SEVILLA Y LA CHATARRA

 

Como suele suceder, a los grandes sueños les suceden los batacazos de los amargos despertares. Especialmente en una ciudad como Sevilla tan alejada de cualquier idea de modernidad. Un buen ejemplo de ello es la Expo del 92 que costó al erario público un billón de pesetas ( 943.000 millones para ser exactos) que hoy vienen a ser 5688 millones de Euros. Esa es la cantidad que España regaló a esa ciudad, pero a nadie se le pasó por la cabeza usar parte de ese dinero en su metro- sólo tienen una línea operativa- ni destinaron un céntimo de la antigua moneda en conectar el aeropuerto por tren. Ellos tenían otros planes. Acabada la exposición universal no se les ocurrió nada mejor que parar el monorraíl que nos había costado a todos 2700 millones de pesestas. Finalmente, vendieron sus vagones como chatarra y hoy se encuentran en un desguace de la localidad zaragozana de Muel. ¿Se puede ser más gitano? Se puede. Porque muchas lunas después, la tuneladora- 37 millones de euros costó- para conectar los tramos de la SE-40  fue vendida por dos millones como chatarra. La idea era crear un gran cinturón que abrazase la ciudad y algunas localidades de los alrededores, conectado por un túnel bajo el río. Sin embargo, las autoridades terminaron abrazadas a una botella de Vodka llamada Zíngara. 

 A resultas de todo esto el sevillano mira con envidia el desarrollo tecnológico de Málaga y hasta a su metro. Por no hablar de la red del suburbano de Valencia que despierta ampollas a orillas del Guadalquivir.  De hecho, el hispalense se pone más tenso que Don Quijote en un parque eólico cuando lee sobre el éxito de las provincias mediterráneas. Nada dicen de sus querencias por el chatarrero. Tampoco mencionan la manía que tienen en Híspalis de elegir de alcalde al más tonto de la clase. Recordemos al zote de Pepote de la Borbolla. A Monteseirin cuyo discurso sobre los astronautas sigue provocando hilaridad en todo el mundo. A Zoido que fue incapaz de descubrir ni una urna en el falso referéndum catalán. A Espadas con esa cara de gazpachuelo cortado y al Word Perfect de la enchufada de su señora. What kind of morons have you become? 

Recordemos lo que se dice de las grandes fortunas: el abuelo las crea, el hijo las mantiene y el nieto las dilapida. Menos en Sevilla que cualquier cosa es vendida a la chatarra y el que venga después que pague la fiesta, y así es imposible crear riqueza ninguna. Y fíjense si es imposible que mientras en la Capital de la Costa del Sol Telefónica inaugura el Campus 42 que versa sobre Big Data, ciberseguridad, el blockchain, la inteligencia artificial y programación con una empleabilidad para los ingenieros participantes del 100%, la universidad de Sevilla encuentra salidas al mundo laboral ofertando cursos de sevillanas. ¡Mi arma, que bochorno!

Pero cómo se puede comparar Málaga y Valencia con Sevilla. No se parecen en nada. Es que detrás de las dos primeras ha habido un plan maestro y millones de horas de trabajo. Lo que nos ha legado la ciudad de la Giralda es una simple maldición, una herencia envenenada, el misérrimo patrimonio que deja el PSOE cuyos miembros son pocos dados a la claridad de las cuentas porque lo suyo es la oscuridad de los prostíbulos. Así no hay manera.

 Con Sevilla hay que tener mucho cuidado porque les financias un metro y los vagones terminan, tarde o después, en la chatarrería más cercana. ¿Más tuneladoras? ¿Más trenecitos?¡ Vamos hombre, no me jodas!

Sergio Calle Llorens

¡THE CHANGELING!

 

Today we are going to take a deep dive into the true story behind the haunting that inspired The Changeling. Russel Hunter was a quiet man who had a passion for music and he grew older he was able to make a living at it. Russel worked as a composer for CBS in New York during the late 1950´s and early 1960´s then Russel decided to move out west. He decided to pull the trigger and venture out on his own.  His only concern was that he wanted a property with enough seclusion to allow him to work on his music without disturbing anyone. Russel eventually found the house at 1739 East 13^th Street. It was a older two-story building that seemed to sway when the wind hit it just at the right angle, but that did not seem to bother Russel too much.

