She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 27: Patchwork
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 27 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating Sup13+ (adult theme; horror elements that might be too scary for children under 13; bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005. This chapter was written in Sept-Oct. 2008.
Word Count: 4,733
Summary: While Samara and the others make good on their threats, Alexandra pulls two people who have never met (Sam being one of them) into a vision that joins the past with the present. They serve as witnesses to Samara's methods of intimidation.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series. This chapter contains the hunting of animals.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics Prompt #27 Narcissus and Coclaim100 Prompt #27 Passages.
Author's Notes: This chapter is a cross-over with the TV shows Supernatural and a brief appearance by Little House on the Prairie.
Set pre-series for Supernatural, during Sam's years at Stanford. Very post-series for LHotP.
Thanks to Rekka for translating my English into Japanese!
Title of this chapter comes from the way that the hallucination from the past experienced by two different people at the same time is combined with what is really happening to Jasmine in the present time (which, here, is 2004). Throw in Svetlana's dream from Day 21 and it's a patchwork vision, a crazy quilt!
The "miss"/"ma'am" thing? Actually happened to me. I was the "ma'am." >_<
For those of you who see "cross-over with Little House on the Prairie" and think, "Must be crack!fic," you're very wrong. LHotP wasn't just a sappy, goodie-two-shoes show full of church and life lessons. It often got very, very dark. Those darker aspects of the show are explored in this x-over.
Eight blocks. Eight blocks between Stacy's house and Bassett Park. It didn't sound that far, but to a worried, frantic teenager, it might as well have been eight miles.
The park itself covered half a mile of forested trails and two playgrounds - Jasmine could be anywhere within its boundaries. When Stacy got closer, she would call Jasmine again and find out exactly where she was. She quickened her pace, anxious to meet up with her friend before anything happened to her.
Jasmine currently headed across one of the playgrounds, passing between the swings and the slide with the big clown head at the top. One block away, Beckett suddenly came awake, his eyes unfocused. He remembered lying down on his bed to finish his homework, but must've fallen asleep; his Algebra II book still lay open under his folded arms. Crap, he'd planned to call Jasmine before eleven... it was after 2 AM now. Beckett had no choice but to wait for school tomorrow to ask her if she knew what was going on with Stacy.
The last thing he remembered before blacking out was picking up his phone and dialing Jasmine's number against his will.
When her phone rang, Jasmine expected it to be Stacy. Her brow furrowed in confusion when she saw it was Beckett. Maybe Stacy had called him. "Beckett? What are you doing up?"
"I talked to Stacy." His voice sounded strange, a little too high and a bit childlike. "I'm coming to see you."
"You'll be meeting me?"
"Yeah. Wait there for us, okay?"
"Stacy told you where I am?"
"I know." Beckett suppressed the urge to giggle.
"Is she meeting us too?" Jasmine asked, wondering because he'd said 'us' when referring to for whom she should wait.
"Stace probably doesn't want to wake her mom, huh?"
"No, she certainly doesn't." Unable to help it, Beckett let out a little giggle.
Jasmine laughed slightly, paused, and then questioned, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replied with another giggle.
"Have you been drinking? You're acting funny."
Tittering giddily, Beckett said, "You'll see," teasing her.
Jasmine had no idea why he seemed so cheerful when his girlfriend was so upset, but decided that maybe he'd taken a nip or two before Stacy called him. "Whatever. I'm in the playground with the clown slide. See you when you get here."
"Bye." Beckett hung up and began giggling mischievously without reserve, like a little girl.
Stacy still had six blocks to go.
Beckett was out his window and in the park within two minutes. As soon as Jasmine saw him, she was convinced he had been drinking because of the giddy look of anticipation on his face, like a child about to play with his favorite toy.
"Hi again," he said.
"Hey..." Jasmine's brow knitted quizzically. "You're awfully bouncy tonight."
Beckett snickered, his fingertips to his lips. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
There was a long pause as Jasmine tried to figure out what was going on. "Uh, yeah, you're Beckett. Are you playing some kind of game here?"
