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THE TOMB INCIDENT (Tapes #1-3, Engineer 11′s Journal: Big Moon)
[THE FOLLOWING SERIES OF ARTICLES ARE TRANSCRIPTIONS OF VARIOUS RECORDINGS (VISUAL AND AUDIO, VISUAL ONLY, AUDIO ONLY) AND PAPER DOCUMENTS COLLECTED FROM THE REMAINS OF THE NORTHERN ALASKAN “TOMB” RESEARCH CENTER 17. ALL SHARED DOCUMENTS WERE MADE PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE ON JUNE 7, 2015 BY RUSSIAN FEDERATION AUTHORITIES. CONTEXT GIVEN WHEN NECESSARY. WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY INCIDENTS THAT MAY DERIVE FROM YOUR VIEWING OF THESE ARTICLES]
TAPE #1 “TOASTER” 11/27
DESCRIPTION: [VISUAL AND AUDIO LOG OF A CONVERSATION BETWEEN ENGINEER 02 (HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS A “02″) AND A COMMON HOUSEHOLD TOASTER (HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS “Toaster”) THAT APPEARS TO MIMIC ENGINEER 06. THE CONVERSATION IS HELD IN THE CAFETERIA OF LAB-01 AT POINT-A. SIGNIFICANT AMOUNTS OF BLOOD ARE VISIBLE ON ALL SURFACES OF THE CAFETERIA. THE ARM OF AN UNKNOWN INDIVIDUAL IS PRESENT IN FRONT OF THE TOASTER. 02 IS EITHER VISUALLY IMPAIRED, DOES NOT NOTICE, OR DOES NOT CARE THAT A TOASTER IS MIMICKING ENGINEER 06]
02: William.
Toaster: That is 06. It’s important that we avoid using our civilian names when possible.
02: It’s been a year, 06. You can cut the serious shit now.
Toaster: I will not. What is your issue?
02: Hmm, not much, just everything.
Toaster: Your sarcasm is unnecessary and unprofessional.
02: Your sarcasm is unnecessary and unprofessional.
Toaster: Do not mock me.
02: Do not mock me. Are you a fucking robot? Everything’s gone to shit.
Toaster: You are wasting my time. What is it that you want?
02: Your assistance please.
Toaster: I need a point and a purpose. I would also appreciate cessation of your needlessly sarcastic and antagonistic tone.
02: Who the fuck do you think you are? A fucking Vulcan? Some kind of edgy anime character? I came here because I saw that someone else was alive and I thought you’d like to help me escape. But, instead you’re still obsessed with playing whatever fucking part they gave you back at Base. Here comes reality dude: it’s all gone to shit. They’ve abandoned us. Everyone you worked with for the past 12 months is fucking dead, except for me.
Toaster: 02? Can I ask you a question.
02: Wow, this is new. Ask away.
Toaster: What is anime?
02: Well, considering we basically have unlimited time here, I’ll explain to you everything you need to know about the happy medium of Japanese animation.
Toaster: I am listening.
02: Okay, here goes. Wait, I’m not going to do that because I was just fucking with you, moron.
Toaster: Wrong. It was I who was doing the expletive to you. I attempted humor on you.
02: Well, I’m not laughing.
Toaster: Neither am I. That was an exercise meant to show you how much time your humor wastes.
02: What the fuck is wrong with you?
Toaster: I can ask the same expletive to you.
