The Carl Hildridge Journals

By Arthur Richter

This story is a gothic thriller that tells of a woman named Alice Sparks, who came to possess special abilities after entering an old dilapidated mansion that was possessed by the souls of those who were damned there by a servant of Satan named Hildridge. Hildridge had escaped Satan’s wrath by hiding inside one of his diaries, which Alice Sparks came upon while searching for antiques and relics she could sell in a nearby town. She became possessed by the escaped servant, Hildridge, who prompted her to vow and decrepit things to the townspeople in the nearby community. This led a small group of policemen to search for her and what they believed to be a journal that possessed diabolical incantations and that had the ability to open a portal for Satan himself to enter the world of the living. While seeking out the possessed woman and the journal, they encountered Satan’s forces, which sought to prevent the group from stopping Satan’s coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664133211

Arthur Richter

Hello, I’m Arthur Richter, the author of The Carl Hildridge Journals. This the first of a trilogy that came to me when I was traveling the United States at sixteen, riding the rails down South. That’s right, I would listen to hobos telling their tall tales just to pass the time. I thought I would tell one of my own. Of course, leaving a lot more to tell for the others to follow. I hope you become as enthralled as I did when I wrote them. They do become pretty enthralling.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Day 1

The year was 1948. Arthur Reynold, a thirty-eight-year-old antique dealer, along with his extremely attractive twenty-eight-year-old blond secretary, Helen Price, came upon the old ruins of the abandoned mansion of Carl Hildridge, a long dead man once believed to be a servant to one of Satan’s most awesome demons. The mansion was where he once held and took part in satanic rituals, down in the ominous dungeons below the main structure.

They were on their way to an estate auction being held in the town of Newton, some fifty miles away from where they resided, when they came upon what remained of the Carl Hildridge manor.

*     *     *     *

Will you look at that place, Helen? Art said, pointing to the abandoned ruins of a dilapidated mansion that appeared to be over a hundred years old. What do you say we stop and have a look around the old place?

Come on, Art. It’s just a run-down old place that’s been abandoned for years. There’s obviously nothing left that could be worth anything after all this time.

Yes, I know, but one never knows what one could find in a place like that, and by the looks of it, what’s left has to be free. Besides, we’ve plenty of time to get where we’re going. What do you say? I’ll even cut you in for half. You never know, there could be something of real value still buried inside that old place.

I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things, but all right. You and your damn scavenging. But I must admit, it does pay off at times. I should have known to dress properly for these unexpected adventures of yours, and I’m wearing my good slacks too.

I could always give you my pants. He suggestively grinned at her, as if harboring ulterior motives.

Just drive, and let’s get this over with. I just so happen to have brought a change of clothes with me. The last thing I want to do is let you get yourself out of your pants.

You don’t love me anymore.

Anymore, did you say? I can’t remember the subject ever coming up, do you? So do you love me?

Me and my big mouth.

And just what is that supposed to mean? she argumentatively asked.

Come on, Helen. I’m not even in your league. I’m a junk dealer. I deal in old relics and antiques. So let’s just forget I said anything. I don’t need to get into it right now.

Art pulled to a stop beside what was left of the main entrance of the place. Come on, let’s go in. Maybe we’ll find something to pay for this trip. He impatiently waited for her to change out of her good clothes, then walked around the car to open the door for her to get out.

He then anxiously led her up to the rotted door, which hung ajar, and pushed it aside, opening it. He led her inside, following the light from his flashlight, which lit his way inside, and then they went down some steps into what appeared to be a subterranean sunken living room. It was filled with cobwebs and termite-eaten furniture.

Art, I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this place. It gives me the willies. Let’s just go, there’s nothing here!

Will you relax and just look around? There’s always something that someone left behind. Now just look and be careful where you step. This floor doesn’t feel very sturdy.

Damn you, Art! I’m telling you, there’s something about this place that isn’t right! It’s making me feel as if something or someone is watching me. Let’s just forget it and get the hell out of here before something happens. Helen nervously pleaded with Art to leave, but he wasn’t listening to a word she was saying.

You’ve got to be joking. Look at this place! Why, it’s a gold mine. Now just keep looking. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.

