Tag: Horror

One Last Lazy Sunday

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Our Earth’s entangled in a cosmic web
I mean that quite literally
Bill read about in the morning paper
a spider the size of a sun
a planet eater
she laid a trap for us
awaiting our arrival
at the point in our orbit
where her web lay in wait

She tugs at the web to draw us in ever closer
unable to shake free
we are inevitably drawn into the gaping chasm
of her eager, hungry mouth

Bill sighed with exasperation
he pulled out sports and tossed me the rest
he shook his head, incredulous
‘you seen the keeper United signed?
What an overspend!
Rovers had them over a barrel!’ Bill tutted, and the spider’s eyes widened with ravenous lust
so in the end, this is the end of us
I had rather hoped to decompose on solid ground and turn to dust
rather than break down in the acids of this gigantic arachnid

The Vampire

~ Yanagi Studios

By D. S. Johnson

I met, last night, an avatar of Death
He woke me rapping, gently, on my door
His hands were long and cold, as was his breath;
His eyes were deep as oceans, maybe more

“My son, I seek a fire and a friend,
Someone to whom my woes may be revealed”
I sat him in a chair and made to tend
The fire when he proffered scroll, unsealed

A chill I felt like none before as I
Saw artfully my name inscribed in red
He took my hand and looked me in the eye,
Said “By midnight, my son, you shall be dead”

I choked a scream and swallowed back my tears,
I struggled for what seemed eternity;
To face, like this, the darkest of my fears
Was much too cruel a twist of destiny

“What, now, can I be expected to do?
By what method may I still save myself?”
“There is but one path open yet to you
But should you walk it, you may lose your health”

“What care I, health, if life I still may live?”
He closed his eyes and loosed a twisted curse
“These rules, not mine, are no less mine to give
To live this life, not die, may well be worse”

Unheeded then, his words now chill my soul
Though soul is not a thing I now possess
Never again shall I be halfway whole
This soulless husk, a shadow is, or less

Confession of a Drainer

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

I heard once about a drainer, she was an old acquaintance of mine. A failed romantic interest, if truth be told. Our kind live long enough to adopt a wildly distorted view of time. I probably hadn’t seen her for centuries, but it felt like decades. She was the adventurous type. Off gallivanting somewhere, I figured. Truth is, she’d died. She’d drained someone, at the end of her most recent Jade Cycle. Little did she know, the kid was meant to be hit by a bus a week later. So she only lived out the last couple of days of her previous vic, and then the next seven added on. She was dead in nine days. Makes you wonder, is one drain every few months often enough to keep topping up? Or should I do more? But the more bodies you pile up, the more likely you are to be sniffed out.

I write this now on a notepad I took off this little cherub. Emblazoned with a Disney princess or some such thing. A dead-eyed creep straight out of the uncanny valley, if you ask me. I miss the old style animations. This girl is a sweetheart, a trusting little thing. No suspicion in her eyes. Such sweet naiveté. Her papa is tied up, already dead. He hangs upside down, all the blood drains to his little red head. A needle in the artery of the neck is connected to an artery in my wrist via a clear plastic tube. I’ve made a couple of blood smudges on the page, I do apologise.

I write this now, well for two reasons. Firstly, it’s fun. Someone will find this, and someone should know about my exploits. But also I write this for the ages. A first written account of draining, a first historical document to capture the culture of my people. This will be a prized artefact one day. These hallowed pages will be viewed behind bullet-proof glass, the museum all rigged up with invisible lasers, CCTV, an armed security guard, you name it sonny!

The girl stirs. A precious little doll in her chair. Her eyes reluctantly open. Mine would be reluctant too, were I her. All it takes is contact by the skin, but the transfer process is so exhausting, you need your blood bag attached. I’m doing him a favour I reckon. What loving father would want to live in a world without his little princess anyway? Lesley always made fun of me for being merciful. Shit… nine days… Lesley… I would have loved to have played with you once more, oh the joy of the hunt… but I digress… I admit, I may have downplayed things a little when I said ‘acquaintance’. Still even to drainers centuries are still a fairly long time. The more you live, the more there is to forget. So many things lose their appeal. Having sex, eating food, drinking alcohol, even laughing. All these things have worn out so thin over time, become so drab. Fuck who cares if she provides a short cycle anyway… should have drained a geriatric, made this my last rodeo, curtains call, take a bow…

