Friday, 8 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 52

The machines in the restaurant below were pounding louder than usual around me as if I were inside the dark kitchen crawling.  Usually I would have taken a glass of wine to numb my hearing against the noise, but that night I had not had any.  In hindsight I did not trust that chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere, after all.  It was not until several months later that we discovered the criminal charges pressed against him by many victims.  However, Mme. Empathy and Mr. Justice would naturally feign not to have known about his recklessness which saw me in this fatal situation.

My palm and the back of my feet felt the sting at every contact with the floor that was buzzing with some sort of electricity.  Somehow I reached for my shoes, opened the door and I crawled up the stairs.  It was still cold at night, Paris in March, but my body was burning.  I collapsed near the second floor gasping to breathe, but I sensed that I had escaped the danger.  Three hours passed while the fever and nausea slowly subsided.  One did not have to be a doctor to know that it was not illness that caused those symptoms.  I stood up and went down the stairs, not to my apartment which was now a death trap, but out the building to the street.  I looked into the restaurant from its big façade windows.  All the machines were plugged on, some emitting eerie red light, some ominously blue light.  It was not rage I felt.  Only depair that people like them are in power in the real world.  But it was no time to stop to lament for I had to find a spot of soil quickly.

As soon as I found one I removed my shoes and stood on the earth barefoot to release the electromagnetic toxins that had been charged by the restaurant.  My body still felt numb and my head felt heavy and disconnected, the symptoms I had read on the related sites.  This self-earthling method was recommended and 10 minutes later, my head started to clear.  My senses returned and then I felt chill of the cold early hours of Paris.  I must return to the death trap to get my clothes.  I looked up and saw Notre Dame Cathedral in a distance.  I remembered the article on this butcher who lived on Rue Chanoinesse near Notre Dame Cathedral luring all those unsuspecting couples who came to wed in Paris.  It was later discovered that human flesh were being sold at this cursed meat shop.  For the details, please read my episode 19 at 
I would not blame you if you thought that my imagination was running wild, but the dark spirit has revived in the form of the restaurant from Hell, or so it felt that night.  The chef who supervised the installation of more electric appliances, two of them attached right beneath my floor, were being sued by many newly wedded couples.  Coincidence, naturally, but still a heck of coincidence.  I did not know about his criminal charges that fatal night, but I knew my accidental death would have pleased some people.  Was I destined to follow the trails of the victims of the cannibal butcher’s spirit behind the Notre Dame Cathedral? 

No.  I was still alive.  I had grabbed a bottle of secret potion that I had made in a big quantity when I left my contaminated apartment.  This helped enormously, no doubt.  Where were my ancestors when the flesh eating butcher was alive and well in the middle age?  I am a genuine descendent of a Samurai warrior.  The long sword was not for just defeating our enemies, but it was for cutting through the dark force.  Do I believe it?  I assure you I do not.  But I still had to act and I headed for my apartment above the restaurant from Hell, literally. 

To be continued.


Saturday, 2 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 51

I recognized Mr. Sincere as the man I had seen wandering into the residential area of the building for the last couple of days.  There was a regulation that forbids people from the commercial area from wondering into the private residential area.  Not only Mme. Empathy did not discipline her staff, she was the one who regularly opened the door.  This annoyed my Mme. Landlord because she was respective of rules and courtesy.  She asked Mr. Pride to admonish his tenant Mme. Empathy, but of course, he ignored Mme. Landlord consistently.  The Syndic and Mme. Landlord instructed me to take photos of the restaurant staffs illegally entering the private area, which I hated to do.  I was worn down by the noise and compared to my suffering, it seemed such a trivial issue.  However, Mme. Landlord was my friend so I took some photos, but I did not send the ones that pictured Mr. Sincere.

Don’t get me wrong.  I did not fall for his charm.  I was hoping against hope that he may be the one who would finally do the right thing by me in relation to the noise issue.  Therefore, I did not wish to antagonize him by turning him in.  But what I did not know back then was that Mme. Landlord’s storage area had been broken in and her son’s computer related goods were stolen.  Mme. Landlord was furious because she shared her storage area with Mr. Pride and the restaurant.

Mr. Sincere initiated some work which removed the strong vibration which used to push me back to the other wall.  (Such was a hell Mr Pride had exposed me to and he simply shrug his shoulder.)  But the noise remained loud so when Mr. Sincere wished to check the situation in my room, I let him in to hear it.  He looked around my studio and spotted a tiny bedding in my kitchen.  He shook his head in sympathy, or so it seemed.   In hindsight, his eyes remained cold.

A couple of days later I heard the drilling noise followed by metal cutting noise coming from where else?  The restaurant from Hell.  It sounded eerie for some reasons, but I suppressed my natural instinct and tried to believe in Mr. Sincere.  I went to sleep inside the kitchen, my sole sanctuary in Paris,

It was about 02:00 am.  I woke up from a strong heartbeat.  It would not stop beating faster.  I heard a buzzing beam and realized that all the electric appliances in my studio was reacting to something.  Strong nausea came over me as my mobile phone emitted buzzing noise as if it was electrified.  Yes!  Some kind of electricity was leaking into my sanctuary.  I felt stinging sensation all over my face and a throbbing headache.  I tried to escape but my entire studio was flooded with something that everywhere I touched I felt the stinging electricity.  My body would not move well from fever, but I knew if I did not get out the apartment right away I may not see another day.

