Chapter 6

A VERY LONG HORROR STORY

 Print

Matters were now in pretty fair control. We had sold the business and half the money went to pay the $15,000 demand loan draft at the bank. The additional $15,000 was on a chattel mortgage, due and payable in five years. Darko applied and was accepted as an electrician at a major automotive company. Paycheques were much higher than we were accustomed to. The road in front of our home was being widened to a four lane highway with two additional turning lanes directly in front of our driveway. The community was fighting the expropriation but everyone knew you can’t stop city hall. We then fought for more money because the sum they offered did not compensate the depreciation of our homes.

One morning I woke to a noise which quickly brought me running to the front door. A city worker was cutting down our 35 foot blue spruce. I ran out and unplugged his buzz saw. “What are you doing?”

“It’s okay, city fix — city pay.” He tried reasoning in broken English.

“City fix nothing— city pay nothing—get off my property.” I demanded. Had the city paid me anything I would be able to move the spruce and maple trees. Trees were worth more than silver and gold to me. He immediately left. I assessed the damage. Stopped him just in time.

The same evening I was served with a ‘Restraining Order’ which stated if I interfered with the work crew again, I would be arrested and taken to jail. JAIL? Because I wanted to save two trees and have them relocated? Along with the notice was a cheque for $7,000.00.

I had the cash now but I didn’t have a property to move the trees to and so I watched sadly from the window as my trees came down. The construction in front of our home was soon in full swing, going strong. There was a mountain of dirt as high as our roof and we had to park three blocks away to carry our groceries home.

“Let’s sell the house Donna, move to the country. Let’s really start enjoying a home, enjoying our life.”
“Sounds good to me — it’s taken us long enough.” My heart was overjoyed at the prospect of driving home after work to peace and quiet. “It’ll be like going home to a cottage every night. We’re going to make this dream come true yet.”
Ben was the real estate agent of all agents. He must have covered half of southern Ontario with me.
I wanted a lot for a very little. One day he drove up excited beyond words. “I’ve found it. This is the one,” he sputtered jumping around. Taking one look at the picture I knew; “I can’t afford that, Ben.”
It included over an acre of land, just outside of Milton, 3,300 square feet, five bedrooms, family room with fireplace, a twenty-seven foot kitchen, drop ceiling lighting, central air, central vacuum. Vacant. The price was blotted out I noticed.
“You can, you can, let’s go quick, get the kids in the car, you’re buying this house today.”
Well I didn’t realize how big 3,300 square feet was until I stood in front of this mansion. “In a million years I couldn’t afford this, Ben.”

“Just go inside —take a look.”

What a shock — it was in shambles. The main construction was ideal but what a mess. “The house has been rented for ten years, off and on. The last family ruined it so badly the owner’s willing to let it go cheap.” I was overwhelmed. I could afford it. If I knocked off an additional $20,000, it would be within our reach. We’d fix it up over the years.

Each time he opened one of the bedrooms upstairs, I thought I was seeing the master bedroom, they got larger and larger. When he did open the master, I walked onto a football field. The change room was the size of the boys’ present bedroom and led to an ensuite. “Hurry!” I picked up the excitement, he was already doing a jig.

“Let’s go get Darko, but Ben, you have to promise me you’ll calm down, not say one word. Let me talk to Darko. You don’t know him well. He has to think this house is HIS idea.”

“As long as you put in an offer, you won’t know I’m in sales.”

“Darko, Ben’s here for coffee. We just looked at this big barn of a house, on an acre of land, about thirty minutes from here.”

His ears perked up, “Big barn?” (We had sold the business, but we hadn’t sold the appliances, vacuums, motors, tools, junk, etc.)

“Darko, it’s a mess inside. Broken windows. Hole in the kitchen floor. Kitchen cupboards just dangling from hinges.”

Now he’s in the car. Ben’s shooting me terrified looks through the rear view mirror. Don’t worry Ben, I know this guy. He wouldn’t be in the car if he thought it was ‘my kind of house’. He was afraid he’d have a sunken tub, sunken living room, finished rec room and NO BARN. He needs room for his junk.

“Donna, this can all be repaired. We’ll buy new bathroom fixtures and cover the kitchen and halls with ceramics. You’ll see — I’ll make it beautiful. We’ll be able to get twice the money when I’m finished with it.”