The mansion was named after a wealthy attorney who took over the house years before Russel Hunter, prior occupants were not listed publicly. There were urban legends about a rich couple that lived there with their son but no one could seem to remember concrete details. After an eventful move in, Russel began the process of creating music again, getting back to his first love. The only issue was that the house had other plans for him.

On February 9 1969, Russel began experience a strange phenomenon within his new home, a phenomenon that he would spend years attempting to convince people actually happened. Every morning the composer would be awakened by a stomping sound that was coming from somewhere within the house. This would go on as long as Russel stayed in bed, but the moment he got to investigate, the noises would stop abruptly. From there things got even more disturbing; faucets would turn themselves on and off. Doors would open of their own accord or if Russel left them open, they would slam shut. The walls would shake and tremor so violently that they would knock painting and photos to the floor. Searching for any plausible explanation for these bizarre occurences, 

Russel reached out to an old architect friend of his.  Perhaps these noises and shaking walls and faulty pipes came from some sort of construction error. The men went through and inspected the house, but ultimately nothing was uncovered. Then when they were about to call it a day, the architect realized that they haven´t checked one of the closets. At first thought the composer dismissed it saying they´d spent the day going over everything. The closet was definitely not going to have anything that would shine light on the problem. However, it did.  When they went in the closet, the two men discovered a small, hidden winding staircase that led to a third-story annex. What they found on the third floor was so mundane as it was essentially frightening. They found a cobweb covered trunk which contained a journal 100 years prior. The journal was from a disabled boy who´d been forced to live in isolation for his entire life. In the diary the boy wrote of his daily routine, his struggles with being forced to live alone in his room and many passages about his favorite toy; a red ball.  The two men spent hours poring over the journal.

A few nights later, Russel was awakened to the sound of a soft patting coming down the hallway. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, expecting the sound to cease the moment his feet hit the floor. It didn´t. It grew louder as if it was steadily coming closer. Russel went out into the halfway only to discover a small, red ball bouncing out of the darkness to greet him.

Understandably, Russel grew too frightened to be in the home alone, instead he stayed at a friend´s house. Finally, he decided that something had to be done. He organized a seance. He felt that talking to the spirit of the boy was the only thing to save him. Russel hired a local medium and during the séance, He was contacted from a spirit from the afterlife. He was told that the imprisoned child in the annex was the heir to a large fortune from this maternal grandfather, when the boy´s health took a turn for the worse, the parents were worried that his inheritance would be revoked and given to other members of the family, the boy ultimately fell gravely ill and passed away, they buried him in a unmarked deep grave in the woods. Then the parents, in order to receive their inheritance, propagated a deceitful lie. They went to a Denver orphanage and trained the orphan to take over his role in the family. Russel was in complete disbelief.

As a parting gift and a means by which to substantiate its stories, the spirit provided Russel with directions to where the boy was buried. An innocuous house on the corner of South Dahlia Street. After getting permission from the family who currently lived in a residence about his plot of land, Russel commenced digging. He found a skeleton of a young boy with a gold medallion around his neck. It featured an inscription that had the deceased boy´s name on it. Russel was simultaneously elated and petrified. He simply had proof now. He could go to the authorities. He took the medallion back to the mansion deciding that if anything paranormal were to happen this night, he would attempt to contact these forces and bargain with them. Things did not go as planned. It was as if the house itself was writhing in pain. It stared quaking and shaking. Russel went to a glass door in an attempt to get out, but the door exploded sending shards of glass everywhere. One of them flew into his right arm and severed an artery.  A Russel crawled to his bedroom where the phone was, blood seeped out of him. The next Russel knew, he was in the hospital, bandaged and slowly recovering. Russel realized he´d had enough. He vowed never to returned to the Henry Treat Rogers Mansion again. He held that vow for close to twenty years. He did come back to the property during the 1980´s to see it demolished.

Russel story was adapted into a feature film in 1980. It was directed by Peter Medak and starred George C. Scott, Trish Van Devere and Melvin Douglas. The film follows a composer named Russel Hunter who moves to Seattle where he takes up residence in a mansion, he believes to be haunted. Obviously, the movie is based on Russel Hunter´s account of what happened during his time living in the Henry Treat Rodgers Mansion. The film was written by William Gray and Diana Maddox, with Russel Hunter receiving a story- by- credit. The film won numerous awards. Martin Scorsese called it one of the scariest movies ever made. The Henry Treat Rodgers Mansion no longer exists, but the film it inspired lives on.

Fiction, real? What do you think?

Sergio Calle Llorens