You know something, Art? You could be right. She spotted something covered in a lot of dust and dirt beneath a rotted lamp table when she shone her flashlight on the ground, catching just a small corner of it peeking out. She bent down to pick it up and check what it might be, then inquisitively said, Now what do we have here? She lifted it and held it up to show Art, speaking up to get his attention as he enthusiastically continued to search around, ignoring her. Art, I think I found some sort of old book.

Well, amuse yourself with it and read it, but be damn careful not to ruin it. It might be worth something. I’ll have a closer look around this place, he replied pessimistically, ignoring the fact that it could be something of importance or worth interrupting his own investigation.

Art, this is no ordinary book. It looks to be a diary or a journal of some kind. She stood, shining her light on the dirty, crinkly pages and turning them very gently, trying not to rip any of them.

No, a diary is ordinary, Helen. It’s most likely written by someone who was wasting her time waiting for someone or something that never showed up. Besides, if it was handwritten and is still legible, it’s most likely not worth anything. This place has to be over a hundred years old, so stop wasting your time with it and keep on looking.

I don’t know about that, Art. Whoever it was that wrote this appears to have been a servant to someone demonic.

Hogwash! Demonic indeed. Don’t be ridiculous.

Hogwash, is it? Well, listen to this. Helen started reading what she could make out, holding the light over one of the pages. ‘Whoever should come upon my foreboding words, beware! You’re in the den of demons, where hundreds of men, women, and even children have come to suffer the excruciating horrors and then their deaths.’

Come on, Helen. That’s only a book of someone with a morbid sense of humor or horrific fantasies. Whoever wrote that trash had to be mentally unstable. Get rid of it.

I don’t think so, Art. Just listen to this.

Must I?

Hush and just listen will you? ‘Whoever enters this realm of demons, get out! Escape now while you can! Run! Run! And don’t look back! Run! Or suffer the same fate as all those others have suffered before you as well!’ Jesus, Art, let’s get the hell out of here!

Now just calm down, Helen. It’s hogwash, I tell you. You honestly can’t be believing in that crap?

Forget you! Just get me the hell out of here now!

All right, Helen, we’ll go. Now just calm down. I’m here. I’ll take care of you. Art started walking away from her, as if attempting to sneak off and only patronizing her so that he could continue to look around.

Where are you going? she asked, panicky.

Jesus, Helen, I’m just going to have a look around for future reference for when I come back. I won’t be going far. Now just relax. I’ll be right back. I’m not about to pass this place up. If anything happens, just yell out. I just want a few minutes to have a look around. He slowly backed away from her as he said that.

Wait, Art! she once again cried out in panic, flashing the light back onto the page of the book she was holding, getting Art to stop and look back at her.

Now what is it? he disturbingly answered back, becoming really annoyed by her nagging him.

There’s something else written here. No, wait, something is beginning to appear. She intensely strained her eyes to read what was appearing on the paper.

Helen, you’re really beginning to bug me.

Oh my god. Art, what have you gotten us into? she cried out, shocked. This damn book says here that it contains spells. ‘When holding this book out in front of you, it will hold off any evil that thou would encounter, but only once will it protect the bearer of this, my diary. Under no circumstances should the bearer ever put it down. No matter what thou should hear or see, or how terrified thou should become, never let it out of your hands. To do so could mean your death. Heed this, my warning. Go from this cursed place and never return. If you don’t, you will surely become a victim of your own choosing.’ Goddamn you, Art! Get me the hell out of here! Now!

All right, Helen, I hear you. Now just stay close.

Don’t worry, I’m right behind you! Just get moving, she fearfully said, following behind him, thinking he was going to lead her out of the cursed place.

I’m moving, dammit, but let’s just take it slow. That damn book isn’t going to stop the roof from coming down on our heads, he nervously said, cautiously taking his time leading her back the way they had come in, toward the steps.

Art! What was that? Helen said, panicky, shaking from the stress of the uncertainty of not making it back out alive.

Jesus, Helen, it’s just the house. Now calm down, and no more sudden stops. I can’t believe you. You’ve never been this frightened before. It’s just an old abandoned house, that’s all. Toss that damn book away and get it out of your head if it’s frightening you so damn much.

Art, are you sure you’re going in the right direction?

Sure, I am. See. He shone his flashlight ahead of him, toward the stairs and up to the door they had come in. There’s the door we came through.

