Hollow Bones Research Paper

Have you been looking for a new house that will make you feel the worst you’ve ever felt before. You’re in for a treat if you stay at 647 Blood Ave.. As you wander around the house there is torn down walls and broken windows. As you sleep through the night wind washes upon your body and chills rush through from head to toe. Vines crawl and wrap around the house even broken windows and torn down walls are covered. It holds the house tightly, do not cut a vine, or it’ll be like you just disappeared . Interested yet?..., I’ll tell you there’s more to come. As you follow your way to the back there is an old abandoned barn. There use to be cows and chickens that would run the grounds of 647 Blood Ave. Now there dismembered corpse are what scatters

After two years of an humble work as merchant strange things started to happen in the Yergeri: there was a wind that was making people going crazy, it was rewaken corpses like undead monsters and ancients legends was waking up: the Choir of Nightmares was began.

Welcome to Crookshollow, a sleepy English village famous for supernatural happenings. Here, all sorts of creatures lurk in the shadows. Vampires, ghosts, and – of course – shifters. There’s danger and mystery around every corner, but in Crookshollow –

Nine million dead haunt this landscape. Who is on the lookout from this strange tower to warn us of the coming of new executioners

A cry echoed from the heart of an old abandoned building. Quiet wails filled the empty hallways, the haunting echo ringing in my ears. Quickly, I whipped my head around to look for signs of possible footprints, or another soft whimper perhaps. “What could be causing such weeping?” was the first thought that entered in my train wreck of a mind. Suddenly, a pungent stench of fear filled my nose as I wandered about the maze of halls, my focus on the small trail of blood leading down the hallways. Perception and keened sensed activated for me as adrenaline rushed through my nerve-stricken body. As I darted about, scurrying around with senses on edge, I found in front of me a large room with towering ceilings.

On the sixth road of the sixth block and the sixth house lies 666 devil blood curdling lane, the outside is not furnished seeing into the dead room of the ninth story. When seeing this blackened smoke house where the sun never shines it will send tingles of despite and sorrow ness down your broken back and a shrilled noise through your ear. The shape shifter at the front of the house will beguile you in right before they change into a soul sucking monster, and will suck the life right out of you and use your bones as they new walkway going into the big mysterious bold blackened door. When the ninety year old trees lean over to all the bedroom's windows it will keep you up all night with the screeching sound of it scratching on the window.

I, my friend Pierre, and his dad were travelling to a cemetery of a small town near Forbach, France. It was late afternoon and Pierre’s dad wanted to show me a plague grave. When we reached a small ancient looking church we got out to look around. They brought me to a large structure with iron bars for walls and meticulously carved stone framing the ceiling and floor. Inside were 390-450 skulls, and a corresponding amount of other skeletal remains. They were piled in a substantial heap; out in the open, exposed to the elements. After inspecting some of the other graves, we hopped in the car and left.

It takes a minute to register what I just saw and to plot my course. In one hallway there were bones that seemed to move in a limpid rhythm and another was lit by lustrous, golden lanterns and was actually adequate looking. As I was about to turn into the bone hallway, I see something come out of the illuminated hallway. It was someone very familiar someone I knew very well, but I couldn’t seem to remember at the moment. He said to me,” It’s time for you to wake up.” I find myself dematerializing and then I’m

Through the dismal half-light, my eyes could only just make out an immense staircase that stretched up the decrepit landing. A strange odour emanated from the wooden steps, suggesting I was perhaps not the first mortal soul to wander these deserted halls, nor would I be the last to leave, alive, at least. A series of gashes lined the wall, unsettlingly similar to those found in the gas chambers at Auschwitz. Below my feet, two depressions in the wood trailed up the stairs, worn away where people had once roamed. Burnt out candles lined the scorched snaking bannisters that ran parallel until they finally met further on. A chilling wind sliced through the floorboards creating an eerie whistle that echoed off the peeling walls.

It’s 8pm, and the museum is about to close for the night. As the sea of people begin to drain out the main door, I remain. I love going to the museum, and since I don’t get the chance to go often, I’m determined to be the last to leave. All alone, the rooms fill with the whispers of the undead. I can’t hear it, but I know it’s there. I touch a sculpture that was in the center of my path as I stroll down the hallway. Cold as a block of ice.

Screams, now hard to define that from a warm flesh from that of a cold metal, fills the vacancy of the pale, grey sky. The sound of bullets rushing through the air sears an edge of my agonizing consciousness. I recognize, from the mound I stand, the town evolving into a caldron with a fire underneath. The heavy iron body never heats up directly. Gradually, it becomes warm; gradually, it becomes boiling; and gradually, it fetters the one, rushing to escape from a suffocating heat, inside its thick mass filled with the inescapable doom. From the chaos, which I refuse to believe, I see the caldron of reality.

Golden light wafts in through the stained glass windows, casting beams onto the tiles below. I can tell that I'm in the king's Hall of Judgement, even though I had never before been there. The Delta Rune is displayed in bright gold on the walls and windows, the royal symbol that represents all monsterkind. I feel pain shooting through me. Burning, seething pain that pounds in my chest. It's blurry, but when I glance down there's a gaping wound in my chest with dark red blood gushing from it. A new melody is blending with the bells- discordant, slow. It repeats over and over, getting louder and faster.

As I cautiously opened the creaky gate, I stared around at the graveyard. The whispers of newly departed souls clung to me like a scent. The hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle. Someone, or something was watching me.

Alveolar bone is an intramembranous bone structure and it is formed from mesenchyme condensations during embryonal development. Growth of this bone is linked to the whole process of mandible formation but it mainly influences teeth. Their interactions with alveolar bone are crucial for the proper function of dentition. Abnormalities in expression of signaling molecules (RUNX2, BMP, PTHrP, etc.) and receptors (PTH1R, VDR, etc.) in most cases lead to several developmental disorders such as an alveolar bone invasion into a dental pulp, tooth eruption problems and many other (Liu et al., 1998; Mekaapiruk et al., 2002; Philbrick et al., 1998).

There is still uneasiness in the air, a signal of more trouble to come. Tonight though all is well and I will rest well knowing there is one less undead roaming the forest. Reinforcing my resolve to eliminate the stain of Xavier's touch from this land, I remind myself that I am the Dark Slayer and no undead shall trespass on this land without feeling the wrath of my blades. With my family at my back, we will