02: I’m [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
[THERE IS A TWO HOUR SKIP IN FOOTAGE. THE REST OF THE FOOTAGE IS A STILL SHOT OF THE CAFETERIA. 02 IS GONE AND THE TOASTER REMAINS UNMOVED. THE LIMB IN FRONT OF IT HAS DISAPPEARED]
TAPE #2 “COLD TREK” 4/7
DESCRIPTION: [AUDIO AND VIDEO LOG OF AN ENTITY (HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS “Pilot”) WALKING FROM A REMOTE REGION AND TOWARD THE CAMERA MONITORING THE OUTPOST AT POINT-Q. THE PILOT IS DRESSED IN THE TYPICAL FLIGHT SUIT WORN BY MEMBERS OF THE NORTH AMERICAN CONFEDERATION’S AIR FORCE. SUCH A SUIT CANNOT PROTECT FROM THE HARSH CLIMATE OF THE REGION. APPROXIMATELY TWO HOURS PASSES AS THE Pilot WALKS FROM THE REMOTE REGION AND STANDS IN FRONT OF THE ENTRANCE TO OUTPOST. CAMERA MALFUNCTIONS AND RECORDING ENDS. THIS IS THE ONLY KNOWN VISUAL RECORDING OF THE Pilot, THOUGH THERE ARE SEVERAL WRITTEN DOCUMENTS REFERRING TO APPEARANCES OF A SIMILAR ENTITY, AND AT LEAST ONE AUDIO LOG IN WHICH IT SEEMINGLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE. NOTED MATERIALS SHALL BE SHARED - IF NECESSARY - IN THE FUTURE]
TAPE #3 “GAS STATION” 2/28
DESCRIPTION: [AUDIO AND VIDEO LOG OF ENGINEER-04 (HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS “04″) HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH ENGINEER-07 (HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS “07″ IN THE MAIN RESEARCH WING OF LAB-01 AT POINT-A CONCERNING AN INCIDENT 04 EXPERIENCED SIX MONTHS PRIOR TO THE RECORDING]
04: So, that’s when I wake up and notice that I’m fucking freezing. It’s snowing.
07: In Texas, in the middle of summer? You’re making things up.
04: I can’t believe you’re so shocked by this. I mean, what I’m going to tell you pales in comparison to what we saw in the briefings.
07: Yeah, I’m trying to play things up a bit, like old times. Remember when I was still afraid of UFOs.
04: How can I forget man.
07: Anyway, so I wake up and I’m fucking freezing. It’s snowing like crazy outside and I think I’m losing my mind. So, here I am, stranded in the middle of nowhere. Outta gas, outta food, and now it’s fucking snowing about as hard as it snows around these parts. I thought I must’ve entered purgatory. I figure I’m probably going to freeze to death no matter what happens, so I got out of the car and just started walking. Coul[ᵂᴿᴱᶜᴷᴵᴺᴳ ᵂᴼᴿᴰ]dn’t feel my feet by time I found the gas station. I was so relieved. It was like finding home again. So, I explain the situation to my cashier. Says he never saw it snowing like this in his entire life. Tells me I’m lucky I still got my feet on me. Seems like a normal guy, but I think he had dementia.
04: Oh?
07: Yeah, like he starts talking about how he used to be a fighter pilot. Starts talking about his mom in a really weird way. Sounded like he was trying to be a little kid or something. Freaked me out. If I was in any other situation, I’d have beat the shit out of the guy, but y’know, huge job coming up in a few months. Plus he sorta of saved me.
04: Yup.
07: So, the next morning I wake up. There’s no snow and the place is abandoned.
04: Then what?
07: I leave.
04: That’s it?
07: Well, I found someone to fix my car.
04: What about all the spooky shit you told me would happen.
07: That was the spooky shit.
04: Sounds like your insane drunk ass hallucinated the whole thing.
07: I mean, yeah, but it’s nice to revisit it and wonder. Especially considering what we know. It could’ve meant something.
04: Doubt it.
ENGINEER 12′S JOURNAL: BIG MOON
Ice.
Ice.
Wet.
Wet.
Wet.
Dry.
Ice.
I sat in a chair near the table, but I couldn’t see or I couldn’t picture some-such object sitting in front my being. I felt, half-shattered, I had done the wrong thing. Ice, ice, wet, wet, wet, dry, ice.
Dear mom,
Hey...
M
[DRAWING OF A KITTEN]
03′s name is Elisa. I don’t know why I know this. I woke up and I just knew it. We’re not supposed to know names.
I feel stupid writing in this.
Ice.
This was a bad idea and already illegal in the first place.