It’s closed, Art! I was the last one in, and I don’t remember closing it!

Maybe it closed by itself. Come on, Helen, relax. We’re as good as out. Just a few more steps.

Maybe you’re right, Art, but I seem to recall a coatrack next to it.

You’re right, Helen. There was one. Art stopped uncomfortably to look around and see if he could spot it. He suddenly felt very uneasy about his position inside the house. Looking at the door, appraising the distance between it and them, he noticed he wasn’t getting any closer.

Art, I just had a frightening thought! Suppose someone locked it with us in here to be murdered?

Stop it, Helen! You’re jumping to conclusions that are only going to make our situation all that much worse. Now hand me that book.

No way! It’s mine! You can’t have it!

All right, Jesus. Keep the damn thing. There’s no need to go getting all hysterical. Now come on, let’s get out of here.

He took another step forward, leading her up the stairs toward the door and finally coming to a stop before it. He nervously thought to himself before trying to open it, Please, dear God, make it open.

You see, Helen, we’re at the door, he said to her, nervously reaching his shaking hand out to grasp hold of the doorknob.

Yes, dammit! Just open the damn door, will you? she answered, letting out a sigh of relief skeptically. Upon seeing the door open, she excitedly shouted out, It opened!

Sure, it opened. I knew it would the whole time. I told you that you had nothing to worry about, now didn’t I?

Sure, you did, Art, she nervously answered, just wanting to get the hell out, no longer caring what he was boasting about.

How, Helen, have I ever let you down? Art pushed the door all the way open with his foot, feeling confident it was the same door they had come through—only to startlingly discover that behind it was total darkness. What in the hell? he blurted out, startled, pointing the beam of light from his flashlight into yet another room. He ran the beam of light around the walls and floor, then up at the ceiling.

Bewildered, he said, This isn’t the way we came in. But it has to be. As he stood on the top step, he looked back down toward the steps they had both come up, confused to find them standing on the same step before the open door.

All right! Just what in the hell is going on here? He angrily stepped forward, entering the room.

Art! Helen shouted at him. Where are you going?

Inside, to see if there’s another way out. You have your damn book. Nothing can happen to you. That is, if you can believe in it. It’s only a damn old house. Now stay here, dammit.

You’re not leaving me here alone! She grabbed hold of his arm in panic, preventing him from going anywhere without her. I’m not going to let go of your arm until we’re out of this horrid place.

All right, Helen, so we’ll both go in. He abruptly stopped just before entering the room, spotting something lying on the floor. He focused his light on it. Will you look at what I just found? Art bent down to pick up the object—a sword, no less. He held it up before him, admiring it and shining his flashlight on it.

What good is an old sword going to do against what we might have to come up against in here, Art?

If anything so much as moves, it damn well better be dead. If it isn’t, I’ll chop its head off! Art commented, stepping further into the damp, musky room while grasping the sword, his knees shaking as if he were walking on a block of slippery ice.

He waited apprehensively, anticipating. He was straining his senses, hoping he would be able to forewarn Helen of any impending attacks of aggression. He was ready to swing out to kill as the rotted wooden floor creaked beneath his anticipating feet.

He stopped in the middle of the ominous room, running the light about him, grasping the sword tightly in his other hand. Look, Helen, a window. He concentrated the light on it and said, Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.

What in the hell? Art suddenly bellowed, panicking. Startlingly, he had become momentarily immobilized, then mesmerized by the blinding brilliance of illuminating lights coming from directly above his head, lighting up the whole room about him.

He protectively shoved Helen down to the floor at his feet. Frantically looking about the room, wanting to scream at the top of his lungs from utter fear, he saw nothing coming toward him and nothing to slash out against.

He was holding the sword tightly in his hand, ready to strike out at the first thing that came moving toward them. Then his eyes followed the blade of the sword upward to the blinding lights, praying to God nothing was swooping down on him from above.

Not being able to do a damn thing and still being somewhat paralyzed, he shouted out challengingly, hoping to frighten anyone or anything from taking advantage of his inability to defend himself, authoritatively demanding, Who in the hell turned them damn lights on?

Why, I did.

Huh? Art struggled to turn his whole body in the direction of the answering voice, jerking his head, attempting to look around him.