To be continued.
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Saturday, 25 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 50

Any serious managers would be concerned by empty seats in their restaurant, but not Mme. Empathy.  She was never into running a decent restaurant.  There is a record of her summon to the court following a big petition signed by her former neighbors whose lives had been wrecked by her irresponsible management of her last restaurant. But it did not hurt her one bit because in Paris you can always sell the restaurant permit and make a huge profit.  Therefore, it was essential for Mme. Empathy to invest as little as possible.  One of it was installing a cooking ventilator without insulating hood (which you would find in any normal restaurant kitchen).  It damaged my health, but what did she care?  Mme. Empathy was counting the huge profit she would make by selling the permit to a sucker.  Sure her reputation follows her everywhere, but she just needs to apply under someone else’s name and partners in crimes she has no shortage of.

However, her brother, I shall refer to him as Mr. Justice hereafter, reminded Mme. Empathy that she would have nothing to sell should this Asian upstairs win her lawsuit.  Surely, Mr. Honor, her big protector, would help her out, but wearing down this nuisance upstairs should be the top priority.  In fact, Mr. Justice had already chosen to play a delaying tactics by not replying to the court.  Of course if he did not reply for too long, the court would annul the restaurant permit without trial, so he would reply in 6~8 months or so.  In the meantime, a lot of things could happen.

Indeed, their delaying tactics was wearing me down as they planned.  One eye was twitching and I had lost the sense of the tip of my tongue.  Things fell out of my hand easily because I could not completely escape the hell ventilator noise.  I did not sleep well inside my small kitchen even with lots of plugs staffed in my ears to avoid the all night noise from the kitchen appliances in the restaurant below.  My head felt heavy all the time that I could not function well.  But it could have been worse had I not taken this traditional anti-toxin potion passed down in Japan.  Mr. Pride knew about my suffering but he could not care less.  That I was not meekly bowing to his demands was far more unacceptable.  The team Restaurant from Hell decided to up their game. 

Then appeared this man in our courtyard.  I still remember that day in March when Mme. Landlord asked who he was.  He came to replace the previous chef (who had quitted claiming that Mme. Empathy was a snake).  He smiled sincerely at both of us, promising to make things better for me.  Instinct told me to fear him but I was so worn down that I wished to believe this man whom I shall refer to as Mr. Sincere.  To be continued.
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Saturday, 18 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 49

I froze at the sight of she-devil. Then I noticed a man with her. He looked like a tradesman. I sensed that he had come to measure the opening on their roof. She smiled mockingly at me and started giving instructions to the man. Sense of helpless defeat came over me as I watched Natalie prancing around the apartment of the Italian gentleman without his permission. I looked around the old walls which was once a church. I am not a Catholic, but still I respect the history those walls have witnessed. It seemed sacrilegious that Mr. Pride would allow Mme. Empathy to gouge this once house of prayer. I quietly apologized for being powerless to stop those people. Oddly I felt better, but it must have been my wishful thinking…or was it?

The following morning, I saw the entire street was closed off for a complete overhaul of electricity cables. No trucks would be able to drive into this narrow street. The truck that would have been loaded with Mme. Empathy’s gigantic glass roof could not drive into the street either. Seeing that it gave same time to my dear Mme. Landlord and I, we opted to contact the Italian gentleman. Mme. Landlord had not been able to communicate with him because he could not speak French well. However, he spoke English and this is where I came in. Thank you, Australia, for having taught me English. I am in debt to this large island nation more than I had ever realized. My voice shook while addressing the man I had never met, but the Italian gentleman was understanding.

Within two days the tenants were warned never to allow Mme. Empathy’s people pass through the Italian Gentleman’s apartment or he would kick them out. Mme. Empathy’s plan was foiled. Not only that, the overhaul work in the street would continue for a month and half, digging, drilling, blasting stone road from morning to evenings, driving any potential clients from Mrs. Empathy’s restaurant. Who would want to have lunch at the work sight? Though I was being driven out by the restaurant’s kitchen noise anyway, I was still glad that I could escape the even more hellish noise while the restaurant’s staffs and the chef could not go anywhere.
KARMA, my lawyer commented. To be continued. にほんブログ村 英語ブログ 英語の日記(英語のみ)へ

Saturday, 11 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 48

Those who read my last blog would have seen a rough dessin of the buildings.  You might remember that there was another window across from mine.  It was owned by an Italian gentleman who had opposed the installation of the glass roof which would have transmitted more noise.  He naturally refused to give Mme. Empathy the access to install the glass roof through his windows and he instructed his tenants not to either.

However, Mme. Empathy noticed the current tenant of the Italian gentleman was a young man, half French, half American.  ‘Oh, this should be a breeze.’  She turned to a beautiful French girl whom she had recently hired.  I shall call her Natalie.  Mme. Empathy whispered into Natalie’s ear wearing a mischievous smile.  The young girl was thrilled to sink that miserable Japanese woman down further into the mud.  Not that I had done Natalie anything to deserve this.  She was simply excited by an evil joy of manipulating someone else’s life. 

Now I mentioned the young man was half American not just because they are susceptible to French minx, but American men have that desire to be a hero, a virtue which Natalie made a good use of.  Later I learnt from this young man that she had visited him frequently and he felt obliged to help her.  He looked at me as if I was the predator obstructing the path of an honest restaurant.  ‘They have toned down on their music lately.  They deserved a chance.’  Now, the restaurant had toned down on the music thanks to my routine calls to the police.  But looking into his love-struck eyes, I said no more.  Thus it came to him breaking his promise to the landlord, the Italian gentleman.  The shining knight gave the restaurant the access from his window to install a glass roof.

But I did not know this when Mme. Empathy glared through my window.
To be continued.
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