Who am I writing to?
Big MOON [WRECKING WORD]
Told myself I was named 11 again so I would stop worrying.
Somehow I knew it. I knew I was lied to.
[DRAWING OF A DAISY]
[DRAWING OF A DEPICTION OF ENGINEER-11 AND KISSING A DEPICTION OF ENGINEER-02]
In the modern age, we take our separation from the world of the supernatural for granted. Supernatural protections, whether you care to believe in them or not, have advanced to the point where things like monsters, spirits, phantasms, and even witches are thought of as mere delusions, not actual phenomenon that could have a very real effect on your life. If something undoubtedly supernatural occurs, it’s always something you hear about filtered through hearsay and doubt. Usually, it’s something easily debunked, happening deep in the woods or in some part of the country where phones with good cameras apparently aren’t commonplace. You don’t hear about supernatural happenings on the internet much, unless it’s in the form of a ridiculous creepypasta - unlike this one. No, the type of horror found on the internet usually takes form of things that are very material: murder, drug trade, bizarre forms of pornography, missing footage, etc…
The material nature of internet horror may have been the reason for Jeffery Keane’s - who is better known by his pseudonym Rad1tzz - hubris and lack of imagination. Keane was a so-called hacktivist during a period where so-called hacktivists as whole were aided by a person calling herself the “Web Witch”. The Web Witch was credited in a number of major hacks and was also listed as a member of several major hacktivist groups. Some of these groups even went so far as to thank the Web Witch specifically for her participation despite being such a skilled prolific hacker who was above them in many ways. The Web Witch was an incredible driving force in the hacktivist scene, at least it seemed to be that way. When Keane committed his first major hack, which culminated in leaks concerning the hidden actions of a certain internet and cable provider, he took to twitter to boastfully proclaim victory and repeatedly thanked the Web Witch for her assistance. His twitter was banned shortly afterword and the authorities opened up an investigation into him, but this didn’t phase Keane in the least since, according to alleged chatlogs he had with his internet friends, he was “covered by more proxies than earth was covered by crust”.
Proxy jokes aside, Keane was serious about his anonymity and was certain he would never get caught due to his savvy in all things concerning internet privacy. But, something had Keane shook, the Web Witch. Keane’s suspicions concerning the Web Witch didn’t come immediately, but built up over time, which can be seen in action in archives of his posts on dark web hacktivist communities. At first, Keane is proud of the assistance he allegedly received from the Web Witch, but he begins to play down her involvement, which slowly culminates in his creation of a thread on a very private, very rudimentary hacktivist imageboard which simply asked “who the fuck is the web witch?”
The thread quickly turned into chaos as tripcoded hacktivists began pouring in to panic over the question. It seemed that majority of the hacktivist community had thought they had had some sort of interaction with the Web Witch, or thought the Web Witch had somehow assisted them with their hacks but, when they actually put good thought into it, none of them could remember any specifics about this “Web Witch”. The mood changed from confusion to paranoia and despair when the idea was thrown out that they could have been infiltrated by some informant. Many of them, including Keane himself, made statements that they were completely done with the community and would be disappearing for their own safety. Keane did make a valiant attempt to completely cover his traces, with nearly all evidence of the his online existence being wiped within in hours. Of course, this didn’t help him much - I mean, how else would I know his name and just enough about him to share this story with you.
Keane was caught posthumously. The FBI performed a raid on his house, finding his still alive but nearly starved to death grandmother who suffered from dementia, and Keane himself was found upstairs hanging from a ceiling fan by a computer mouse tied around his neck. Keane’s journal, which was - obviously - the bland and frustrated ramblings of a man who worked a dead-end, low paying tech job and took care of his infirm grandmother, contained one last entry that simply said “you found me.” So, Keane knew the FBI had found him and committed suicide. Pretty sad, but it’s an open and shut case. Which was how the FBI spun it as they omitted a number of details from public record such as Keane’s surgically removed fingernails, the “worrying statements” his grandmother kept repeating, the fact that Keane had stopped writing in his journal years ago and the latest entry wasn’t even in his handwriting, or the mess of computer parts and wiring that were found all over the house forming a trail into his grandmother’s bedroom where they coalesced together into what one agent described as “Nonsense, complete fucking nonsense. But it was some sort of effigy, and I don’t know why I thought this, but I just knew that it had created itself.”
