Walt Trizna's Blog, page 5

OUR COUNTRY HAS WALKED AWAY FROM ITS MORAL RESPONSIBILITY

BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER IV

           BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER IV

After arriving home, Nijo called Robbie.  The excitement in Nijo’s voice was obvious; a flash of fear crossed Robbie’s mind.  Nijo said, “I saw her, the Mejocuthru master.  She told me her secrets and then…”

“And then what?” asked Robbie.

In all honesty, Nijo had no idea what she had witnessed.  The woman had disappeared.  Was this part of the associated curse?  Nijo quickly steered the conversation away from the old woman.  “I can feel the tingle of this new power in my body,” said Nijo.  “I feel I must use it soon.”

The opportunity soon presented itself.  Nijo was assigned a patient, Mary Littlecroft, age twenty-six, suffering from bone cancer.  Chemotherapy did not provide a cure and her right leg was to be amputated.  Mary was heartbroken when told the news.  When Nijo came to visit, Mary cried, “I can’t bear the thought of losing my leg.  I’ve always been athletic – a runner.  I know I’ll survive without my leg, so many people with cancer have no hope at all.  I know I’m being selfish, but if I lose my leg…”

Nijo tried to console Mary.  After a few visits, Nijo noticed something.  Every time she came near the young woman, she felt a tingle she knew was the force of Mejocuthru inside of her waiting to be released.  Nijo finally decided to use her healing power on Mary. 

After lowering the lights, Nijo approached Mary’s bed and quietly said, “I want to try something I learned.  I have never used it before.  There should be no pain.  It might not work, but I’d like to try.”

Mary said, “I have nothing to lose but my leg.  Try anything you want.”

Nijo placed her hands on Mary’s leg.  Blue-white sparks danced from her fingertips.  Mary groaned, but it was not one of pain but of pleasure.  Mary said, “I feel something in my leg that is overcoming the dull pain I feel constantly.”  As tears welled in her eyes, she continued, “My leg has not felt like this for a long time.”  She pushed away the covers and stood; then walked.  That was when the flow of tears became a flood.  Mary cried, “I don’t know what you did, Nijo, but something wonderful has happened to my leg.  What did you do?”

With an amazed voice, Nijo said, “I learned a new healing discipline.  You are the first person I have tried it on.”

To that Mary said, “You have a gift, a healing gift.  Thank you so much.”

Nijo was unsure what to say.  She had no idea her experience with Mejocuthru would be so positive so quickly.  Could this power reverse the cancer or just provide momentary comfort?  Nijo said good-bye to her patient and then walked to her car.  She felt a strange emptiness and decided to take a walk along the darkened streets before she returned home.  It was something she needed to do.  She put her nursing bag in her car and then began walking.  After a few steps she blacked out and did not come to again until she was sitting in her car.  Not knowing what had happened, she felt uncomfortable about the blackout.  Nothing like this had ever happened before.  She went home, kissed her husband, and played with the girls after dinner.  It was still early when she told Jim, “I’m drained.  I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“No problem,” answered Jim.  “I’ll put the girls to bed soon and then maybe read for a while.”

The next morning Jim leafed through the local paper.  The rag was a joke in the community.  The stories they published were often confusing, and occasionally, made no sense at all.  As he read the paper, Jim was known to often shout, “Doesn’t anyone proof-read this stuff?  It’s a joke.”

As he sat at the breakfast table, a small article caught his attention.  As Nijo entered the kitchen, he said, “Listen to this.  Last night someone leapt out of some bushes and struck a young woman in the leg, breaking it.  It was near where you saw a patient yesterday.  You better be careful in that neighborhood.”

“That’s strange,” said Nijo.  “It’s such a quiet community.”  She began to cook breakfast and quickly forgot about the article.

Over the next few weeks, Nijo used her Mejocuthru powers on patients whose lives were so full yet were racked by pain and the specter of death.  Every time she practiced this ancient right she blacked out.  Blacking out was the side effect she associated with her healing.

Then the event occurred that would change her life forever.  She had a patient, a young woman of thirty, pregnant with twins and found to have colon cancer.  She needed chemotherapy, and without it, would surely die.  But the therapy would destroy the twins.  Nijo was assigned the case.  Her patient, Julie, refused the chemo.

“I could not go on with my life if it would cost the lives of my babies,” she told Nijo.

Nijo could feel the stress Julie and her husband, Jonathan, were under.  She kept her powers in check, hoping for some miracle, until she realized she was their only hope.  The tingling had also begun, more intense than ever before.