By this time I was surprised Ben wasn’t laying on the floor playing dead. He had a lot to learn about sales pitches.

“Donna, you’ve just got to get into real estate. I’ve never seen anyone operate like that.”

“I just know my buyer, Ben, that’s all. I know what does and doesn’t appeal to Darko. He wouldn’t have got in the car if he saw I was nuts about it — that would surely mean it wasn’t his style.”

I hadn’t even noticed we didn’t have one mature tree on the whole acre. Darko promised we’d plant a living fence of cedars all around the property.

A stipulation of the offer was that we would have the keys two weeks in advance and have access to renovate.

“It’s not a wise move, Donna, never recommended. Money hasn’t changed hands; not a good idea.” He gave up, seeing I was a ‘do it yesterday, not tomorrow’ type. The Credit Union was giving us a mortgage large enough to handle the additional expense of improvements.

We did a super job. Very professional.

Two days before closing, I was asked, through my lawyer, by the owner, to return the keys. That’s strange. Why return them just to have them handed back the next day? My criminal mind, through hearing so many court cases, decided I should make an extra set, just in case something went wrong. Fortunately my female intuition paid off. We were sitting in the lawyer’s office, accompanied by both agents, and the owner. He discovered he had undersold. He wanted an additional
$40,000.

“No way!” Darko and I blurted out. We had just spent close to $25,000 on improvements. That’s why it looks so great. Our money was spent to improve the property.

It didn’t matter, he decided not to sell.

“He can’t do that, he’s signed our offer.” we protested.

“Well, yes, legally we could sue him to get the costs back, but no one could force him to sell if he didn’t want to.”

“But I want that house. I don’t want to spend years in court getting our money back.”

The entourage left. “Ben, step outside. I don’t want you to hear what I’m planning.” I then continued. “Isn’t possession 9/10 of the law?”
“You can’t break-in Donna, you’ll be arrested.” the lawyer cautioned.
“Who said anything about breaking in? I’ll keep in touch.”

One hour later; “Don, you may inform the other lawyer we have possession. Tell them to sue US if they want US out. I had duplicate keys cut.”

I don’t think Don realized he had a client that would set precedents. There’s always a way to beat the system. I was learning fast.

“She can’t do this. There’s got to be a law! Get a sheriff to evict her!” yelled Mr. Owner.
“I’m sorry but you’ll just have to sue her, which might take years and you’ll lose anyway because we have a signed offer stating she can purchase the premises for the stipulated price. So-o-o sorry.”
For three and a half months that man tried to get us evicted. “But she hasn’t even paid a cent. How can she have possession and live for free?”

“Anytime you want payment, the mortgage cheque is ready to be picked up. Oh yes, one more thing, you’ve made her so angry and she’s suffered so much mental anguish and additional legal expense, she’s now offering to pay YOU $40,000 less. A frozen mortgage, you understand, payable in twenty years, without interest accumulating. A token of your good faith. Found the premises in worse shape than they had first appeared to the naked eye. Take it or leave it. The option is yours.”

The frozen token of faith money allowed us to carry the payments of the other property without having to sell it before the road was completed, leaving it as future investment, rented out, and also allowing me to trade my gas guzzler for a small brand new sports car.

At this point I should explain how I ended up with two automobiles . . . At the dealer, sometime in October or November, Darko and I had ordered a white and maroon Omni Hatch back, sun roof, a four on the floor beauty. When we went to take delivery just before Christmas, there was a bright yellow and black sports coupe with large black letters, 024, written all over it. Plaid seats. All I need was a racing helmet to top it off. It was cute, but certainly not a feminine car for my new profession.
I was going into real estate. KNEW ALL ABOUT IT, just from the experience of my last purchase. I quit my job and enrolled in real estate school. Remember the gal who got me into translating? I replaced myself with Jan as I knew she’d get along, great with Mr. ‘H’ and the new Vice President.
I joined Ben at the company he worked for, eager, ready to give it my all.
I laughed when I saw my 024. “This car clashes with my personality.”
“Sorry Ma’am, you have to take either this one or wait till the new year for your order. There’s a backlog for Omnis.”

WAIT? I never did know what that word meant. “I’ll take it. I’ve driven stranger things. It kind of grows on you. At least it’s brand new, no mechanical problems for at least a couple of years.”