"We're playing Run, Rabbit, Run," he replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Uhhh huh. Well, this is a lousy time for that. Stacy's freaking out and she needs us. So sober up real quick, okay?" Jasmine's tone had become stern and lacked all patience.
"You don't understand..."
As those words came out of his mouth, Jasmine became overwhelmed with the feeling that someone was standing behind her. She turned her head and peered out of the corner of her eye to see a girl with long, dark hair standing there; her hair obscured most of her face. Jasmine, horrified, realized that it was one of those girls, the girls who came to Stacy's house that night. The girls who each crawled out of a phantom well.
"...I'm not Beckett," he finished, and snickered again, hissing through his teeth.
Jasmine stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. She frantically tried to sort out what the hell was happening. "Then who are you?"
Instead of answering with a name, the two girls began to sing. "Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby. When you wake, you'll have cake, and all the pretty little horses..."
Swallowing hard, Jasmine tried to argue for safe passage from their grip. "Why are you bothering me? I didn't even watch that damn tape."
"Because you're a meddler," Samara said through Beckett.
"Meddler," Charlotte added, practically spitting the word in disgust.
"I haven't done anything to you. Just let me go, okay?"
"You can't be allowed to go. You're meddling. Why couldn't you just mind your own business?" Charlotte hissed.
Just like that night at Stacy's house, Jasmine began to feel the air around her growing thinner, permeated with evil. Oppressive and claustrophobic. She tried to run in the opposite direction, but Charlotte was there, too. "You can't get away," she laughed. "We won't have our dog taken from us."
"What the hell are you talking about? I didn't take any dog," Jasmine said angrily.
"You're trying to help her right now," Samara-Beckett said. "Stacy."
"She's our dog," laughed Charlotte.
"We own her."
Looking back and forth between Charlotte and Beckett, Jasmine said, "I remember the deal. But what did you do to Beckett? He didn't watch the tape either."
"Some people are special. Some people can do things," Samara-Beckett explained.
"She can possess people like that," Charlotte finished.
It took Jasmine a few seconds to comprehend what they were trying to say. "You can possess people who can do weird psychic stuff, like what Beckett sees when he touches things?"
"Want to know what else I can do in this body?"
"Not particularly." Jasmine looked for an opening to run.
"I can keep you from telling anyone about it." A wicked look upon his face, Beckett advanced on her.
Now alone in his dorm room, Sam chewed on the end of a pen cap and thought about Jessica. He really tried to focus on homework, but his train of thought always drifted back to her. Her soft blonde hair between his fingers, how good she smelled, the feel of her warm lips on his... at this rate, he wouldn't get anything done.
"You think you've figured something out, hm?"
Eyes in an angry squint, Sam turned around to face the ghost of Alexandra Baptiste. He hadn't heard or sensed her presence this time, but he recognized that voice. "Wow. You're as quiet as a mouse," Sam said, and amended, "A really evil mouse."
"Cute. I asked you a question."
"Like I give a crap. But yeah, we did figure something out. You survive the curse by making reproductions of all the paintings. Jessica figured it out, actually." Sam spoke in a confident, almost conceited tone.
"Clever. Are you sure that's all?"
The smug grin faltered briefly. "No. I never said we figured out everything."
"There's much you don't know about us and our curse, Sam Winchester," Alexandra assured. "You shouldn't fool with dangerous things you don't understand."
Jeering, Sam replied, "You say that as if I've never hunted your kind before."
Alexandra smirked. "It isn't necessarily yourself you should be worried about."
The smile instantly melted from Sam's face, replaced by a look of protective fury. "You leave Jess out of this."
"I will if you will."
He remembered the books. The paintings in the books. And he bargained. "I didn't mean to put her in danger. She hasn't done anything to threaten you, not really. Your paintings, the ones reproduced in the books... looking at them doesn't curse a person, does it?"
Smiling roguishly, Alexandra moved a little closer to him, leaning down into his face. "That would be a sticky situation for you to be in if it does, wouldn't it?" She watched the alarm flash in his eyes before continuing, not giving him a chance to protest. "I want to be friendly with you, Sam. I'll answer your question. No, looking at my paintings reproduced in the books does not curse you. You must view actual works of art, the originals or the painted copies. There must be motion to enact the curse. There must be the flurry of brushes on canvas, the laying on of paint. The action of the arms and hands. The click and whir of machinery."