His eyes came to rest on an old woman’s face. She was staring at him as she sat calmly, cuddling an old man’s head on her lap as he lay stretched out on a rotted sofa against the wall beside Art.

Who the hell are you? Art skeptically asked, still struggling to regain the full use of the arm and hand holding on to the sword.

Welcome, young man, to our humble home, the old woman said calmly, greeting him as if she had nothing at all to fear from him or the sword he was holding.

This is your home? You actually live here? Art was finally able to take up a striking position, pointing the sword directly at her. The old man just calmly lay on the sofa with his head on her lap, paying Art little or no mind as being a threat to either of them.

Relax, young man. We’re terribly sorry if we frightened you. The old woman, dressed in ragged clothes, calmly spoke, caressing the old man’s head.

You frightened me? Art confidently replied, now having the freedom to move his arm and pointing the sword directly at her. I do know how to use this sword, so don’t try anything that might provoke me into using it.

Are you intending to rob us? the old woman asked.

Who, me? Art snapped.

Yes, you, young man. I fail to see what else would justify you breaking into our home, other than to rob us.

It’s not like it appears, lady. We thought this place was abandoned. If we had known someone was actually living here, we would never have entered, I assure you.

I see. Please, may I have the sword then? It belonged to my great-grandfather.

Sure. Art calmly walked over, extending the sword toward the old woman, only to stop abruptly as he was jerked back. He was being forced by Helen to step away from the woman, held back by her restraining hand. Helen skeptically doubted the woman’s sincerity or if she could be trusted.

Young man, that is a very dangerous weapon.

Yes, I know.

So you’re here to rob us then?

No, but I think it’s best if I hold on to it for now. He looked back at Helen, who was aggressively holding on to his arm, as if she was frightened of something.

Please, young man, before you wind up hurting someone with it. As you can see, we’re too old to pose any threat to you. You can at least put the sword down and stop pointing it at us.

Art, put the damn sword down. Helen stood beside him, still skeptical, not trusting them and uncertain about their intentions regarding them being in the couple’s house.

All right, it’s down. Art placed the sword on the table beside him. Now what? he asked skeptically, still keeping a watchful eye on the sword to make sure he could get at it if he needed to reach for it.

Thank you, young lady. You needn’t be frightened of us, I assure you. Please come and sit a spell.

Thank you, Helen replied apprehensively, accepting her invitation. She seated herself in a dirt-covered chair next to where they were sitting on the sofa.

What about you, young man?

I’ll stand, if you don’t mind, Art replied, nervously looking around and struggling to comprehend what was going on. He was extremely uncomfortable about his situation and did not want to venture too far away from the sword. So why don’t you call the police?

Why should I do that? Certainly not over a little misunderstanding.

Then you’re going to let us go then? he nervously asked.

Why, yes, of course. That is, if the decision were ours, she answered.

Didn’t you just say this was your home?

I assure you, young man, it is. Look over on that wall. She pointed to one of the portraits, hanging among a great many others covering the entire wall. That’s Pa and me in that portrait. Pa, we sure did make a lovely couple in those days, didn’t we though?

Yes, dear.

Yes, you surely did, Helen replied, looking at the picture. She was looking at a very old cobweb-covered painting of them posing for the portraits together, with them looking a lot younger than they were now, but she had no way of knowing how long ago the portrait was painted or what had transpired since then. You looked very happy then, as I’m sure you must be now.

Why, thank you, my dear. I hope that when you and your young man here get up in years, you’ll be as happy and content with each other as we are. They do make an adorable couple, wouldn’t you say, Pa?

Yes, dear.

He’s not my young man. I just work for him, Helen replied.

Oh, that’s a shame. I’m really sorry to hear that.

What do you mean by that, lady? And why is it we’re not able to get out of here? Art asked, annoyed, impatiently wanting to get the hell out.

I wish there was an easier way to tell you this, but there isn’t, other than coming right out and telling you. Through no fault of your own, you’ve blundered into this house, which, I regretfully must tell you, there’s no way out of. She sat grinning, showing her rotten teeth, on the verge of breaking out into hideous laughter.

What? Art irately shouted. Why, that’s absurd! There has to be!

As ridiculous or absurd as it must sound, young man, it’s true. It’s not going to do you any good to go getting yourself all upset. There just isn’t. But I know you must find out for yourself, so go right ahead and try.