As fate would have it, the first time I came in for service my original order was there with my name on the order slip.
“Why can’t I just switch them? This one’s beautiful. A lady’s car. I feel like a hood driving the other.”

“We can’t do that, but why not give 024 to your hubby and buy this one also?”
“Darko, why not? It’s Valentine’s Day. What a gift! It even looks like a valentine.” I have a way of backing him into a corner when it comes to cars, but he really liked the idea of two identical ones (though as different as night and day) and was already aware of the gas saving. So-o-o we traded in the truck and I drove off in my four wheel valentine.

The Horrors Start
By this point we had two mortgages on the old house, two (one frozen) on the new, and payments on two brand new cars. We wouldn’t be too bad off if we could just rent the property and at least cover one mortgage. The other three only amounted to $30,000, with no payments on the $40,000 token. It would have been easy if the construction had ceased. Not too many people are willing to live on a main highway behind a mountain of dirt. Just as luck would have it, Darko was laid off, indefinitely. Now what? No pay cheques. Either of us. Four mortgages. Two car payments. Three kids.

Shortly after Darko was laid off, he woke in the middle of the night screaming with pain. I rushed him to the hospital where he was given a shot of cortisone and sent home. For five weeks he crawled around the house on his hands and knees unable to stand on his feet from the pain. He had gout. A form of arthritis which affects the joints.

I worked harder and sold ten homes in my first six months. I just had to wait for the deals to close before I got some fat pay cheques. I mean — I put in the time, the gas, drew up offers, pre-sented them, negotiated sales. I should get paid. Right?

First deal: I didn’t get paid. Being too naive, the mickey mouse company said, “Prove you rented the home, we’ll send you your cheque.” (The agent had done me a favour and typed the offer himself seeing how I was new in the business and neglected to put MY company name as agent on the offer).

Second deal: I didn’t get paid. The vendor had back-dated the offer of Purchase and Sale three weeks with another mickey mouse company which brought him the offer he desperately needed and, with him looking out only for himself, the sale was registered three days before my listing became effective.

Third deal: I didn’t get paid. The buyers didn’t qualify for the mortgage because they had gone into their own business and couldn’t prove their income.

In the end, I only got paid for four deals out of ten. Not to fret! I was paying my dues — learning my lessons — all this was going to make me a better agent in the end.

“Donna, you’re jinxed. I’ve been in real estate twenty years and didn’t lose six deals. Everything happens to you. Can’t understand how you can still walk around with a smile on your face,” were some of the comments at the office.
“I’m hoping if I ignore it, it’ll all go away.” I’d reply.
But it wasn’t going away. It got worse. I came home one day to a ‘demand notice’. Internal Revenue. Twelve thousand dollars in back taxes owing for 1977.
“But sir, we won’t get payment until 1982 for the sale of our business.”
“Sorry Ma’am,” (I was haunted by this phrase everywhere I went, nothing good ever followed ‘sorry ma’am’) “the documents were signed in ‘77. There’s nothing we can do. The twelve thousand is due and payable immediately. Take out a bank loan.”

“No bank in the world would give me another red cent. We’re mortgaged to the hilt.”
“Then I’m afraid we’ll have to garnishee your husband’s wages.”
“Wages? What wages? When he was working seven days a week, twelve hours a day, you deducted $500 a week in taxes. Now he receives less than $200 from pogie. Just send back what he’s put in.” I was close to hysteria.

What next? I couldn’t take another incident.

“I’m afraid it just doesn’t work that way. You’ll receive a refund next April for the weekly overpayment. It’ll average out.”
“What do I do till April? I have to eat. Just wait for the money?”

“I’m sorry, we’ll only give you an additional thirty days.”
He didn’t sound concerned at all. What was thirty days? Who could produce twelve thousand dollars in thirty days? If he had given me a year, it wouldn’t be enough to come up with that kind of money.
Relating my newest problems at the office the next day, I was invited to go to a really good fortune teller. It was the ‘in’ thing. Everyone was going. Why not, I thought? I had to find out when all of this was going to stop.

That incident started weekly visits. The more accurate the tellers were, the more people came along, the more psychics they knew of, and so on.