Then one day she went to visit Julie and could tell the end was near, probably in a matter of hours.  Nijo felt a compassion she could not overcome.  She needed to do something to save this young family.  She needed to use her powers.  Sitting next to Julie, she put one hand on the woman’s head and one on her belly, while she recited the Mejocuthru chant.  Feeling a power she had never experienced, she continued to chant with a voice that soon filled the house.

Jonathan became concerned and entered the bedroom.  He found Julie sitting up in bed, resting against the pillows and smiling as she clutched her belly.  He next gazed at Nijo.  She had a vacant stare, walked past him and left the house.

Nijo had used the full force of her powers.  She remained in a trance for months after healing.  Little did she realize that the consequence of using so much power would destroy her life and that of her family.

When Nijo returned home after the healing, neighbors reported hearing ungodly screams coming from the home and called the police.  They arrived, but it was too late.  Nijo sat amid the carnage that was once her family.  Veteran officers were sickened by what they saw.  After a short trial, Nijo was committed to an insane asylum.  This was where she returned from her blackout.

BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III

           BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III

It was weeks before Nijo had time to search out the Mejocuthru master.  The workload was unusually heavy, and her kids were sick so when she wasn’t caring for her patients she was nursing her children.

One sunny cold Saturday afternoon she asked Jim to watch the girls.  “I’ve got some errands to run.  Would you mind staying home with the kids?”

Jim looked up from the college football game he was watching and said, “No problem.  On your way home, why don’t you pick up a pizza for dinner?”  He returned to the game as his wife closed the front door.

She made her way to the address Robbie supplied.  It was in the Chinese section of town.  She consulted a city map and had no trouble locating the home of the Mejocuthru master.  She pulled up in front of the building and was momentarily confused, “This can’t be the right address,” she said to herself.  The building housed a Chinese restaurant.  In the window of the grimy building was a row of cured ducks hung by their necks, suspended over oriental fruit and vegetables.  Above were apartments, but the doorway leading upstairs displayed a different number.

Nijo went into the restaurant and was immediately approached by a waiter who asked in a heavy accent, “Can I seat you?”  The room smelled of exotic sauces and spices.  Clouds had darkened the afternoon sky, and the room appeared not to absorb what little light that filtered through the dirty front window.  The few customers present were seated in the darkness muttering in Asian dialects.

Nijo said, “I was given this address by a friend.  I’ve come to see the Mejocuthru master.”

The waiter’s expression changed from neutral to one of malice.  “That is not possible,” he said.  “Who sent you here?”

She gave him Robbie’s name.  A brief look of recognition passed over his face.

“Sit here,” he growled, pointing to the area reserved for take-out customers and disappeared through a beaded curtain leading to the kitchen.  Sometime later he reemerged, perspiring heavily. He had the same countenance of anger, but now he also bore a hint of uncertainty.

In a gruff voice, he said, “Follow me.”

The waiter led Nijo through the beaded curtain and into the kitchen where a host of Chinese cooks shouted to one another in their sing-song language.  Here the exotic smell of the food was overpowering.  Hurriedly, Nijo was shown to the rear of the room to a flight of stairs leading to the basement.  The steps leading into the darkness were wooden and well-worn.  In the faint light from an occasional bare bulb, Nijo found herself walking through a maze of tiny storerooms containing shelves of cans displaying Asian characters and jar upon jar of spices.  One room was reserved for nothing but tea; another for huge bags of rice.  He led Nijo to the darkest recesses of the cellar and a rust-stained metal door.  He unlocked a heavy bolt and motioned Nijo inside.  Immediately after she entered, the door was locked behind her.  Her nostrils were attacked by the heavy smell of incense.  Behind a single wavering candle flame appeared to be a pile of rags.  Then the rags began to move, becoming a solitary figure surrounded by cushions.  Even after her eyes had adjusted, Nijo could only make out a shadowy figure.

In perfect English, without the hint of an accent, the specter motioned to the pile of cushions and said, “Come here, child, and sit.”

The voice was that of a woman and was gentle but with an undertone of despair.  Now seated, Nijo could begin to discern the woman’s features.  Her face was a mass of wrinkles with deep-set slanted eyes, a flat nose and small mouth.

“My name is Maggie Wu,” said the woman.  “I have been a prisoner in this room for many years.  It is a painful, lonely existence, one I wish I could end, but I am powerless to do so.”

Nijo asked, “Why are you held prisoner?  Are these people holding you hostage?”

The old woman answered, “I do not know why I am here.  They say I did terrible things, but I don’t recall.  I have had visitors, but they were either curious or vengeful.  This has been my existence for more years than I can remember.  “What brings you here, my child?”