The hacktivist community is now pretty much dead. High profile arrests and increases in government monitoring of the net have made sure that major hacktivist actions will be far and few between. Unfortunately, with the waning of the community comes the waning of information on the Web Witch. I have to admit, much of the information I’ve gathered for this article comes from anonymous sources and dubious leaks. The members of Keane’s community who I have been able to get in contact with are always concerned with how I found them and absolutely want nothing to do with me once I mention the witch. I wish I could give you more information on the Web Witch, if she even is a witch, but I simply can’t. At least, not at the present date. This hurts me as a so-called expert on all things witchy. But, with the passage of time and as more people realize that the internet is not immune to supernatural happenings, I believe we will learn some of the truth about this witch, with her wonderfully demented love of fingernails and her nebulous, covert actions - a true witch for the 21st century.
The town of Baker’s Bay, New England has a long history of tragedies and travesties to be found within it. There’s the worker’s strikes 1818 and subsequent state organized massacre that followed, the lynchings of ‘78, and the more recent stalking and murdering of Jessica Bleakly, among a plethora of other grizzly tales that haunt the city’s history. But, perhaps, the most odd of these tales have to do with the condemned Harlequin’s Mansion that sits at the top of the highest hill in the city. No one knows the origins of the mansion, but the city’s records date it back to at least the 17th century. What is well known, however, is its inhabitants - though the citizens of Baker’s Bay rarely ever speak of them. There is, of course, the furtive Harlequin who makes rare appearances past the witching hour where he emerges from the mansion and walks, jingling and jangling, down the old path from the mansion and into the heart of the city where he proceeds to play his fiddle until the sun rises, after which he seems to disappear into nothingness.
Then there is the Clown Witch, the less seen but more ominous of the two. The Clown Witch is said to have arms that are too long for her body, and make-up that is haphazardly applied at best. The garish figure only makes appearances in windows and reflections to unfortunate onlookers who are fated to meet violent and untimely deaths. The aforementioned Jessica Bleakly had a chance encounter with the witch which caused her to fall into a state of intense panic for weeks before her death. Despite her best efforts, going so far as to lock herself in her father’s cellar and surrounding herself with weapons, Bleakly wasn’t able to avoid her grizzly murder, and at the scene of the crime the face of the Clown Witch was drawn in blood on the wall beside her dead body. This, unfortunately, lead to a nasty rumor that the only way to avoid death after seeing the Clown Witch was to kill someone else. I’ll leave it to your imagination as to what happened after the Clown Witch began making appearances to citizens all over the city shortly after that rumor spread. Whether it was the direct machinations of the Clown Witch, however, is yet to be proven.
trulyunpleasant has shared something incredible with us, that i have a weird feeling a lot of people will relate to in some deep-inside way. take time to read it, i bet you won’t be disappointed (and also send me your spooky stories still! don’t stop till halloween!):
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Passion of passions! Fists of rushing tide! Mark!
See! The shattered shale rising at last light
As a cold, solemn Phoenix, rising to attend her other form
Lashed still to the Southern Cross!
With stony eyes, with talons of Uruchord, a heart of fog
She is a creature of the horizon, born of the spaces
Between touching stones, the surface-tension of dark waters
Such Nobility, whose presence abhors false and Worldly flame
For there is nothing for you in red fire
There is nothing for you under the Usurper-Star
Who profanes the Land with its blooded light.
Nothing shall be revealed to you from the tongues of men
Who call upon their blind Sun like a dog
Seek her! Fashioned from petty branches
From stone, from sinew! From ash
Where Mists and Showers settle into the earth
Where lie the bones of a hundred Christs –
In the North, in the North!