I will! Art defiantly challenged her comment, heading straight for the window.

Oh, yes, the window. That’s it. Beat on it. Smash the glass. That’s it. Beat on the walls. Oh, you’re fantastic. She encouragingly spurred him to exert himself. Yes, that’s it. Use the sword. Stab it. My, but he is a strong young man. He sort of reminds me of you, Pa, in your younger days.

Art, stop it! Helen yelled at him as he frantically struggled to break his way out. That’s enough! Can’t you see she’s telling you the truth?

No! Please, my dear, let him be. He’ll have to believe eventually that this is no ordinary house. This whole house is filled with the lost souls that have unknowingly ventured into it, such as Pa here and myself.

That senile old bat doesn’t know what she’s talking about! Art angrily interrupted her, derogatorily refusing to believe her. I’ll find a way out of here! No one is keeping us in here!

He sure is a high-spirited and determined young man. It’s a shame he’s wasting all his energy on something so hopeless. By the way, what is your name, young lady?

It’s Helen.

My, that is a very pretty name. It suits you so well. My name is Stella. I take it then that his name is Art, and this here is Frank. So tell me, Helen, why is it you’re not doing the same as Art there?

*     *     *     *

Art and Helen had no way of knowing that what the old woman was holding on her lap was just the head of what used to be her servant and that the rest of him was what was left of his rotten, decayed corpse, covered in the clothes he died in.

*     *     *     *

What’s the sense? If he can’t find a way out, I seriously doubt if I could.

I must say that you’re taking this very calmly, but isn’t that just like us women and how we can adapt to our environment?

There has to be. There just has to be. Dammit! Damn you! You fucking glass, break! Art frustratedly struggled to break the glass of the window, slamming it with everything and anything he could find to hit it with and having no effect on it whatsoever.

Say, Art, Stella calmly called out to him, getting his attention. There’s some heavier and stronger stuff over there in the corner that you could use. You could save yourself a great deal of physical abuse if you would just forget it, but you go right ahead. Don’t let what I say stop you. You must do what you have to do.

Dammit, Helen, help me! Don’t just sit there, dammit, doing nothing!

What’s the use, Art? It’s becoming obvious your paranoia is hopelessly answering any doubts I might have of getting out of here. Besides, you’re making a big enough fool out of yourself for both of us.

Damn you, Helen! All right, go ahead and just sit there. See if I’m going to come back for you when I do find my way out!

Art, there’s no way out of this house, Stella said to him. I’ve been telling you, but you just refuse to listen. You’re not the only one that’s tried. Not even fire could penetrate these walls. Everything you’re trying has been tried before. The only one way I have heard of is to serve the master of this dominion.

Serve? Helen spoke up, asking Stella. Serve who?

That will become known to you in time, Helen dear. Until then, you’ll just have to be patient and wait, just like all the others who’re doing so. But I only know of one who took that other way out. He is the one responsible for our being here and for this house being what it is. He lives outside the bounds of this room, only to serve those who worship Satan. This house is our home, and so will it become yours as well. All who have entered still remain within these cursed walls.

Art, that must be the one I read about.

Read about, did you say?

Why, yes, here in this book. Helen held it up, showing her.

You found it! Stella made a desperate grab for the diary in Helen’s hand, frantically crying out, Give it to me! She grabbed hold of it, attempting to yank it out of Helen’s hand.

Hey! Let go! Helen irately shouted, yanking it back out of Stella’s tugging hand. She rebelliously jerked it back into her hand’s protection. No way!

You must give it to me! You must! I must have it!

Forget you! This belongs to me!

You don’t understand! Only I know the chants and incantations that are written inside the diary. Now give it to me!

No way! Whatever is written in here belongs to me! No one gets their hands on this but me!

You’re making a terrible mistake, Helen.

If I am, you’re not going to benefit from it. Art, come over here and sit down! she authoritatively called out to him, ordering him.

What did you say?

You heard me! Now get over here and sit! I mean it! I’m not fooling around with this nonsense any longer. Now get over here, by me now!

All right, dammit, but I’m never going to stop trying to get out of here, with or without you. He walked over, sitting down across from her in another dilapidated chair. So I’m sitting. Now what?

