Faces of Death

The Bélmez Faces or the Faces of Bélmez is an alleged paranormal phenomenon in a private house in Spain which started in 1971 when residents claimed images of faces appeared in the concrete floor of the house. These images have continuously formed and disappeared on the floor of the home.

Located at the Pereira family home at Street Real 5, Bélmez de la Moraleda, Jaén, Andalusia, Spain, the Bélmez faces have been responsible for bringing large numbers of sightseers to Bélmez. The phenomenon is considered by some parapsychologists the best-documented and "without doubt the most important paranormal phenomenon in the 20th century".

Various faces have appeared and disappeared at irregular intervals since 1971 and have been frequently photographed by the local newspapers and curious visitors. Many Bélmez residents believe that the faces were not made by human hand. Some investigators believe that it is athoughtographic phenomenon subconsciously produced by the former owner of the house, María Gómez Cámara - now deceased ("Thoughtography" is considered a form of psychokinesis among parapsychologists).

Skeptical researchers point out that unlike other psychic claims this case is falsifiable. Since the faces of Bélmez are fixed on whitewash of cement, scientists are able to analyze the molecular changes that took place in such mass of concrete. Skeptics have performed extensive tests on the faces and claim that fakery has been involved.

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THE CONJURING

VERY excited for this film. Here's the official synopsis:

Before there was Amityville, there was Harrisville. Based on a true story described in the book House of Darkness, House of Light: The True Story by Andrea Perron, The Conjuring tells the horrifying tale of how world renowned paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren were called upon to help a family terrorized by a dark presence in a secluded farmhouse. Forced to confront a powerful demonic entity, the Warrens find themselves caught in the most terrifying case of their lives.

The Warrens are notorious for being FULL OF SHIT, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of enjoying a potentially creepy film.

The Conjuring comes out on July 19th.

Review: SINISTER

SINISTER
2012
Directed by Scott Derrickson


It's so hard to get horror right.

"Horror" is subjective. What scares one person won't always scare another. But there is a basic structure and format to good, effective horror that when it's done right, it can send chills up the spine of even the most cynical of fans.

SINISTER is the horror film to beat this year. The year isn't over yet, but I'll go out on a limb and say that SINISTER is the scariest film of 2012. The film is brought to us by producer Jason Blum, who also produces the PARANORMAL ACTIVITY films and INSIDIOUS. He's pretty much got this thing down to a science at this point. He's even opening his own haunted house in California.

SINISTER, however, is on another level though. The PA films, and INSIDIOUS, while both containing scares, also have a level of fun silliness to them. They're like haunted houses at carnivals. You get a good scare or two, then you walk out laughing.

SINISTER isn't interested in giving you a chuckle. It wants you to leave the theater shaken. And it succeeds.

The story is about true crime writer Ellison, played by Ethan Hawke. Ten years ago he had a big hit with his true crime book "Kentucky Blood." However, ever since then, he's been chasing glory. His other books have failed, and one book even ended up helping a real killer go free.

Ellison desperately wants to recapture his fame and fortune, and he thinks he knows just how to do it. He moves his wife and children into a new house, and not just any house. As we see at the beginning of the film, in chilling detail, the house was the scene of a murder. A family was hung from a tree in the yard, and their daughter went missing. The crime was never solved.

Ellison doesn't tell his family they just moved into a murder house. He knows his wife Tracy (Juliet Rylance) will freak out--and rightfully so. So he keeps everyone in the dark as he goes about trying to solve the mystery.

However, the first night in the house, Ellison finds a box marked HOME MOVIES in the attic. The box contains film canisters as well as a Super 8 projector. He sets up a theater in his office and watches.

To his horror he discovers the films contain not only the murders of the family that lived in his house, but several other murders spread across the years. He does some digging and discovers that all the murders are similar in that they involve families killed, and one of the children missing.

This should be enough to freak anyone out, but Ellison also begins hearing strange bumps in the night. His son begins experiencing intense night terrors. His daughter draws pictures of dead girls. Scorpions, snakes and a mean looking dog invade his property. And then he notices a strange, ghoulish figure appearing in the snuff films. With the help of a local professor (played by Vincent D'Onofrio, who literally Skype's his performance in), he believes this figure might be an ancient deity named Bagul; a nasty monster who eats the souls of children.