Yet somehow, draining still feels good. Choosing your prey, setting your traps, hunting… oh sweet hunting, it does not lose its wonder. The vibrancy of its colour palette, the radiant echo chamber which encases you, thudding, transcendent chords break over your mind, overwhelm your senses, your knees buckle, wave after orgasmic wave floods your mind, body, and soul. And all the time you can hear the little shit’s screams. Their wailing, their agony. Joining the chorus of other souls trapped within you. Joining the others, begging for your body to break, so they can finally be set free. Oh heavens, it is still fucking delicious.

Well here we are, in a grey warehouse, in a quiet corner off a quiet road. The dead of night. My radio set to Classic FM. The stuttering light above, lending a B-movie horror vibe. If you live long enough clichés become original once more. The walls are adorned with surgical tools, the floor has the odd paint can scattered here and there, my grossly overweight pet cat, Mr. Cuddles, purrs with a nonchalant complacency. The girl’s papa is tied to a rafter with thick rope. One of my best knots! The little girly herself is tied up with steel wire. The barbs dig into her flesh, like the kisses of a razor-tongued, over-eager lover. I hover over her. I place my hand on her head. Skin on skin. With her father’s blood running through me, the ritual complete, I am ready to drain.

Her eyes water, so adorable, this cherub. She doesn’t try to scream, she’s been softly saying ‘papa’ for a little while now. Her eyes turn from her father’s corpse to look full into mine. ‘Please… sir… I’m scared’. She chokes on her own fear. Wide eyes, and flushed cheeks, she looks good enough to eat. ‘It’s okay petal, everyone feels scared sometimes…’ I reassure her. ‘I’ll be keeping you safe from now on’.

I close my eyes, as I begin to pull her into me. My hand tightens around her forehead. I see all her dreams, all her memories. Her mum reads her bedtime stories, she fights with her brother, she develops her first crush, her dad makes her eat his dreadful mac and cheese, the girls at school laugh at her choice of dress to a school dance, her mother in the hospice, her dad’s tears as he reads his eulogy, her brother cuddling her in the back of their car, trailing the hearse.

The energy of her consciousness, the sweet taste of her very essence, it seeps into me. What’s left of her lifespan transfers to me, I can feel her resistance, her spirit has some fight in it. She screams, she pulls away, she is fighting me with all she has, but it’s not enough, it never is. She joins the others trapped in the dark recesses of my soul.

And this where I will leave you now dear reader, her body is still fresh, all vital signs are showing, her body is clinically alive, the heart beats, she breathes, she appears to be in a coma to all those who don’t know any better. And yet it is now but an empty husk. It will stay this way, they don’t rot, but I will bury it… And after that I will abandon this lair, move on to a new town, new city, new country even. But I’ll leave this confession behind, for posterity, to mark the first contribution to the world’s collective history on behalf of drainers. All the voices of over a thousand souls scream within me, their suffering fuelling my life. Because of them I am never alone, and I am never without the sound of music.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 3

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Billy’s snoring made Tiffany think of a diarrheic elephant. He had fallen asleep soon after he came. She dragged herself out of his bed, as her languid limbs gathered her under garments. She draped herself in a lace gown with the delicacy of a gift shop clerk. She pulled a cigarette out from her packet, and turned it round in her fingers. The back displayed an image of a cigarette curved into a phallic form. It was a sad sight, with the tip bent downwards, ash limply spilling. At the top it read; smoking may cause impotence. She laughed sardonically; thick and throaty. Maybe smoking too many fags is to blame…

Her phone buzzed, Tiffany checked it to see a message from Tyler. He wanted to meet that evening, suggested their favourite little Italian place. The mushroom risotto there is very good, and they do have a reasonable wine selection. She texted him back, and arranged to meet at 7pm. She glanced over at Billy. She had to admit she felt a little guilty. But surely Tyler only had himself to blame? After all, she had come to expect certain things from a relationship. Until recently things had been going great, they fucked 5 times a week, he splashed out on gifts for her and frequent holidays, and he was right on track for promotion to the head of marketing (not bad at all for a 27 year old). He was going to be taking home another 15k a year. Now, he had blown the interview, he had stopped being invited to the important parties thrown by the important people, and now he couldn’t even get it up. Although she didn’t miss his sex talk. ‘I’m the boss! I’m in charge!’ ‘Yeah babe, you’re the boss… yeah’

‘That Tyler?’ Billy was turned onto one side, eyeing Tiffany’s half-nude form, with a boyish grin.