Art, I know the way out. That’s what. While you were running around, making a spectacle out of yourself, I figured out what could very possibly be the way out for us. Now are you interested in hearing what I have to say, or not? She aggressively took over the position of authority, giving him an ultimatum.

You’re damn right I am! And you damn well better be knowing what you’re talking about! So let’s hear it, or get up and get us the hell out of here now!

Art, something rather strange happened when Stella here made an attempt to take this book from my hand, which she called a diary. I told you that’s what it was, but that isn’t important right now. What is important is that I really didn’t understand at first, but I sure do now. Here, Art. She extended the diary to him. Try to take it from my hand. Go ahead. Try to.

Helen, I don’t know what you’re attempting to prove, but I’ll go along with it. He reached for the diary, attempting to take it from her hand but unable to do so. Come on, Helen, let it go! He struggled to pull it out of her hand again, unable to budge it from her open fingers, which were not even attempting to hold on to it.

I’m not trying to hold on to it.

You have to be. I can’t seem to break it free from your hand. Dammit! It must be stuck or something!

No, it’s not. She pulled the diary out of his clutching fingers, breaking it free and moving it from one hand to the other. See, it’s not stuck, and I’m not holding on to it with anything either.

All right, Helen, just what are you trying to prove?

Art, it’s the diary. It’s not me. It has to be the key that will open the door to get us out of here. It has to be the only key. That’s why she so desperately tried to get her hands on it. But when she touched the diary, something happened. I became possessed with many of its powers. So much has become known to me. Even though I don’t understand it all, this diary is only one of three that possess the secrets of immortality, as well as the secrets of unlimited powers. That can and will get us both out of here. Nothing would dare challenge its power, nor will I, now that it has ingratiated me. When I become joined with the other diaries, I’ll be virtually invincible. And now that I know where they are, with the exception of one, I will become the bearer of all they possess, if I’m willing to become a part of all that will become mine to rule over here, as well as the means for me to obtain the third one.

What are you talking about? Helen, has all this skulduggery deranged your mind? Stop trying to play God and get me the hell out of here. Now come on. Let’s go. Art rose from the chair and walked over to the door. Well, come on. You lead the way.

Art, you don’t have any idea about what I just said, do you?

Sure, I do. Just what more do I have to do besides become a part of this new life of yours? All right, I’ll become a part of it, but not here. Get me out of here, and we’ll talk about it afterward.

You don’t seem to be very enthusiastic about me having the power to do what I’ve been saying. You’re placating me, thinking only of yourself and nothing about me, hoping I’ll get lucky and lead you out of here. I can see that contemplating look on your face. You couldn’t care less about what I just told you, or about me for that matter. You wouldn’t care if I got myself hurt trying to get you out, as long as you got out. Knowing you the way I do, you wouldn’t hesitate to leave me behind, would you? You’re a fool, Art. How could you be so blind as to not be able to see all that was before your very eyes? All I could bestow on you, and all you can think about is yourself.

Helen, come on. You know me, and you know I’ve always respected and admired you. It doesn’t take a fool to realize when one is outclassed. I’m a junk dealer. I could never fit into your life before. What makes you think I can now? I don’t even know what sort of life it’s going to be like, with you being possessed or with whatever has come over you. You’re right, Helen, about me thinking about myself, but now is not the time to tell you why I’m willing to accept becoming a part of your life. However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be here like this, living in a dilapidated abandoned mansion with old hags like those sitting on that sofa.

Art, Stella interrupted him, realizing he had no idea what he was saying and to whom, hoping to stop him before he said something he would regret. Art, you must be very careful of what you say and listen to what I tell you. She’s no longer the Helen you once knew. The diary has made her the devil’s servant.

The what?

"Art, you must believe me. There’s nothing you or anyone can do for her now. I knew the man who wrote those diaries. He came back here only to hide and to recapture his soul. This is where his soul is, but he couldn’t enter this room. Now he’s inside Helen, along with all the powers he possesses. Look at her. Can’t you see she’s no longer the same person who entered this place with you? Look at her face and her facial expression. She’s not human anymore, but that of the one possessing her, who’s taken control over her will to deny him. Look at her eyes. They’re lifeless and reflect no feeling. They just stare without blinking. Nothing’s getting through to her. She can