Confused, Sam repeated, "The click and whir of machinery?"
"As I said, Sam..." She leaned in, locking eyes with him. "...there is much you do not know about our curse."
Sam attempted to figure out what she meant, going over it in his head. Alexandra interrupted his train of thought by saying, "There are things I can show you so you'll better understand. You still think you have a chance of stopping us if you can just figure out how we operate, but you're wrong."
Already the walls of his room were changing; Sam sat up straight in alarm and helplessly watched them give way to a forest in the daylight. "How are you doing this? I'm not even asleep!"
"Dreams aren't the only thing we can send to you, Sam." Alexandra faded from view.
"Hey! Are you leaving me here?!" He wasn't sure at first if she had actually sent him somewhere or if this was all an illusion. When Alexandra didn't answer, Sam looked around in an attempt to figure out what she wanted him to see. He experimentally put his hand on a tree; it passed right through it. "A-ha. This isn't real. It's a mirage."
A group of people came through the brush, talking and laughing. Sam recognized some of them. A man, a little overweight, with graying hair, whom Alexandra had painted in several of her works of art, and the girl from one of the double-sided paintings, Samara - she was riding on his shoulders. Another of the daughters of Heptamera, Charlotte, walked beside them. The other two guys, Sam had not seen before. All of the men carried hunting rifles.
One of the paintings of the man now carrying Samara was called Richard Morgan. That was enough for Sam to believe that must be his name.
"Didn't I tell you this is excellent hunting grounds, boys?" Richard said.
One of his buddies replied, "I did see two deer on our way in here." He held his hands apart. "Big ol' racks of antlers."
"I'd like to get me one of those," the other man remarked.
"Patience, gentlemen. Just let me put my good luck charms to work." Richard was holding Samara's hands; he now shook them playfully. She beamed with love and pride at the attention.
Charlotte also smiled. Apparently, they were the 'good luck charms.'
"How does this work, Richard?"
"You two go wait in the clearing. Samara and her cousin will flush out the game. There's no shooting in this area, okay? The girls will be here. They'll send the game to you."
"How do you do that?" the hunting pal asked the older child, Charlotte.
She shrugged. "Just something we have a knack for."
"Don't concern yourself with that," Richard said with a chuckle. "You just get ready for all the prime game that'll be coming your way."
The two men looked at each other dubiously. Sam could understand why they were skeptical. Who would believe that two kids, maybe 6 and 8 years old if he was guessing their ages right, could flush out game and send them in a particular direction? Obviously, these two men were not aware of what made Samara and Charlotte special.
Richard shook his head and laughed. "Trust me, boys. You'll be amazed."
For Jolene, it was the middle of the night, over 3,000 miles away from this young man whom she did not know, but their paths were about to intersect in a way they could not have imagined.
She stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light, yawning at her reflection in the mirror. Hollister still slept in her bed. After using the toilet, Jolene returned to the mirror over the sink to examine her face, frowning at it. Had the lines around her eyes gotten deeper? God, getting old sucked.
The other day, as she left work, a man held the door open for her and the dental assistant in front of her. When Jenn passed by him, he said, "Good evening, miss." When Jolene passed by him, he said, "Goodnight, ma'am."
Ooh, that burned her ass.
She put her fingertip on her temple and stretched out the skin next to her eye to see how it was supposed to look. Maybe she should get Botox injections. Did they do that for crow's feet?
Either way, Jolene knew she still had it. At least, a hot number like Hollister thought so. They were both still in demand at nearly 40, and there was something to be said for that. Jolene posed like a pin-up girl, piling her hair on top of her head and puckering her lips at the mirror. Oh yeah, still got it.
When the dark bedroom through the doorway behind her began to fill with trees, at first, Jolene's sleepy mind didn't register that anything was abnormal. Then her eyebrows dipped in the middle (Don't do that! It causes lines in the forehead!) and she turned to look.
The bedroom was disappearing. It was changing into a forest full of trees, in daylight, even. The darkness of her bedroom, with the silhouette of Hollister under the covers, rapidly vanished, to be replaced by another one of Samara's goddamn hallucinations.
