Rumour has it that Will Woodgate never sleeps. Concerned neighbours report that lights blaze throughout the night at Woodgate Hall, that strange sounds are heard and shadows cast as he paces the flagstones of his mortal confinement. What other-worldly demons does he battle whilst mere gristle and bone do sleep in such blissful ignorance? Not just customer support, it’s claimed. There are whispers of brave new themes and magical codes, with names like HTML and CSS and jQuery. Those who dare, speak of a frightening host of stacks and themes unfettered by such earthly restraints as cost and price.
These were the unnerving thoughts I pondered as the wind howled and hard rain squalled and the horseless carriage finally deposited me before the great oaken door. As the doorbell echoed deep in the bowels of the house, I wondered again if I had truly lost my senses. But it was too late for self- recrimination. The door squealed and an emaciated butler relieved me of my book of clichés. Then he took my hat and cloak and ushered me into the study where a log-fire crackled in an open hearth.
“Lord Woodgate will be with you soon,” he said.
I barely had time to admire my ruggedly handsome reflection in the mirror before I realised I was not alone. Suddenly Woodgate was standing by the fire, a jaunty elbow cocked on the mantel.
“Lord Woodgate,” I began, “I’m here to question you about the—”
“I swear it was an accident! The gun went off while I was cleaning it.”
“Your new RapidWeaver theme,” continued I, in a state of some confusion. “I believe it’s called—”
“Haze. Of course.” He swiftly recovered his composure. “My latest theme.”
I could tell he was lying but I went easy on him. “Is it beyond dispute that this theme is currently exclusive to RapidWeaver Central subscribers?”
“Then tell me about its design objectives,” I said.
“The main objectives developing Haze were to create a robust theme with a minimalist style – something which would appeal to artists and photographers. On the surface it looks like a very basic theme but beneath the haze — if you’ll forgive the pun — lies a surprising collection of theme and colour settings which enable users to radically customise Haze far beyond its default style.”
There was a wild glint in his eye, the feverish cast of a man who sees far beyond the mortal RapidWeaver pale. I motioned him to continue.
“Much like previous ThemeFlood themes, Haze offers excellent compatibility with a wide range of web browsers and RapidWeaver plugins. The theme incorporates eight Extra Content containers, three Rapidsearch search bars and all the normal theme settings and trimmings one would expect. It would be very worthwhile to download the free demo version to tryout.”
Suddenly I was tired of his procrastination. It was time to take off the rose-tinted gloves. I said, “You know why I’m here, Woodgate. Why don’t you stop beating about the bush.”
“You want to know about TopBox.”
I nodded. “Is it true it’s a Stack?
“And is it true that it’s a new popup modal window developed specifically for RapidWeaver?”
“But that’s not all,” he said. “The idea of TopBox is to provide a basic modal window which overcomes the problems other mainstream lightboxes suffer from. TopBox is a robust plugin, boasting excellent cross-browser compatibility and a good level of integration with other scripts running within the same page.”
“And in English?”
“TopBox was developed by a RapidWeaver for RapidWeaver. It handles styled text and images, images with captions, HTML code, YouTube and QuickTime videos, Contact Forms and confirmation dialogues, twitter, embedded PDFs, iFrames, and even weaverPix slideshows. You don’t believe me, try the demos and download the free trial version.”
“I already did,” I said.
“It all worked beautifully.” There’d be a time for wooden stakes and silver bullets but it wasn’t now. Sunrise was a distant cavalry of hopeless dreams. I knew I would have to return one day and confront my demons, but tonight I had one overriding mission and that was to return to RapidWeaver Central and file my exclusive report. All I needed was an image with a caption.
I hadn’t seen him move but suddenly he was standing over me. “You’re leaving so soon?”
Out on the moor there were hollows in the wind as deep as a dead man’s eyes. In them something moaned, something not of this earth.
“I must get back,” said I, in a fearful state of some pisspantedness. “My readers await eagerly for my news.”
Woodgate smiled. He had perfect teeth. “Are you sure you won’t stay for a bite?” he said.