I was really feeling jinxed. Just everything was going wrong. One Friday the thirteenth, I wondered if I should even get out of bed. On the way to meet Darko for a coffee date close to the office, a truck directly in front of me rolled over on its side. Driving at eighty km/h, I narrowly escaped a pile up. Fortunately, I never follow too closely. I stopped my car and assisted the driver to his feet wondering if I should proceed any further.
Don’t be silly. This was a nasty coincidence. Darko would be waiting. I walked into the restaurant, seated myself, and proceeded to tell Darko the story of my close call. A waitress, who was familiar with my habit of pouring water in my coffee to cool it off, approached with a glass. When she placed it on the table, it tilted and soaked my skirt.

“Don’t worry, it’s only water, it’ll dry.” I insisted.

She brought another glass and the same thing happened again. Now I was saturated AND worried. She was an older lady, too old for pranks and too good a waitress. “Never mind the water, just bring the coffee, I’ll drink it hot.”

The customers were really chuckling, especially since it was Friday the thirteenth. As she brought the coffee, apologizing profoundly, I saw the cup slipping off the saucer and moved like a bolt of lightning out of my seat. The other patrons were rolling on the floor laughing, choking on their food. They must have thought this was a comedy routine. Coffee was all over the table. I was not laughing.

Is there such a thing as bad luck? Curses? “Lady, go home. Don’t get out of bed till tomorrow.” they ribbed me. “This is definitely not going to be one of your days.”

“I have to go see a good psychic, one that knows about ‘bad luck’.” I exclaimed, chills running through me.

“Donna, these are not normal occurrences you’re constantly experiencing. Go to someone good.” was the general opinion of the office. Except for Joe.

Joe took me aside and said, “Donna, pray. Pray like you’ve never prayed.”
“I do Joe. I do. It doesn’t help.”
“Then go to church.” he advised. I was stunned. I imagined Joe disco dancing, partying, doing anything but going to church.
“Are you serious? I can’t picture you going to church.”
“A good Italian boy like me? Of course I go to church. My wife goes with the kids, every Sunday. Try it. It can’t hurt.”
Can’t help either, I thought, but the fact that he would talk to me like that really moved me. I saw him in a different light. I had always respected and admired Joe and the type of agent he was, but I realized now that he had quality. That’s what I’d seen all along.

Sure enough, that day I was also directed to a particular psychic that was recommended as being one of the best. Expensive too. Only a few friends came along.

“Yes, you definitely have a curse on you. I can see it surrounding your home and family. No problem, here’s what to do. You have to collect holy water from three Catholic churches. They have to be named after male saints. When you mix all the water together, you have to sprinkle each and every corner of your house while you say the Apostle’s Creed. You must do this right at midnight every night for twelve nights.”

I was a rational, mature grown up. Was I going to fall for this rubbish? The girls with me were told some pretty amazing facts about their past. This guy had even been on TV. Police used him as a last resort to solve a missing child caper. Of course I was going to fall for it — everyone else did; besides, he was Catholic — it had to be okay.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Apostle’s Creed, but it just has to be one of the longest prayers that there is. A 3,300 square foot home has quite a few corners too.

I have neglected also to mention up to this point that we had a Doberman living in our garage. I thought I could get over my fear of dogs. If I could get used to him, I wouldn’t be afraid of anything, ever again. I was fine when my kids were around, but no way was I going to stand beside him, in the garage, at midnight, doing ‘hocus-pocus’. Not in a million years.

Darko by then had been hired temporarily by another company — STEADY MIDNIGHTS! This was not going to work out. I was scared out of my mind. I was literally frightened of my own shadow. Jumpy. Nervous. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest by the time I finished ‘blessing’ the corners of the basement each night. I thought I could feel evil. I always felt an eerie presence. To make matters worse, when I told the psychic I wasn’t doing the garage, he insisted that each square inch had to be exorcised if it was going to work.

A few days later Darko came home, still a little shaky from his experience. Both my tires blew out, simultaneously. I barely managed to get the car under control without killing myself.”

We were now without a set of wheels, while we waited for the radials. Not three days after we had the 024 back, new tires and all, Darko bolted through the front door, really upset this time.