There's a lot more going on here, but to tell you would spoil the fun. And by fun I mean dread and terror.

SINISTER is relentless in its goal to scare you. There are moments of levity here and there, but for the most part, SINISTER wants to make you uncomfortable. From its weird, jarring and haunting score to the brutal snuff films Ellison watches almost nightly, SINISTER takes hold of your nerves and pulls them in every direction possible.

Hawke does a great job carrying the film. His character, when you get right down to it, is kind of an asshole, but Hawke makes him likable and believable. His family could've been a bit more fleshed out, especially his wife, who spends most of the film either chastising Ellison or the children. But these are minor flaws and come nowhere close to derailing the story, as the film is really about Ellison and his own personal descent into terror and doubt.

Director Scott Derrickson, who has had a very spotty film career up till now, does his best work ever here. He's able to fill every angle, every shot with almost overwhelming dread. There's nothing outwardly scary about the house Ellison and his family move into, but with impenetrable darkness and shadows lurking at night, Derrickson is able to convey real unrest and unease.

The script, by Derrickson and C. Robert Cargill, is filled to the brim with creepy ideas. The writers know exactly what scares people, and they throw everything they can think of right at the audience.

SINISTER will be released wide on October 12th. It's a perfect movie for Halloween season. It's the type of horror movie that sticks with you; that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you watch it.

It's the type of horror movie that haunts you long after you've gone home from the theater, gotten into bed, and turned off all the lights.

GOOD FOR BUSINESS

THE Four Gables Bed and Breakfast in Brattle, Vermont, was built in 1791 as a residence for Archibald Horton. Horton, a professional surveyor and an amateur occultist, achieved a small level of notoriety when he broke off from the Freemasons to form his own group, which he unimaginatively called the Hortonists.

            Horton and his Hortonists were obsessed with black magic, and they believed there were invisible portals all around us—portals to alternate realities where great old gods with terribly unpronounceable names dwelled. The Hortinists wanted to usher in a new era for mankind; an era where the ancient demon gods would liquefy human flesh and turn bone into ash. Despite their best efforts, the Hortinists never managed to achieve their goal. But they did pull off a bunch of other dark, nefarious stuff.

            One after another, the Hortonists died off in bloody, suspicious ways, until Horton himself was the only one left. Having lived to the extremely old age of 103, he committed suicide by cutting off his own head in a guillotine he had had shipped to America from France.

            Over the centuries the house passed from owner to owner—none of whom stayed very long. There was a long period of time when it was completely abandoned, but the historical society kept it from being demolished.

            Everything changed in 2001, when Beatrice Torgleson purchased the house with hopes of turning it into a bed and breakfast. She was recently widowed (under mysterious circumstances), as well as recently retired, and she thought this was a perfect way to spend her “golden years,” as people liked to call them.

            Bea shelled out a small fortune to restore the house, although it was hard to keep the same contractors working on the job. They would quit at an alarming rate, with no real reason given.

            Eventually Bea was able to get one of them to tell her that the house was haunted. The workers would hear strange things. Rooms would suddenly grow cold. The walls would bleed. Black ooze would leak up through the floorboards. Random animals were found skinned and decapitated all around the property.

            Bea was miserable. Her dream was dead before it began. How on earth could she open a B&B if it were haunted?

            The house was finished before winter came, and just in time. A blizzard came crashing in, smothering the landscape in snow. Bea was alone in the newly restored house, sitting by the fire, when Archibald Horton appeared. He stepped out of the fire, clutching his severed head in his arms.

            In her rocking chair, Bea sighed.

            “Are ye not afraid of me, woman?” Horton’s head asked.

            Bea shrugged. “What does it matter? My life’s dream is over. I killed my husband to inherit his fortune so I could open this bed and breakfast, and now it’s ruined.”

            “I understand not many of the words you have just spoken,” Horton said. He placed his head up onto the bloody stump of his neck and it rested there awkwardly. “I demand a sacrifice, woman.”

            “Go ahead, then,” Bea said. “Kill me and get it over with.”

            Horton laughed, and his laughter caused his head to fall off his neck and roll into the fire. Cursing, he reached into the flames and pulled the head out.