Panicking, Jolene called, "Hollister!" as if there was something he could do to help. She whirled around in time to catch her reflection in the mirror one last time before it, too, changed into a tree. Within seconds of its beginning, the hallucination had left Jolene standing in a grouping of trees in her bare feet and black lace nightie.
"Holy fucking..." She noticed three men standing in a clearing about twenty feet away, waiting with guns in hand. At first, Jolene folded her arms across her scantily clad chest, but then remembered that people could never see her in these illusions. The ghosts, however, were different.
"It'd be just my luck that one of them's a ghost. And a cop," Jolene muttered, trying to cover herself.
Richard turned more toward her and pointed his gun in that direction, testing the sight.
"Hey, don't point that thing at me!" she screamed, and moved to one side.
Sam was intently watching Samara and Charlotte on the opposite side of the thick stand of trees, about thirty feet from Jolene. The two little girls had expressions of intense concentration on their faces, eyes squeezed shut. Charlotte had her fingertips to her temples, just like Cheyenne Bloodworth when she used her powers. Her identical powers, Sam was convinced of it now.
Charlotte began to speak to the open air. "Come, my sisters. Help us flush out the rabbit. The rabbit seeks to hurt us."
"The rabbit," Samara repeated.
"Safe passage for my sisters. Come, help us."
"Help us," said Samara.
The children both relaxed a bit, opening their eyes, and looked out over the forest with expressions of vitriol. "They're coming," Charlotte whispered.
Somewhere out there, an animal bayed in fear.
"Hey, don't point that thing at me!"
Sam turned toward the sound of the voice and spotted someone moving among the trees. He decided to investigate.
Jolene heard Sam coming before she got a good look at him; the leaves crunched under his feet. He had to be the biggest guy she'd ever seen, next to Hollister, but he was overall very non-threatening with his shaggy hair and boyish face. He came loping toward her, a confused look in his eyes. "What's the matter, ma'am?"
That word again! "I'll tell you what's the matter. That asshole over there just pointed his gun at me and... you can see me?!"
"Yeah. You can see me?"
"How could I miss you?" Jolene tried to cover her chest. "Are you another ghost?"
"No, I'm alive. I'm Sam." He looked her up and down, from her tosseled blonde hair to her bare feet, partially buried in leaves. "What are you doing out here dressed like that?"
"A couple minutes ago, I was resting comfortably in my bed, and I got up to use the can and out of nowhere, my room turns into these woods. It's that little brat, Samara. She and the ghost with the lace hood keep doing this shit to me," Jolene ranted angrily.
Ghost with the lace hood... "Are you a hunter?"
"No. I told you, I'm not with them." She gestured with her head at the men waiting with their guns.
"What's your name?"
"Jolene." As Sam tried to figure the situation out, so did she. "Did you watch the tape too?"
Sam's face worked in confusion. "Tape?" Four snippets of conversation and passages he had read played themselves back in his mind.
You know, it seems like a rather clunky way to run a curse. You can't exactly carry seven paintings around with you.
The ring has been in operation for more than two hundred years. It has changed with the times, but it still functions.
Hitler also suggested that film might be a more efficient way to accomplish the seven-day curse, and told her to experiment with it to see what results she could get by making her own "cursed films."
The click and whir of machinery.
The realization came to Sam's face just as Jolene opened her mouth to explain. "There's a videotape," he said, mentally kicking himself.
"You just learned this?" she commented. "So you didn't watch it?"
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Uh... that's a bit complicated."
He had barely finished his sentence when Jolene squealed in surprise; something furry ran over her foot. They both looked down to see rabbits, twenty or thirty of them, running along the ground toward the hunters. The animals seemed afraid, almost crazed.
Sam and Jolene heard the voices of the children in their heads. "Run, rabbit, run. Through the woods and trees to your burrow. Maybe you can make it to safety."
"Those girls are doing it. They're attacking the animals," Jolene said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw something brown, much bigger, charging through the trees. He turned just in time for the adult buck, full rack of antlers aimed at his chest, to run into him headlong. He heard Jolene scream and felt the wind of the deer's motion, but it took him several frantic seconds to realize that the animal passed through him, as if he was not really there.