“You’re not going to believe what happened today. Joe and I were driving along when an explosion, like a sonic boom, stopped me in my tracks. It was in the car. We got out and then saw the glass of the hatch back had shattered into a million pieces. Donna, it looked like a mosaic.”
“Oh Darko, I’m getting scared. Something out there is after us.
“I know, I know. The dealer said it has never happened in the history of Omnis. He thought I hit it with a hammer. Fortu-nately there wasn’t a hole anywhere. Not from a stone or anything. Right after he looked at it, it just went THUMP and all those pieces of glass caved into the back. You should have heard the initial bang. I actually looked for a bullet hole.”

I showed up at the office smiling as usual. “Donna, a new year’s coming. Things’ll change for you. You’ll see.” Everyone was really concerned. We had become walking catastrophes.

Coming home one evening, upon entering the kitchen, we were horrified to find our whole ensuite shower on top of the kitchen stove, a hole in the ceiling that a large person could climb through. It just caved through. I didn’t even clean up the mess. I just went upstairs and waited for midnight. No use worrying, we can’t afford to get it fixed. Ignore the hole and use the main bathroom. Very next morning, I was standing in the shower, and I froze motionless. “D-D-D-a-a-r-r-k-k-o! L-o-o-k! Come quick.” The tiles above the tub in which I was standing were popping (not falling, actually plinging) off the wall, hitting the shower curtain on the opposite side.

“GET OUT OF THERE, QUICK!” he yelled.

“Darko- they’re not rotten. The house is only eleven years old and they were actually popping off.”

“I saw,” he said, worry written all over his face.
“How am I going to wash to go to work?”
“Wash in the kitchen sink, like you did the kids when they were little.”

Can you imagine standing in a kitchen sink, trying to wash your feet in ice cold water, so you can go to work?
“Darko, there’s no hot water.” Of course there wasn’t, the bottom had fallen out of our hot water tank.
Was I getting scared? You bet your boots I was. Especially while driving home a few nights later. The streets were a sheet of black ice. I was cautiously coming over the top of a hill only a few miles from my house, ignoring the parade of cars impatiently piling behind me, oblivious to the hazardous ice under their wheels, as I topped the slope I panicked when I saw about five people, on their hands and knees, all over the pavement. I rode the clutch and turned the wheel to the left, mounted a snowbank and came to a stop behind a tree on the farmer’s field. I put on my hazard lights to warn the oncoming traffic. All sixteen cars piled up in a colossal accident, with telephone poles and hydro poles coming down, making the road completely impassible. Mine was the only car not damaged.

By now I was convinced something was after me, but I couldn’t understand how I managed to avoid being injured in all these calamaties.

I went back to the psychic. “Things are worse.”

“You have to bless your garage. You must. You’ll only be frightened for another three nights and then you’ll never be frightened of anything again.”

I held onto this promise. Darko had the weekend off, and on the third night he had to go back to work. By the time I’d zoomed through the basement, first floor, garage and second floor, I was breathless. Never be afraid of anything after tonight. That’s a relief!

Sitting there on my bed, watching TV, I heard the most eerie noise coming down the hall. I froze. Chills engulfed me. It was coming from Dan’s room. Sort of a groaning, moaning, talking. He must be talking in his sleep. BUT THIS DIDN’T SOUND like garbled talk. Sounded spooky, like in horror movies. Across the hall, from Mike’s room, came the reply, in the same horrendous eerie tone. They were communicating back and forth, in turn. I must stress that they were by no means awake or pulling pranks. I did not move a muscle or blink, frozen with fear, waiting for the floor to open up and hell itself to swallow me.

“God help me! HELP ME!” I was still sitting shaking in the morning, with my nails pressed so hard into the palms of my hands they were bleeding.

Oh, he was right. After last night, NOTHING was going to scare me like that again, not like THAT!

During the following week, I sensed a premonition that I needed a black suit for someone’s funeral. The feeling was so strong that I went out and bought one. When we found the Doberman dead in our garage, I not only cried uncontrollably, but also felt foolish that this was why I needed the suit. The very next day my mother notified me Zandar had died.

Now I really believed in premonitions. “We’ll all go to the funeral in one car and then spend the night in a hotel.”

Standing in front of the open casket, tears streaming down my face, I prayed for her soul. For the first time in my life, she didn’t frighten me. She looked peaceful, not mean. Amazingly, the people that knew her closely respected her. I thought, ‘had you lived with her twenty-five years ago, you wouldn’t even be here’. Everyone worried how my uncle was going to manage without her. Rest in peace, Zandar.