            “You are too old and ruined for the likes of me, woman,” Horton said. “The sacrifices must be of virgin blood.”

            “Well, you’re all out of luck,” Bea said, rising from her chair on creaking legs. “No virgins here.”

            She turned and headed for the stairs.

            “Where are you going?” Horton said. “I demand you come back and have an audience with me!”

            “Whatever,” Bea said and went upstairs to bed.

            That winter was spent interacting with the various dark forces that dwelled within the walls. Bea had planned to open the B&B in time for Christmas, but she gave up on that idea. She updated the B&B’s website to say Opening Delayed Indefinitely.

            Every morning as she woke and went to the bathroom, a shrieking female face stared back at her from the mirror, blood pouring from her eyes and spiders crawling from her mouth.

            Bea ignored it.

            When she took breakfast in the large, empty dining room, a headless, legless torso would crawl out from the heating vent and drag itself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood that would eventually evaporate.

            Bea ignored it.

            There were gigantic, hideous goat-like men in the attic, and two -headed rats in the basement. There were shrouded specters that floated from room to room, moaning and leaving a sticky residue of ectoplasm on the walls. There were a man and a woman, who were both nude and seemed to be composed entirely of blood, who would have violent, loud sex on the living room floor, before vanishing into mist. And of course there was Horton himself, always losing his head, screaming and chanting and demanding Bea bring him the sacrifices he desired.

            Bea ignored it all.

            Winter gave way to spring, and then summer, and soon autumn arrived. Bea took a trip into town. She needed to get out of that damned house for a while. She spent the day doing some light shopping and wandered into a Barnes and Noble.

            After perusing a few of the romance paperbacks, she was heading for the exit when she bumped into the corner of one of the display tables. The table was set up with various books for the upcoming Halloween season. Bea couldn’t believe her eyes. There were at least half a dozen books that acted as guides to various haunted locations. There was even an entire book devoted to haunted bed & breakfasts of New England.

            People apparently liked this sort of thing. They would pay good money to stay in a haunted hotel. Slowly, a plan began to materialize in Bea’s brain.

            She returned home. Horton floated up from the floor, clutching his head by the hair.

            “Tremble before my visage, woman!” he shouted. “For I am one with the Great Darkness!”

            “Yeah, whatever. Listen, I have an offer for you,” Bea said, setting her shopping bags down.

            “I do not make deals with the living,” Horton spat. He set his head down on a coffee table next to him.

            Bea smiled. “Oh, I think you’re going to like this one.”

            That Christmas, the Four Gables Bed and Breakfast finally opened, and seemingly overnight became renowned as one of the most haunted spots in New England. This brought in the tourists by the dozen, and the fact that Bea was a very good cook kept them coming back for more.

            Every day, a different person who was staying at the B&B would come up to Bea with a giddy look on his or her face, and tell of the horrifying sights he or she had seen during the night. Bea always smiled and nodded. She acted as if she didn’t really believe in that sort of thing, but that she would let the guests have their fun.

            And every few months, there would be reports from the surrounding towns of missing children; children seemingly snatched from their bedrooms late at night and never seen again. There were no leads, and no known motive.

            Of course, Bea knew the motive. She knew it because the basement was always off limits to guests, and she kept the key to the big padlock on her at all times. She knew it because she spent many nights washing the blood from her hands.

            But what did a little blood matter? After all, it was good for business.

            

Review: THE PACT

The Pact
2012
Directed by Nicholas McCarthy

It's very hard to make an effective independent, low-budget horror film. If you don't believe me, go hop on Netflix and scroll through the horror movies on instant watch. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Back? Yeah, they're pretty much all terrible.

So whenever a good independent horror film comes along, it's like a breath of fresh air. The Pact is such a film.

The Pact is the story of two sisters, Nichole (Agnes Bruckner) and Annie (Caity Lotz). The sisters have had a less-than-perfect relationship with their mother--a fact that's highlighted when we learn their mother used to lock them in a closet when they were "bad."

Their mother has recently died, and Nichole is at their childhood home, trying to get affairs in order and to attend the funeral. Annie wants no part of any of this. She still hates her mother, and has no intention of returning home.