‘Yeah, he wants to meet tonight. He’s taking me for Italian.’

‘You gonna chuck him?’

Tiffany took a deep breath, and pondered for a moment. ‘I really don’t know. I mean if I could just have the old Tyler…’

‘You need to ask him what the hell’s going on with him, he’s been rubbing people up the wrong way for a while now, always nervy, on-edge, he’s been erratic as hell.’

It was true. For some time now, Tyler’s behaviour had become increasingly bizarre. Thankfully he had stopped claiming to see things, and yet still he would trail off mid-sentence, or his eyes would glare alarmingly at a corner of the room, where no one else saw anything remarkable. He may have stopped claiming to see things, yet nonetheless, he was still seeing them. One night he had woken up screaming. Jumble! Jumble! Jumble! It had most likely been 30 seconds of straight screaming, the same word Jumble over and over again. It had felt like an hour.

Tyler glanced at his Rolex. 19.05. He was getting agitated. Absent-mindedly he begun to tap his fingers on the table. Something out of habit, perhaps a theme from a TV show. His eyes scanned the room. Blue stone-like eyes liberated from the sunglasses, resting on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers. He looked hard at all the corners and sides of the room. So far, things were clear.

It first happened in the interview he flunked. This was meant to be a celebration, now it was a last ditch attempt to save his relationship. Tiffany was a real prize. He had lost too much now already. Stresses were mounting. He had been assured of that promotion. Now he bitterly regretted moving to his new apartment too soon. The rent was too high for him, his car payments were catching up to him, and if he suggested to Tiffany about splitting the bill, he’d probably get a cold, frosty response at best, at worst a glass of wine to the face, as she basted him for being a cheapskate.

‘Are you okay there Tyler, you seem distracted?’

‘No, not at all, sir, I’m sorry, continue, I’m all ears.’

‘We’re discussing an amazing opportunity here, and my colleagues here, hold you in very high regard, I’m disappointed that you don’t seem to share our enthusiasm.’

‘No, I assure you, sir, I am 100% committed…’

‘70% alcohol by now’

‘Please… stop… please’

‘When somebody goes to Heaven, they CAN’T come back.’

It was in that abortive interview that Tyler had first seen it. The teddy bear from the night he had beaten some bum. It had stitching around the neck, where the head had been reattached, in a cross-hatch pattern. Red thread. Its head had moved slowly, he had glared at him accusingly. Somehow those button eyes had conveyed a terrible fury. He was sat at the opposite end of the conference table, eyes baring into Tyler’s soul. Tyler recognised him immediately, and could provide no logical explanation to himself for his presence. He had felt a terrible chill in his chest and stomach. His throat had been tight and dry.

It had cost him the job. Ever since, that fucking bear had been appearing at important moments in Tyler’s life, always with an increasingly grotesque appearance. Blood dripping from its mouth, its hands rotting, it had even began to smell. The stench of death. An inescapable aroma, once caught in the nostrils, it embeds itself like unforgiving tendrils.

The door to the restaurant opened, Tiffany entered wearing a beautiful black dress, and a stern yet sad expression on her face. Black for mourning. This is the death of us. Tyler had recently got things under control. The bear still appeared at times, but he was desensitised enough not to react anymore. Still it may be too little too late. Tiffany took the seat opposite him. Tyler attempted a smile, Tiffany’s face blank. They ordered wine, delayed the food order, claiming they needed more time. Eventually the dust settled. They made some light conversation, mostly gossiping about their friends; that fat chick, Alex had started seeing, Tiffany’s sister’s marital problems, the violent reprisal of Jenny’s acne. Tyler grew a little nervous. He had recently theorised that attacking others was one of the conditions for the bear to appear. With this in mind, he changed the topic to reality TV, he let Tiffany wax lyrical about a popular dating show, as he glugged his wine.

