claim that the chair tripped people over, causing them to sit on it and when they did their souls were sucked clean out and replaced with the souls of their unborn twins. He'd say that it happened to his very own sister who now calls herself by another woman's name and claims to have been born an later than the hospital records state. Not only that but his mother did confirm that he wold have had twin sisters if the midwife hadn't dropped one on her way to the intensive care unit.
Barbet will say he has seen what these twin souls do, says they have made a pact with the devil in the form of that stool so that they can have the lives they were meant to have. The residents of Avitoise make no comments on this, only the occasional offering of salt to Barbet at Christmas and Easter to further contain the stool in case it escapes from his home and ends up in theirs when they least expect it.
It is unclear as to how many residents of Avitoise have previously sat on the stool but none want to again.
Take, for instance a bench that sits underneath a suspiciously shaded tree, far along the path running right through the heart of the Isselsteine Marshland Reserve. It was such a remote location that a bench, while being useful for tired travellers, was not necessary as it had been declared the nation's 2nd least visited national trust property. Even if anyone were ever to travel so far in it would appear to be nothing more than a memorial to somebody by the name of Rupert Rosenbaum who passed on in 1832.
Looking closer at the bench they would note how lichen-covered the bench seemed to be, almost as if it had grown out of the marshland itself as opposed to having been built in memorandum to someone who clearly treasured their place beneath the suspiciously shaded tree. A tree whose shadows seemed to moved with every blink, and not in ways that shadows should.
If anyone were ever to travel so far into the marshlands and if they were to sit on the bench they would find themselves sucked right into it as though it were a steep waterslide and they were a child's lost pool-float.
The name on the bench would change and it would wait for its next visitor, just as it planned.
Another such unexpected occurrence in situated in the sole pub of Avitoise, France (a town that boasts about its 452 residents). Among the well used and darkly polished chairs there is one pale stool made from European Ash. It looks freshly made with a small pile of sawdust circling it but it isn't what it seems at all.
The pub's owner, a man known only as Barbet, placed the odd mix of sawdust and salt around the stool first thing in the morning and late afternoon. Over the course of the day the air around the stool would shift, gradually blowing the dust away as the soft sounds of scraping wood clashed with the gentle murmur of friendly conversation.
If asked Barbet would claim that the chair tripped people over, causing them to sit on it and when they did their souls were sucked clean out and replaced with the souls of their unborn twins. He'd say that it happened to his very own sister who now calls herself by another woman's name and claims to have been born an later than the hospital records state. Not only that but his mother did confirm that he wold have had twin sisters if the midwife hadn't dropped one on her way to the intensive care unit.
Barbet will say he has seen what these twin souls do, says they have made a pact with the devil in the form of that stool so that they can have the lives they were meant to have. The residents of Avitoise make no comments on this, only the occasional offering of salt to Barbet at Christmas and Easter to further contain the stool in case it escapes from his home and ends up in theirs when they least expect it.
It is unclear as to how many residents of Avitoise have previously sat on the stool but none want to again.
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