This all changes when Nichole seemingly vanishes. Liz (Kathleen Rose Perkins), who is the sister's cousin, is watching Nichole's young daughter--and when she doesn't hear from Nichole for three days, she frantically calls Annie. Annie isn't very worried at first. Nichole has a history of drug abuse, and Annie suspects that Nichole has just run off, unable to deal with what's going on.

Things only get worse, though. One night, after the funeral, Liz also disappears from the house, and Annie is attacked and flung around by some unseen force. Is the house haunted? If so, by who? And just what happened to Liz and Nichole?

The Pact is as much of a mystery/thriller as it is a horror film. Writer/Director Nicholas McCarthy perfectly blends genres, switching deftly between a detective story, serial killer story and a spooky haunted house flick. The special effects in the film are subtle, which makes them all the more effective.

At one point there's a very interesting/different approach to the "bringing a psychic into the haunted house" trope. Haley Hudson plays Stevie, a blind girl Annie knows from high school. Stevie lives in a house full of apparent drug addicts/dealers, who are constantly blasting heavy metal music and playing video games. She also just happens to posses the ability to communicate with the dead. Stevie and Giles (Sam Ball), who is apparently her handler, and a real prick to boot, show up at Annie's house, with creeptastic results. I've seen a million horror movies that use this plot point--bringing in someone to commune with the spirits--but Hudson's haunting performances, and the way Giles abusively protects her, makes it seem fresh and exciting here.

There's a lot more than meets to eye in The Pact. To go into it would spoil the fun. I literally knew nothing about the film when I sat down and watched it, so when the plot twists began to pop up, I was pleasantly surprised.

Right now, playing in theaters, is a dreadful looking film called The Apparition. It has 0 % on Rotten Tomatoes and is, by all accounts, awful. Yet that film will be more well-known than The Pact, which is a damn shame.

The Pact is suspenseful, scary and effective. McCarthy has a real eye for composing and framing his shots, and Caity Lotz, as Annie, brings a layered and thoughtful performance to the film; she's not just some dingbat final girl, making dumb decisions and just asking to get killed.

The Pact is currently available on Amazon as a "theatrical rental." For 6.99, it's cheaper than going to the actual movies, and it's more than worth it.

EXCERPTS FROM THE HAUNTED HOUSE BUYER’S MARKET

Due to laws passed requiring realtors to provide full disclosure on their properties, we are obligated to tell you if a house might be traditionally referred to/believed to be “haunted.” To help reduce the amount of inquirers, we have compiled a listing of the following properties.

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34 Weetamoe Rd

Center Ossipee, NH 03814

Year round home on Ossipee lake with spectacular views of lake and mountains. Beds: 2. Baths: 1. Sqft: 572. Year built: 1940

Original owner, Carter Boggs, murdered his entire family on Christmas Eve, cutting off their heads and decorating his Christmas tree with their entrails. He then sat down for a quiet Christmas dinner.

Subsequent residents have reported hearing strange noises in the bedroom where Boggs killed his family. Occasionally, lights flicker on and off; no electrical problems have been found. On Christmas Eve every year, horrible blood-piercing shrieks sound all around the house. Blood-like substance (possibly blood) leeks from faucets.

Great value at $279,000!

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77 Starboard Ln UNIT 1

Moultonborough, NH 03254

Rare end unit with attached garage. Close to heated pool and your own private 26' deep water dock. Beds: 3. Baths: 3. Sqft: 2,552. Year built: 1975.

A previous occupant was an occultist who conducted black masses in basement, sacrificing several animals. The family who lived in the house most recently reports that low, horrible animal-like sounds come from the floorboards. A "demonic" (source required) face was spotted in the bathroom mirror, speaking Latin.

A steal at $439,000.

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13 Natalie’s Way

Gilford, NH 03249

Bank Owned

Serene and elegant, this private Governor's Island home is a dream. Set on almost 4 beautifully landscaped acres with westerly mountain and lake views. Beds: 3. Baths: 3. Sqft: 3,483 Year built: 1932.

Former tenants found several wasp nests in the attic. After calling an exterminator to gas the wasps, the wasps returned every night around midnight, screaming human-like screams. Human remains found walled-up in closet. Entire family reported vivid, murder-filled nightmares.

$432,299.

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299 Linden St

Exeter, NH 03833

Victorian with 3 yr. old heating system, new side stairs, fresh paint on exterior trim and porches and many interior improvements. Beds: 4. Baths: 4. Sqft: 2,404. Year built: 1890.