The evening passed pleasantly, Tyler was daring to feel hopeful for Tiffany and himself. The waiter came to their table, and asked for their dessert orders.

‘Do you have Neapolitan ice cream?’ Tyler asked. The words came from somewhere outside of him. He didn’t understand what had compelled him to say that.

‘I’m afraid not sir, only what is on the menu’.

‘Are you all right?’ Tiffany asked. She looked at Tyler with flushed eyes. Her patience had worn thin. Not this again.

They had both ordered lemon sorbet, as they waited, Tyler felt apprehensive, until finally in the corner of his eye, he saw it. He felt more angry than afraid. You won’t ruin this too, you won’t take everything from me! He had grown used to it by now. This shouldn’t matter.

On this occasion however things were different. The bear moved across the floor of the restaurant, making a bee line for Tyler. Its appearance was bloody and grotesque. Its rotting, skeletal hands reached for its neck, and the red thread was pulled apart in violent streams. It took its head in one hand and curled its arm to coddle it underneath its shoulder. Its face was more animate than it had ever been before. The mouth opened and revealed jagged teeth like that of a shark, hateful razors. Tyler leapt from his seat, he ran to the other end of the restaurant. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the handle wouldn’t budge. His heart was pounding, ears ringing. The stench of death was aflame in his nostrils. He felt the fear of a child, helpless. All his strength and arrogance fled from him. He curled himself up into a ball on the restaurant floor. He closed his eyes tight. Go away, please go away. Please… stop… please.

Tyler opened his eyes. The waiting staff and diners were looking at Tyler with shocked expressions painted onto their motionless faces. The bear was gone. The jagged teeth were gone. And so was Tiffany.

Six months later…

Tyler drained the dregs of his soup. The café down the road from his makeshift shelter, always gave him a cup of leftover soup at the end of their business hours. Just as long as he didn’t stink the place up by going there during the day.

Tyler gathered up a few cardboard boxes and blankets and got himself ready to settle in for the night. It was another harsh, cold night of the British winter. I’m gonna bloody freeze in this. He sighed as he laid his back against the cold stone wall.

Footsteps approached. Tyler picked up his empty cup ready. A brown-haired teenage girl came into view. She had a cute hamster-like face, round and sweet, cheeks red from the cold.

‘Excuse me miss, spare any change?’

‘Oh hey’ she checked her pockets. ‘Oh gosh I’m sorry, I only have this’.

With embarrassment, the girl hesitantly handed him a 50p coin. Tyler made an effort to hide the look of disappointment on his face for her sake. It’s better than nothing.

‘Is that all you have to wear?’

‘I’m afraid so little miss, I foolishly didn’t pack for all seasons, when I moved here.’

‘Oh you must be freezing! Listen I don’t have far to walk home now anyway, here take this’. The girl removed her winter coat and placed it over Tyler’s shoulders with care. He felt the corner of his eye burn as a hesitant tear formed. He was grateful, very grateful.

‘You don’t have to…’

‘No it’s okay, you need it more!’

‘Thank you’ Tyler whispered hoarsely.

The girl walked away down the road. Tyler pulled the coat over his knees to use as a blanket, as he moved the coat up to himself, he saw a label stitched into the back of the coat, where the neck would rest.

On the label read; property of Caitlin Sharp.

‘Caitlin’ he muttered softly to himself. For a reason he couldn’t explain he felt a strange connection to that name. He felt a warmth spreading inside of him. He would sleep peacefully that night, and dream of things that grow, things that feel warm against the winter night.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 2

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Tyler’s skin lustfully soaked up the sun’s rays. His walk, playfully described as swagger by his friends, was on auto-pilot, as he sauntered past the array of boutique stores, and coffee shops that littered the path to his favourite spot for a business lunch. He was joined by some friends from marketing; Alex, Billy, and Aaron. All dressed in full business attire. Tyler had just wrapped on a humorous anecdote, detailing his regrettable tryst with an overweight woman from the night before.

‘Not like you to shag an elephant, Tyler!’ Billy quipped. The others broke out into raucous laughter. All except Aaron. Cheeky cunt. Tyler was fond of Billy, and his eyes smiled broadly behind his designer sunglasses. He caught sight of Aaron’s arched eyebrows, his expression that of a disapproving parent. I swear that one’s fucking queer.