The deer blindly slammed into a tree next to Jolene and then charged on by. She screamed again. One of the hunters beyond cried, "Whoa!" and then the barrage of gunfire began.
"Are you okay?" Jolene called. "That's happened to me before. Scary, isn't it?"
Still panting, Sam tried to recover from how bad he'd been startled by the experience. The deer had run through him as if he was about as substantial as a paper doll. "It's all an illusion. We're not really here."
"We are and we aren't. Like you said, it's complicated."
More rabbits, a few raccoons, and a gaggle of squirrels scurried by. The hunters only shot at the animals they really wanted.
"Run, rabbit, run. I'm going to show you something. And you know you're not going to like it."
Astonished, Sam watched as a black teenage girl ran by, keeping time with the animals. She had a cell phone to her ear and was talking to someone in a panicked tone. "I'm alone in the park. He's still following me! Send the cops, quick!"
Jolene thought she recognized her. "I've seen that kid before. Hey Jasmine! You're Jasmine, right?" she called.
Jasmine kept going as if she couldn't hear her.
She was being pursued by Samara. But a different Samara. A little older, taller, with her wet hair covering her face. The condition of her skin could only be described as withered, dead. Sam gazed over at the younger, live Samara; she and Charlotte concentrated on the animals. They ran around the girls in streams like a forked river. As he watched, a moose charged out of the brush and headed right for the children, bleating angrily. Sam gasped at the sheer size of the animal, especially compared to the smallness of the two girls. It got within a few feet of them and stumbled on its long, clumsy legs, eyes wild. The moose almost fell in its effort to halt the charge and ran around Samara and Charlotte as if they had somehow discouraged it from trampling them. Sam thought he knew how. The animal headed right for the hunters.
Jasmine did also.
"No, not that way!" hollered Jolene, running after the teen. The moose charged up behind her.
"It's mine!" one of Richard's hunting pals declared. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
Jolene recoiled as if she'd been hit, but it was the moose that went down. Jasmine ran right through the hunters as if they were the ones who weren't there. A second of comprehension and Jolene began to scream.
Sam faintly heard the hunters celebrating the spectacular kill as he ran to Jolene. "Are you hit? Let me see!"
She wouldn't stop screaming, arms spread out at her sides in shock. "He shot me! Oh God, the bastard shot me!"
Sam examined her chest. There was a smoking bullet hole in her nightie, close to her heart, but no wound. "There's no blood. You aren't hit."
Jolene didn't seem to be able to stop screaming; she was almost crying now. Sam heard a faint male voice calling out, "Jolene! What's the matter? Jolene!" and watched as her body moved as if someone was shaking her. "Jolene!" The woman's face jerked to one side, accompanied by the sound of a hand slapping her skin. A second later, she was gone, and Sam was left on his own, hoping she was all right.
Hollister finally saw recognition in Jolene's eyes when she turned her face back to him. She instantly burst into tears.
"Hollister! Danny! Don't let her take me away again!" She grabbed onto him and held on tight.
"Jolene, you've been here the whole time," he replied, smoothing down her hair in an effort to calm her. "I think you had another hallucination."
"But he shot me!" She put her finger through the bullet hole and wiggled it. The action made her realize that there was no blood or even an injury on her chest, just as Sam had said. "But... I felt..."
Since she was already holding out her nightie, Hollister peeked down its front, then turned her sideways and looked at her back. "There's another bullet hole back here," he announced in disbelief.
They examined the two largely circular rips in the fabric of Jolene's nightie like they were looking at a mirage. She finally said, "An entrance and an exit hole. I was there, but not there."
"I better write a passage in my journal about it while it's still fresh in my mind." Jolene got on the bed and dug her journal out of the nightstand.
"Your 'I'm seeing fucked up shit' journal?"
"That's only its nickname. Its official name is my 'Holy crap when will this fucking week ever end' journal," Jolene joked back. She lay across the bed on her stomach and opened the little book; she had already detailed her other hallucinations in its pages. "You can read it when I'm done."