There shall you wait for her, and attend
Await her, the coming of the spinel-torrent crown
Await her in the language of the unobscured sky
She who with her nails traces scripture into the firmament
Await her, bearing the fragments of the ruined Marean thrones
Await her, the Ashless King, crowned in forty black stars
Bearing the rites of true Life and Ending in her hundred healing hands
The above images are the most recently allowed material from a surveillance tape labelled “Fichier d'archive. Caméra-20 (Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris).” What makes this film of note is that it is one of the few pieces in the archive that is an active recording, the subject in question is incorrectly named, and the camera capturing the footage is located hundreds of miles away in Switzerland.
The private archive firm (that, for legal purposes, will be termed only as VKA), has been maintaining an archive of intelligence data acquired through automated means. The VKA holds and analyzes all footage related to currently classified or protected data that pertains to currently closed projects and entities. Allowances to see VKA recordings and materials are only given to aid in scientific research, archival purposes, or to the intelligence cervices of the French, Swiss, Polish and Italian governments respectively.
According to automated satellite information that is tagged with the footage, the image is of the Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris. The footage is clearly not of Notre Dame, it is actually the Basilique d'Ars located in the commune of Ars-sur-Formans in eastern France. It is unknown why the automated geo-sync program has incorrectly tagged the location of the footage, this mistake is the reason the footage was discovered at all, thus the footage is named for Notre Dame.
The timestamp is all that is “correct” to an extent, as the footage always appears to be at night (it is unknown why the images sent for this review show a time when it would be night in Ars-sur-Formans). Active investigations on behalf of the VKA have been performed at the site of the Basilique d’Ars to see if a counter-op was being taken in the area or to discern if the footage was caused by an unknown natural distortion.
The footage itself may become saturated with color (as seen in the first image) from time to time, occasionally making the image hard to discern, this effect only lasts for 25 minutes exactly. In the third image one can see a figure in the reliquary area, it is unknown who this figure is and why they remain in the reliquary area for inconsistent amounts of time. Recorded appearances of this figure last from ten seconds to twenty hours.
It is still unknown how this footage is being captured and broadcast through a basic network of cameras located hundreds of miles away. A formal investigation of the footage itself was commissioned by the VKA, when this was carried out at the project surveillance center and compound site itself, a second issue arose with the footage in question that remains unanswered.
The footage of Ars-sur-Formans is taken from a cluster of cameras currently monitoring a compound in Switzerland; a chemical plant of the Bioforce Roggwil company. The company is under surveillance for undisclosed reasons. Below is an image from caméra-23, showing the plant “as it is currently” according to the French and Swiss governments:
The VKA is aware that it was given footage of what is clearly a miniature replica of the Bioforce Roggwil building in question. Note that whilst it is a perfect replica of the building, it is nowhere near a train station or mountain castle in reality. There is no clear purpose for this “diorama” of the surveillance subject in an incorrect area, and no concrete explanation for this strange attempt at deception on behalf of the benefactors of the footage. According to internal memos, the French and Swiss governments have stuck by this footage as entirely genuine despite clearly being illegitimate. Four completely different administrations still maintain that this is the actual footage of the compound, the VKA has ceased questioning into this matter for the time being.
Investigation into caméra-20 and caméra-23 on behalf of the VKA and concerned partners in the coalition entity have proven impossible to complete (members of the Polish and Italian government are greatly disturbed by the bizarre caméra-23 and their partners reaction to questions of its validity). It should be noted that the current investigation into Bioforce Roggwil is entirely legitimate and transparent to the coalition and VKA otherwise. Thus the continued issue with the camera cluster and official response to both pieces of footage is made more perplexing.
The current feed from the camera cluster has been personally investigated by a VKA specialist and several undisclosed third parties, caméra-1 through 19 are recording normally, as are 21, 22 and 24 through 30. Despite being connected only to the standard systems, caméra-20 continues to capture an image of the Basilique d’Ars, or “Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris”. Even after the system connection, cables, lens and camera itself have been replaced several times. Additionally caméra-23 records the subject normally, only requested footage from the French and Swiss governments have been questionable.