Nijo answered, “A friend of mine and I have been practicing Reiki to help our patients.  We are hospice nurses and have had some success in relieving some of their pain, but nothing consistent.  I asked my friend, Robbie, if there was some stronger discipline we could use with more power and more certainty.  Reluctantly, she told me about Mejocuthru and how to find you.  She said there were risks but I would risk anything to help my patients.”

“Would you, my dear?  I recall your friend.  You must have been very persuasive, for not only did I deter her from using Mejocuthru but made her swear not to tell anyone of my existence.”

Nijo said, “I was rather relentless in my questioning.  Do not be mad at Robbie.  Please agree to teach me.”

The old woman reached out her gnarled hands to Nijo.  “Give me your hands,” she ordered.

Nijo extended her hands and felt a strange tingle when they were held by the woman.

The woman said, “You have a deep desire to heal.  I have never experienced this power in another.  Perhaps you could control the power of Mejocuthru.  I will tell you my history; then we will see.

“I was a healer taught by healers from the old country.  They said I had many natural abilities and revealed to me powers and cures unknown in this country.  I did much good for the Chinese community, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough, that there was a further step I could take.”

“I have the same feelings,” said Nijo, “that there is something beyond the Reiki I use.”

The old woman shook her head in disgust.  “Reiki is for amateurs, a weak discipline practiced by weak people.  Mejocuthru is where the real power lies.  With Mejocuthru you can perform miracles.  The old masters warned me of dangers, of doing well but of also doing evil. But I accepted the power.  I raised the dead.  It was only then I realized the power I possessed.

“The old masters said I would perform unspeakable acts if I used this knowledge.  After I began to cure using Mejocuthru, the only problem I encountered was the loss of memory after healing.  Soon after I raised a young woman from death I was imprisoned and have been here ever since.  I long to be free.  No one will explain why I am here, but I know I did some good and that is what is important.  Those thoughts are what keep me alive.”

Nijo said, “I do not understand how such a great healing tool can do evil.  I want to learn.  I want to possess this power.”

The old woman smiled and said, “I will teach you.  There is a chant you must learn.  One that will release the powers of Mejocuthru into the people you touch to heal the disease that sickens them.

“Come, child.  Lean forward and I will whisper the chant so that you may heal the sick.”

Nijo leaned close to the ancient healer.  The old woman spoke the chant into Nijo’s ear.  When the lesson was finished, the old woman told Nijo, “You are now a Mejocuthru healer.  Go and help the sick; the power is yours.”

As soon as she said these words, the old woman’s images appeared to waive; then slowly fade.  Before Nijo’s disbelieving eyes, there appeared a boiling black cloud where the woman had been.  Rather than dissipating, the cloud began to fall into itself.  It became constantly smaller until all that remained was a solitary black dot hovering above the candle.  Then it was gone.

Nijo shuddered and rose from the cushions.  She had no idea what she had just witnessed, however, she felt a new sense of power that was pleasurable, that needed to be shared.  She pounded on the door to be released.  The door was opened by the waiter who had led her to the room.  Nijo said, “I am finished here,” and walked past the man.  After a minute or so, his eyes began to adjust to the darkened room.  The chamber was empty.  He searched the small room in disbelief and horror.

BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II

                                BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II

Nijo had been content with her life.  Her husband, Jim, was a hard-working engineer and provided a good life for her and their two daughters, Kim, age two, and Heather, age four.  She was a nurse, and didn’t need to work, but she loved her profession and could not imagine life without nursing.  When caring for the sick, she felt complete.  To serve the patients most in need of her skills, she chose hospice nursing, and with that decision she would do a great deal of good but also seal her fate. 

The patients she encountered had the most urgent care requirements.  They required comfort along the road toward their death.  And Nijo provided help along that road with care and compassion.  But, deep inside she felt she was not doing enough to ease the suffering of the dying.

It was shortly after this feeling of inadequacy began that she met Robbie.  Robbie, Roberta, was a hospice nurse working at the same agency.  She was older than Nijo, blond, tall and had a striking presence of authority whenever she entered the room of a patient.  Extremely competent in her discipline, she used all the skills at her command to ease the fears and pain of the dying.  It was Robbie’s knowledge of a little recognized discipline that would determine Nijo’s future.

Robbie and Nijo became close friends.  One day Nijo asked, “There are times I feel I could do more for my patients.  Robbie, your patients seem to possess an inner peace different from those I work with.  What do you do for them that I don’t?”

Robbie replied, “I’ve learned to use a healing method called Reiki.  When you use this discipline, power comes through your hands as you work with the patient to help heal and provide a feeling of peace.  For some patients it works, for some it doesn’t, but in our profession, you do what you must to ease pain and suffering.”