‘Any spare change, lads?’ asked some old boy from the side of the road, with a gruesome stench. He had the audacity to hold out his beggar’s cup before even receiving a response.

‘Nah mate’ Alex replied. ‘But if you’re looking to get loaded, you can drink my piss, that’s probably about 70% alcohol by now!’

As they walked on, a young buxom woman with glasses, and blonde hair, came into Tyler’s view as she was walking in the opposite direction, just about to pass them. His mind raced for a chat-up line, to show Billy he hadn’t dropped his standards after all, but then he noticed a chubby lad walking behind her, looked about student age. His eyes were on the woman in front of him as well, until they met Tyler’s for a moment. Tyler smiled the kind of smile that only the cruel know how to conjure. The kind that mocks the real kind, envious of its power.

‘Hello gorgeous, you aw’right?’ A mocking smirk crossed his face.

‘Good, thanks’ came the fat student’s curt, sarcastic reply, not missing a beat, and he walked straight on. Nonetheless the boys still saw the wit in Tyler’s remark, and guffawed on cue.

Jake put his disappointingly light cup back on the ground next to him. Rex whined as he looked imploringly into his eyes. The poor bastard hadn’t eaten for the last couple of days. Jake felt guilty.

‘Sorry boy, business has been slow of late’

Jake felt tired. Tired beyond what the body can feel, beyond the bones, beyond the flesh. Sleep wouldn’t remedy it, he knew. The weather turned, the clouds above were darkening. Jake began to assemble his shelter from his boxes. He wanted to make sure Rex wouldn’t get wet. Wanted to provide cover for Jumble too. He pushed him to the back of his makeshift fort. By rights, Jumble ought to be mad at him, ought to hate him like everyone else did, but in those black button eyes was a serenity. Forgiveness maybe…

‘I’m glad you’re still with me’ Jake told the bear.

Caitlin’s face was streaming with tears. Her face was red hot with anger. Jake felt helpless.

‘I’m sorry my love, but when somebody goes to Heaven, they CAN’T come back’

Jake bolted awake. He was crying. Rex was still asleep. There were footsteps in the distance. Jake’s stomach roared with hunger like a dying beast. The footsteps came closer. Jake saw a man wearing a grey suit, like one of those men had worn. He was wearing sunglasses despite it being the dead of night. Jake could hear him singing to himself. Good, he thought, people are more generous when they’re drunk. He had been too, once.

‘Excuse me sir, could you spare any change?’

‘Oh, it’s you again’ the man had approached with a drunken stagger, yet his speech was strangely clear. He kneeled beside Jake.

‘So what’s your deal, lost your job?’

‘Yeah…’ Jake answered uncertainly.

‘So you just sit here, day after day, asking good people, working people for money huh? You can’t do anything to earn it?’

‘I’m not work-shy, never have been, I’m happy to work.’

‘All right then!’ the man jumped up with aplomb, he pulled out his wallet, and drew a wad of cash out.

‘Dance for me, do a merry jig, and I’ll give you this.’

Jake’s posterior was rooted to the ground. ‘No’ he said firmly.

The man laughed. ‘Well beggars can be choosers after all, eh?’ His face darkened. ‘You stink, your dog stinks, your little hut here stinks. You need the money for some fucking soap!’

He lunged his arm forward and withdrew Jumble.

‘What are you doing!?’

‘What am I doing? What the fuck is this old man? He stinks worse than you. Oh, I get it, do you keep your stash in him? You got some smack in here?’

‘Please just give the damn bear back.’ Jake’s voice was breaking beneath the weight of his anger and his hands were shaking with mounting fear.

‘Let’s see what your stash is like’ the man ripped off Jumble’s head, and plunged a hand into the stuffing, pulling chunks out as he did. The stuffing fell to ground like snowflakes descending in sadness.

‘Well this is disappointing’ he dropped Jumble to the ground. ‘Are you taking the fucking piss? You have nothing old man?’

Tyler was enraged. This stinking old bastard was punking him, he looked like a junkie, he was bound to have something. He’d teach him a lesson. He grabbed him by the head, and slammed it into his knee. He released, and his head flopped to the ground, the nose streaming blood. He started to work the torso, punching first then kicking. The old boy groaned, and repeated a mantra of ‘please… stop… please’. Finally Tyler whipped his cock out and took a piss on the old man. He would have to tell Alex about this later. 70% alcohol by now.