It was the new year. I was back at the psychic. What next? “You will be changing companies. I see the letter ‘J’.”

Yes, I had been approached by a small broker to become an associate. The letter even fit. What does the name ‘Mile’ mean to you?”
“Oh, that must be Millie. She’s an agent at my office. We’ve known each other since high school.”
“Very prominent. Also, by the time you are thirty-six, you will be living in Pasadena with a man named John. He’ll be involved with horses. Either racing or training them.”

It can’t be. The other fortune teller had told me those same three facts. The one that communicated with a Chinese ghost. She was Chris’s mother’s friend for years and was very rarely wrong.
“But my husband and I are inseparable. Everyone calls us ‘the clones’. We’d never split up.”
“I’m not talking about splitting up. By the time you’re thirty-six, you’ll be a widow and already remarried.”

I came back to the office and told Millie and Joe what this guy had said. I’m to quit here and take the position with ‘J’. Things just have to get better and I’m not even going to think about being a widow. I won’t hear of it!

“Do you think it’s a wise move Joe? I just have to make some real money. The Income Tax people have given me two extensions already and they’re really pushing. Could changing companies hurt?”
“You won’t know unless you try Donna. I wish you the best. Good luck.” he replied.

When I phoned Chris to tell her that her mother’s friend, Samara, and both of my other psychics, had said the same thing, she offered to help. Since the Internal Revenue was still on my back, she and Hank had agreed to lend us $7,000. What a pet! No one in my life had ever offered help before.

“Thanks Chris, but I can’t take your money. Besides, $7,000 is just a drop in the bucket. I’m behind on all my payments and that’s only half of what I owe the IRS anyway.”

“If you send them something at least, maybe they’ll lay off for another six months. Take it, please. Not only that, but Hank and I have decided to buy a house, so if you sell our condo and we buy a home, that’ll be so much more toward your debt.”

I was really touched. Things were looking better. A new, hopefully better, real estate office, $7,000, plus two potential deals. When I offered the revenue department only half of the money and cried all over the man’s desk relating my sob story, he agreed to give me more time for the rest.
Were things getting better? No, not at all.
Chris called in the middle of one night. “We’d like our money back as soon as possible, Donna.”
“What? Why? I don’t have it.”
“I spoke to Samara, and she said you’re never going to pay us the money back and things are going to get worse for you. She said we’ve kissed our money goodbye. Hank is worried sick. It’s taken us seven years to save it up. I’m just sick over this.”

“Don’t worry Chris. If I do anything, I’ll get your money back to you. I promise. What else did she say?”
“I really don’t want to tell you, Donna. None of it was good.”
I woke Darko up and filled him in.
“We’ll have to get a loan somewhere; from somebody. They’re going to lose sleep over this, till they see that cheque. Then we’ll have to let go, give up.”

“Let go?”

“Yes. Of everything. I’m frightened for the lives of the kids. This has to stop. We have to let go of the house, the cars, the fridge, the stove, everything. As long as we have the kids and each other, they can have the rest. Nothing else matters but US. We can start over. It’ll be easier than trying to pay off $206,000. We might not work as hard the second time around, but it’s not important any more. You know?”

“I know darling, I know. There’s nothing more we can do. The harder I work, the further in the hole we get. We’re throwing $100,000 in equity out the window. That’s a lifetime.”

“I’m convinced the devil himself is out to get us Darko.”

As I said that, my kitchen cupboard flew open and we turned in time to see the ceramic cooking pot, which was at the bottom of a pile of plastic bowls, fly out to the middle of the kitchen, right above our heads, not disturbing the bowls that were piled on top of it, and shatter in a million, trillion, pieces, with a loud BANG.

All that remained was a powdery residue. No pieces or chunks, just powder.

We ignored it. We continued talking, emotionless, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t even stop to clean up the mess before we went back to bed. It was all too much.

I felt I had a high mountain in front of me. I had tried to climb over it, crawl under it, go around and through it. I had never passively stood still. Finally, I’d come to an impasse. A dead stop. It was just too insurmountable.

“I GIVE UP!!!”

---

© Please feel free to use any portion of this book in any manner that does NOT include selling or receiving financial remuneration or profit. We ask only that you keep the website, email contact info, and author contact information intact. Please include the clause--- 'copyrighted by Donna Martonfi' *