Nijo took some Reiki classes with Robbie and began to see the benefits of this mystical approach to helping the dying.  However, the success rate was less than she had hoped for, that’s when she asked Robbie, “Is there anything more I can do?  Is there another step beyond Reiki?”

Robbie hesitated, and then answered, “There is a force beyond Reiki, but it is dangerous.  There are consequences to the practitioner if it is used.  You might say, when you use this power, there are debts to be paid.  I’ve never had the nerve to pursue it.”

Nijo responded, “If we can comfort the dying, no debt is too much.  Will you tell me what this method is called?”

“It is called Mejocuthru.  No one knows its origin.  Even its most practiced masters seldom use this power.  They fear it.”

Nijo asked Robbie, “Who are these masters?  How can I meet them?”

Robbie paused, and then said, “I once asked the same questions and was led to a master.  But what she told me stopped me from asking more.”

“What did this master tell you?”

“She said that with every use of Mejocuthru you must do the equivalent amount of harm to match the good you accomplished.”

Now it was Nijo’s turn to hesitate.  She thought for a while, and then said, “If there is something out there that will help me with my patients, I would like to at least look into it.  How can I meet this master?”

Robbie replied, “I shouldn’t have told you about Mejocuthru.  It’s dangerous.”

“Look, Robbie, you know the type of patients we deal with.  For the most part, their lives are full of pain and suffering, not to mention the emotional strain on their families.  I would do anything to help these people.  To be honest, I’m surprised you have not used this discipline.”

Robbie thought for a moment and considered how persuasive the master had been against her learning Mejocuthru.  She thought the master would also be able to discourage Nijo, so reluctantly, she gave Nijo the master’s address.

BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I

              BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I

Balance was published by Necrology Shorts in 2010.

There is no free ride in life.

                                                                         Balance

Nijo London pounded on the door of her small cell – her world now for over a year – until her fists bled.  “Let me out!” she screamed although she knew her plea would go unanswered.  She stepped back and studied the door covered with dark brown outlines of her fists from past attempts to summon help.  She was not sure why she was being held captive, but there were times she was not sure she wanted to know.

Nijo was thirty-five of medium height and slender, with close-cropped black hair and startling blue eyes.  She was slender now because of her imprisonment, but she once drifted up and down in her weight.  After each of her two pregnancies, the pounds tended to remain more than being shed.

It had been a year since she last saw the sun.  No one would speak to her, let alone answer her questions.  But she heard occasional conversations through her door.  There was hushed talk of brutal murders.  One time she thought she heard the mention of cannibalism, but she couldn’t be sure.

Surely these conversations could not be connected to Nijo; she was a nurse and devoted her life to caring for the sick.  But she had vague memories that she didn’t understand; flashes of perception that were more than disturbing.  They were horrifying.  There was also some connection with these horrors to ancient rituals of healing she had tried to incorporate into her practice.  Nijo also recalled the most unsettling consequence of using these ancient rights: the complete loss of memory after she used the power.

THE LAST MAN: A STUDY OF THE IMAGINATION

               THE LAST MAN: A STUDY OF THE IMAGINATION

The less said, the more room for interpretation.

I think this is the benefit of a short piece of fiction. A short piece telling a compelling story allows the reader to fill in the blanks. And depending on the reader’s imagination their could be nothing needed to add, or the opportunity to let the imagination run wild and create a memorable story. In fact, creating a story of greater appreciation which the writer did not consider I feel the following short piece goes a great deal towards serving that purpose.

Here are some details, depending on your imagination, that could provide greater enjoyment of this shorter short story.

What event lead to the circumstances of this story?

What would opening the door reveal?

Who is the man in the story and how did he find himself in this situation?

I hope these thoughts and questions have stimulated your interest in reading this short story.

I heard this story sometime ago and do not know who to credit for its creation.

He was the last man on Earth.

There was a knock at the door.

Note: In this day and age man would be replaced by person.7

UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A GHOST STORY

 Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010.

                                                             UNWELCOMED GUESTS

Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings.  The area abounded in both.  His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas.  At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”

Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them.  One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future.  But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale.  The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.

                                                                              * * *

It was the evening of August 15, 1949.  The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester.  There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night.  The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars.  The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff.  Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge.  As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying.  Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seeking help.

As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife.  He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently and then looked up.  The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…!  He never finished the expletive.

The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars.  The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.

                                                                             * * *

Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice.  During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house.  As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business. 

Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.

Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor.  Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.

The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story.  “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.

Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house.  He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguishing all the inside lights.  “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said.  Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight. 