House built on former Native American burial ground by Dr. Robert Tweed, who was known as the Butcher of Exeter, due to his infamous, unnecessary surgeries on unsuspecting young women. Many occupants have reported that the house "moves"; they claim that looking out the window, they would no longer see their yard or front street, but a swirling black void. Upstairs windows will not open, despite frequent attempts to pry them.

Pregnant women reportedly miscarry while dwelling or even visiting the house. A dog-like creature prowls the yard during heavy rainfalls, his eyes glowing red. Dr. Tweed himself has been spotted standing on the roof, naked, laughing maniacally before vanishing into thin air.

Price heavily reduced due to lengthy time on the market.

$80,000 or best offer!

Beautiful Ghost

They said you could see her after midnight—if you really wanted to find her, that is.

No one remembered her real name; it became lost over time. But everyone in town knew the story. She was sixteen years old during the Civil War, and she helped care for the wounded—on both the Union and Confederacy sides. Her mercy did not discriminate, and she was loved by all. A beautiful girl, with fire-red hair and light freckles dotting her cheeks, and eyes that resembled two deep, blue pools.

But those were bloody times, and sorrow found her. She had the misfortune of falling in love with a Confederate soldier, and he with her. Their love was forbidden by her father, but she disobeyed him, and it cost her dearly. She was falsely accused of being a spy and giving secrets to the Confederates. And the girl who showed everyone mercy was granted no mercy of her own. She was found guilty, and hanged until dead.

And she did not rest easily. 

Ever since then, rumors have persisted that if you wandered over to the field where the ancient oak tree from which she was hung still stood, you might see her ghost. And if you did, it was a bad omen. Someone close to you would die, because her unjust execution had robbed her spirit of any of the tender mercy she possessed in life.

Or so they said. 

I'd never put much stock in these stories. That summer, I was seventeen years old, and was so hung up with finishing school and my almost crushing love for a girl named Alice who was in one of my classes, that ghosts and old legends were the furthest thing from my mind. But Alice rejected me—she was in love with someone else.

Feeling heartbroken and down on my luck, I took a late night walk to clear my thoughts. I spent almost the whole walk looking down at my shoes, unaware of where I was going and not really caring.

Before I knew it, it was well after midnight, and I was in that legendary field, right beneath that infamous tree. It had been a warm summer night, but the air was suddenly chilly. I shivered, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

And then I saw her. 

She came out of a beam of moonlight, her dress swaying in a breeze that was not there, her hair bright red like fire, and floating about her head as if she were submerged in water. And I could see the rope marks burned into her throat. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was enthralled with her, and at the same moment I was terrified. She whispered something to me, but I could not hear what it was. She smiled with sweet lips, and then she was gone. 

My whole body shook, and I felt suddenly exhausted, as if I had been sprinting for miles. My mind struggled to convince me that what I had seen had not been real—could not be real. But I knew I had seen it. And I knew that meant someone close to me would die. I was terrified—who would it be? One of my friends? My parents? I spent the next few weeks in terror, waiting to receive a phone call telling me that someone I held dear had met with a tragic end. But it never came. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and the memory of that beautiful ghost faded away.

Returning home from college one Christmas, I happened to run into Alice—my high school crush. We began dating, and after graduating college we married. Occasionally I would have haunting dreams where the beautiful ghost would come to me, whispering her secret that I couldn't hear. But the dreams would fade. And time would march on. And I would forget.

Alice became pregnant, and we were both thrilled. She was as eager to be a mother as I was to be a father. The doctor told us he could inform us of the baby’s gender, but we wanted to wait—to keep it a surprise.

The pregnancy was going smoothly, and we were prepared for our lives to change for the better.

And then yesterday, I received a phone call at my office. It was from a state trooper. Alice had been in a terrible car accident after a tractor-trailer had derailed on the highway. She had been killed instantly.

I wept madly for my wife and unborn child. And last night, I went to bed, my heart aching, my body weary. And I dreamed I was 17 again, back in that field by the tree on that moonlit night. And the beautiful ghost came to me, whispering her secret.

Only this time I heard what she said:

"Daughter."

Leave Ghosts Alone!