‘Here ya go mate, have a drink on me’. Tyler smiled. A smile only the cruel can conjure.

The Teddy Bear Principle – Part 1

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Jake’s hands were getting shaky. Jittering again, a memory stitched into the veins of his fingers. A reflex. His eyes darted to the dregs of his black coffee. He drained it. No good. Tomorrow’s lecture notes, threadbare on a mockingly bright laptop screen. A cobbled together slide show. He yawned exasperatedly. His once handsome face was taut. Skin pulled back tight by wires, and his eyes blood red, thick dark circles underneath. His mind conjured the image of Alex from A Clockwork Orange when he was in that chair.

‘Daddy!’ cried Caitlin. He would have to go see to her. Because she wasn’t here anymore. Deep down he knew Caitlin would probably be more comforted by her, but now he was the best she had.
‘Daddy!’ she was crying through thick sobs. ‘Where is he?’

Jake clambered up the stairs to Caitlin’s room. She was five years old, with her mother’s face except chubby. Brown hair tied in pigtails, wearing blue pyjamas with starfish on them. She was sat up on her bed, the covers thrown off.

‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’ Jake asked soothingly.

‘I can’t find Jumble’ Caitlin’s voice was heavy with concern, her eyes wide. A rush of love hit Jake like waves breaking on rocks. He smiled.

‘I’m sure I can find him. Where did you last see him?’

‘I can’t remember’. Jake watched as Caitlin’s eyes searched her memories, moving from side to side, scanning for an image. Trying to locate a teddy bear called Jumble.

The next 15 minutes, Jake searched up and down in every likely place to no avail. He knew getting Caitlin to sleep without Jumble would be a nightmare. Ever since it happened she had clung to that bear each night. In the early days she had slept in Jake’s bed. Eventually he decided that couldn’t go on, it wouldn’t be good for her. And besides he was ashamed of the stench on his breath. He always chewed gum of course, but it was never enough.

The jittering was too much. Jake sighed. He needed a little something just to take the edge off. He would then wash his mouth out, chew some gum, and let Caitlin sleep with him. Tomorrow they could look for Jumble together. It’s not like he’s walked off. Jake approached the freezer, opened it up and took out a bottle of vodka, poured some into a glass, and sipped without a wince. He was yet to close the freezer as a memory of earlier on in the evening came to him.

‘Neapolitan ice cream is Jumble’s favourite!’ Caitlin had argued.

‘Sorry love, but you can’t have ice cream two nights in a row, you or Jumble.’

Jake went back to the open freezer and checked the bottom drawer, and sure enough, there he was! A box of Neapolitan ice cream with a sheepish looking teddy bear with its arms clutching one side of the box. His inanimate face resembled that of child-like guilt somehow. Jake couldn’t stay mad at him though. He laughed and picked him up with one hand. The other still occupied the vodka, which he now placed down on a kitchen counter.

When Jake returned triumphantly to Caitlin’s room, she was sat exactly how he had left her. She was gently rocking herself from side to side, a curious little habit she had picked up since it happened.

‘Jumble, you’re okay!’ she exclaimed joyfully. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, as Jake sat behind her, and placed a kiss on her forehead. She placed her chin on Jumble’s head.

‘Where was he?’

‘It appears he was hungry and fancied some night-time ice cream’.

Caitlin pulled her head back, realisation dawned on her face. The expression was exactly the same as her mother’s had been when she had suddenly remembered something.

‘I left my coat behind, hang on, one sec hun…’

Jake’s chest had been stabbed with bitter ice. Just for a second. Then he smiled again.

‘Neapolitan is his favourite!’

‘Yeah I know’ Jake chuckled. ‘Go to sleep now, both of you’

Jake approached the door. Began closing it.

‘I love you Dad’.

‘I love you too’. The light slowly began to fade to nothing as the door was closing. Then blackness.

He woke up on his blanket on a cold, hard London street corner, sheltered from the elements by his cardboard box. The stray dog, he had befriended, was licking his face, as the sun pierced his weary eyes.

‘Morning Rex’.