"Okay." Hollister paused long enough to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad whoever shot you didn't really shoot you. Not only because you're kinda cool, but because it would have looked pretty messed up to the police," he chuckled.
"Really," Jolene agreed, and added, "Especially since we both own guns."
The first thing Jolene wrote down was a name. She wanted to make sure she didn't forget it.
Following after Jasmine and the dead Samara, Sam made note of the name of each person he'd seen. Jolene. Jasmine. He was convinced they were real people, and he would check the paper for their names tomorrow. Sam hoped he wouldn't find them, because that would mean certain tragedy.
A videotape. He and Jessica had been right on the edge of figuring that one out. What was on the videotape? Images of the paintings? They must all be concerned with Samara; she was the one pursuing the girl.
As Sam watched, Samara changed for a split second into someone else. He didn't have time to get a good look at him, but he thought it was a dark-haired teenage boy. "Okay, I'm lost," Sam thought.
"Are the police coming?" Jasmine cried into her phone, looking over her shoulder.
Sam tried calling her name, but it didn't seem she could hear him either. She looked to her right and then to her left, gasping in agitation and fear. "How many of there are you?!" Jasmine wailed.
Looking in each direction, Sam saw them too. More girls like Samara: long, wet hair obscuring their faces, some tall like older girls, some small like children. Two girls in similar dresses, holding hands. A taller girl in a long, white dress, jerking when she walked in ways that seemed painful and unnatural. One who wasn't quite tall enough to be a woman, on the edge of adulthood, whose hair differed from the others in that it was clearly platinum blonde when dry, wearing an old fashioned dress and high-button shoes. Her stockings were torn in three places. These girls loomed in the forest, walking slowly toward Jasmine like horror movie zombies. They were playing a game with her, the aim to menace and scare her as much as possible.
Three more deer dashed through the trees; Sam watched as they passed through Jasmine as the one deer had him. He wondered as he saw her sprint through a grouping of trees as if they weren't there if she was even seeing the same forest he was.
Splashing through one end of a culvert filled with rainwater, Jasmine attempted to make it to the road. Leafy branches whipped at her face and arms as she tried to push them out of the way. Gotta get to the road, flag down a car. Escape from the crazy bitches.
"Jigoku wa genjitsu da," Sadako said on the wind. And then in clipped English, "Hell is real."
His head snapping in that direction, Sam listened and realized that the girl who had said that must be the one who spoke in Japanese to him through the television. He didn't let that distract him for long. Although Jasmine probably couldn't see him, Sam was determined to catch up with her. She was fast, but how could he just stand back and watch a young girl in jeopardy without trying to help her? He ran as hard as he could and felt himself gaining ground. Sam passed Samara; she turned to go another way, possibly taking a shortcut. He closed in on the girl. His breath coming out in loud pants, Sam reached for her shoulder. He could feel her hair brushing his fingertips. Closer... closer...
Sam's hand slammed into the bookshelf next to the window of the dorm room he shared with Gerald. Because it happened so suddenly, he couldn't stop his urgent forward motion, and careened into the bookcase, almost tipping it over. He cried out in pain, falling to the floor, and yelped again as several books fell from the teetering bookcase and hit him on the arm and chest. It took him a few seconds to recover and figure out that Alexandra had deliberately yanked him out of the hallucination at the most crucial moment. "You fucking bitch!" Sam yelled at the ceiling in rage.
Jasmine could see the road ahead. "Ha! I'm a member of the track team, you stupid brats!" she shouted. Almost there. She was going to make it!
"Run, rabbit, run. Maybe you can make it to safety," Samara taunted. "But I doubt it."
it won't stop
The Ringu series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki. My fanfic is more based on ideas presented in the films, which were created by director Hideo Nakata and screenwriter Hiroshi Takahashi.
The motion picture The Ring is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture The Ring Two is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures. This fanfic is heavily inspired by ideas presented in the American movies, which were directed by Gore Verbinski and Hideo Nakata and written by Ehren Kruger.
I do not know if the prequel, The Ring 3, will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.
Supernatural is (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television.
Little House on the Prairie (TV Series) is (c) 1974 NBC Enterprises and Lionsgate Home Entertainment.
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.
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there really is a tape