The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist had begun coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property.  A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.

The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests.  One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie.  As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form.  The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.

The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another.  Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears.  “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”

Millie awoke and growled.  She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.

                                                                         THE END  

ANOTHER RETIREMENT OBSERVATION

             ANOTHER RETIREMENT OBSERVATION

I have reported, in the past, that ads saying they can tell you how much money you will need upon retirement to maintain your lifestyle, in my opinion, are scams. I feel the most important question which needs to be answered is how long you will live. The only people unfortunate to be able to answer this question with relative accuracy are those with a terminal illness.

Not long ago I heard statistics which gave me pause. It concerned salaries. I thought salaries are an important consideration needed in planning retirement. How long you will be retired and the changes in salaries and the price of goods are also important in determining how much money you will need, and I don’t see how anyone can accurately make those predictions, of course coupled with lifestyle.

I look at my own experience with starting salaries and length of retirement.

When I graduated from college in 1969 if you could find a job paying $10,000 a year you were lucky.

Not long ago I heard a report on salaries required by 17–28-year-olds seeking employment. One thing I found interesting is that it used to be during an interview salary was never mentioned until maybe the end. Now it appears that one requirement of the job posting is to list the salary along with the job description. Also, consider that the salary wanted by this age group, for many, is probably what they want to be paid for their first job.

Some applicants in this age group required a salary of $50,000-$100,000 to consider applying for the job. Twenty-five percent of this age group required a salary of $100,000-$250,000 to consider applying. Granted the salary considered great at $10,000 was 56 years ago. But some could be retired for 30 years or more. I’ve been retired for 17 years and can’t believe the increase in salaries and consumer prices since I’ve been retired.

Therefore, I think for anyone to advise you, upon retirement, how to have a financially worry-free retirement they would have to be able to predict the impossible.

First, and most important, is to determine how long you are going to live. That goes hand in hand with the salary you were making when you retired and at what rate salaries will increase during the rest of your retirement. And finally, the rate at which the price of goods will increase taking time and inflation into consideration. The answers to all these questions, I feel, would provide you with a worry-free retirement. But who, with any honesty, can provide the answers to all these questions?

MY SCAM EXPERIENCE

MY SCAM EXPERIENCE

I was on my computer when I suddenly got a blue screen from ‘Microsoft’ telling me that I was being hacked it had been locked, and not to shut off my computer. Also, the message gave me a phone number to call.

I called the number and was told all my personal information was at risk. They asked me for my cell phone number. I do not have a cell phone and that seemed to disappoint them. Then they told me not to answer my landline until the next day at 11:00 AM.

At some time during my interaction with them they asked to take control of my computer, and I allowed this. After all, I thought I was dealing with Microsoft. At some point I told them that, “I feel sorry for hackers because they lead such useless lives.” Little did I know that I was talking to a hacker.

When they called the following day they said they were going to connect me to my bank on a secure line. Now, the man I was talking to had a distinct accent. Who knows what country I was talking to? When I was connected to my bank on a secure line the individual I was talking to had the same accent. I immediately hung up, called my bank, and that was the end of the scam.

This happened more than a year ago. I don’t think I lost any personal information and had my computer checked to make sure there were no surprises lurking within.

I’m telling you all this because if you suddenly message from Microsoft like what I received telling you your computer is lock, which you will find is true, and give you a number to call, it is a scam. Shut your computer off and do not call the phone number. Hopefully, when you turn your computer back on it is no longer locked. If it is, you might need help to unlock it.

I hope you learn from my experience not to be scammed.

HOW DO PRIONS REPLICATE?

                                                                        HOW DO PRIONS REPLICATE?

Here’s the prion information you all have been anxiously waiting for.

I never thought about this until I wrote Martian Rebirth, but think about it, prions are nothing but bits of protein containing none of the usual machinery, DNA or RNA usually required for multiplication of the organism. I’m not going to go into much detail because I don’t really understand it.

There are two types of prions and there are two theories on the characteristics of the prions, how they couple, and what is the result. The result of both theories is more prions. There is also a theory that other molecules are necessary for prion replication and here is where RNA from those molecules comes into play.

I also found out that the action of my prions from Mars is somewhat different than Earth prions. If you remember the prions from Mars start demonstrating an affect on the astronauts in a matter of months. Prions actually take 5 to 20 years to start showing an affect.

One last bit of information. In my story I mention that autoclaving does not totally destroy prions. The way to get rid of these little guys is sodium hypochlorite (bleach) or sodium hydroxide (lye).

Now you know what an ‘info dump’ is and have some knowledge of prion replication. Go impress your friends.