Remember when vampires were somewhat cool, and interesting? Remember the show Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, and how clever it was, and how it perfectly handled the vampire element? Remember when vampires were scary?


Those days are gone. A whole slew of sucky (no pun intended) teen romance books and movies (you know the ones--they have that boy with the big hair, the other boy who always has his shirt off, and that robot disguised as a girl) pretty much destroyed any mystery or intrigue that vampires held. It turned them into wussy, glittery, sad-sacks. Even Anne Rice’s prissy, pretty-boy vampires were still, when it came down to it, ruthless killers.

Well now it seems the vampire teat has been milked for all its blood (eww), and the powers that be are looking for a new supernatural creature to fuck-up. What will it be? Will they start making movies about love-struck Frankensteins, trying to woo the outcast girl at school? Will teenage mummies start unwrapping their bandages to reveal really buff guys?

According to this article  in Wired, "ghosts are the new vampires.”

Already, there are several shitty-sounding teen ghost books that are being snatched up by Hollywood to turn into shitty-sounding teen ghost movies. I am bothered by this.

Sure, you could argue at the end of the day, this doesn’t really matter. They’re just movies and books. And you’re 100 % correct. But I really enjoy ghosts and ghost stories. When done properly, there’s so much you can say and do with a ghost story. Do we really need a bunch of movies where sad teen ghosts fall for sad teen humans, all of which will have the same message: We can never be together, because I am a ghost and you are alive!! (sad face).

C’mon people, leave ghosts alone.

Talking with the Dead

“A few simple instructions are all that is necessary, and I shall be pleased to give these, free of charge, to any one.”

--Aleister Crowley on the Ouija Board

 

• Former Italian Prime Minister Romano Prodi claimed under oath that, in a séance held in 1978 with other professors at the University of Bologna, the "ghost" of Giorgio La Pira spelled the name of the street where Aldo Moro was being held by the Red Brigades in a Ouija. According to Peter Popham of The Independent: "Everybody here has long believed that Prodi's ouija board tale was no more than an ill-advised and bizarre way to conceal the identity of his true source, probably a person from Bologna's seething far-left underground whom he was pledged to protect."

• In London in 1994, convicted murderer Stephen Young was granted a retrial after it was learned that four of the jurors had conducted a Ouija board séance and had "contacted" the murdered man, who had named Young as his killer. Young was convicted for a second time at his retrial and jailed for life.

• Bill Wilson, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, used a Ouija board and conducted seances in attempts to contact the dead.

• The poems written by Patience Worth, an alleged spirit, contacted by Pearl Lenore Curran, for more than 20 years, were transcripted via a ouija board.

How to Hunt Ghosts

The following are excerpts taken from How to Hunt Ghosts by Dr. Samuel Sneed, DDS

So you've decided to hunt ghosts. Good for you--the world needs more go-getters like yourself. 

This won't be an easy task. You'll be faced with many challenges, so I hope you are prepared. Ghost hunting is not for quitters.

Are you the type of person who feels tired carrying the laundry basket up the steps--when it's empty? If so, get out. Put down my expensive ghost hunting equipment and leave my creepy bookstore. That's right, you heard me. Don't touch my EMF detector or that thing that beeps (I don't even know what the hell it's for, it just looks good)--you're outta here.

Glad that guy is gone. Now we can continue.

To begin hunting ghosts, you will need the proper equipment:

1. A puffy jacket (ghosts like cold places) and/or cape (cloak).

2. Really expensive detection devices, that you can buy from me in bulk.

3. A video camera with night-vision on it.

4. A bag of trail mix (preferably the kind with peanuts and/or M&M's or peanut M&M's)

5. NO FEAR OF GHOSTS.

* * * *

Ghosts have been around for about a hundred years. No one knows who the first ghost was, but we do know that it was probably someone white, in their late 50's, possibly with hair.

Skeptics everywhere abound with clucking tongues and wagging fingers; they scoff at the notion of ghosts. Well, if ghosts aren't real, then how do you explain THIS?:

* * * *

One time, a ghost insulted my wife.

* * * *

You are now ready to begin hunting ghosts. 

I hope you are prepared to enter the world of the supernatural, my friend! And I hope you survive!

If not, someone might just end up hunting YOU!!