It is the opinion of the review commission that the footage from caméra-20 must be treated as if it is a standard classified document, “despite coming from nowhere.” Additionally the VKA will receive copies of caméra-23 from the French and Swiss government for similar reasons.
This is currently an active investigation and will be updated in due time.
I’ve been talking to Antony for a few weeks now, and I cant believe how fast things are going. First over tinder, then discord, then we started texting each other. I heard his voice for the first time today when he called me, it was a kind of sleepy sounding voice but it was nice. He just wanted to make sure I was on my way, some traffic slowed me down, caused by some car accident or something. He sounded concerned and told me to avoid the highway, its a bit morbid but my heart started racing because of how worried he sounded.
Its the first time a guy sounded like that towards me.
His place is really out of the way, one of the little McMansion lake-towns on the border of New York and New Jersey, at least I think its around there. Nothing but miles of thick forest, mountains and lakes for hours, so its not exactly the easiest place to recognize when every other mountain looks the same. God, I never drive this far away from home, but I also usually never take off of work to drive to some guys house in the off-chance I can possibly make out with him. I really hope I don’t come off desperate, but I am not exactly the most experienced gay. My stomach is filled with so many butterflies; to think I’ve gone from a couple quick kisses at summer camp to this? Its crazy, but I’m lucky I swiped right I guess.
I dont think I’ve seen another car on the road for two hours. And the radio is only picking up one of those tinny classical hindu stations, its cool music but somehow its hardly relaxing to listen to.
Just 20 minutes away, I really wish I wasn’t getting there so late. But the back-roads added a lot of damn time. And I dont like seeing the fog come off the mountains like that. Though, it is pretty.
---
He hugged me outside his house, a little longer than a straight guy would, or at least I imagine. It was nice, but I thought he said he was still in the closet? A bit ballsy to be- oh his eyes are pretty in person.
His skin is the same olive that grabbed me in his profile pic, like he was glowing. He’s a little taller than me, for some reason I thought he’d be shorter. His long black hair swayed as he cocked his head slightly, his brows furrowed. “You ok?” His voice is pretty in person too “ Uh dude?”
“Oh yeah- I’m fine, a little tired from the drive is all.”
He smiled, for some reason I realized how quiet it was. It was serene in a way.
“Where is everyone?” I think I can make out some birds in the distance, crows?
“Oh, we’re quiet this time of year. A lot of rich folks have vacation homes for the fall and the winter. And the leaves are still green, so no Townies.” Local names for out-of-towners are always corny.
“Am I a Townie?”
“For now.” He smiled again, and he’s taking my hand and leading me inside, I forgot we were standing in his front yard. Its an old log cabin thats been modernized recently, its dark inside. His livingroom was pretty sparse, but in modern way. Just a black leather couch, some black and white pictures and a TV. His muddy boots sat in a corner.
“So you want to do something? There’s not much to do in the house,” I nodded, trying my hardest to prevent him from seeing me blush. I really need to get my mind out of the gutter, as I instantly thought of things I’d like to do in his house- I am usually never like this, but then again I never get attention like this either. I’m still thinking of that hug, Christ I’ve only been here for like twenty minutes.
“Uh, sure. I don’t really know that much about your neighborhood, we could go for a walk or something...” He smiled, and I did too. Though I have no idea why, other than seeing him smile.
“That sounds nice, and after that we could watch a movie or something. We just have to be back before 12-ish because of curfew.” He sat down to put on his boots, as his hair fell I looked at his neck. I really need to calm down.
Wait, did he say curfew?
“Arent you a little old for a-”
“Its not my parents haha, the town had it instated a while ago. Its weird, but nobody really pays that much attention to it.” And yet he wanted to come back before then, thats weird. I mean, counties instate weird laws all the time, like not selling beer on Saturdays. I guess its like that. He has a nice laugh.
“Where are we going then?”
He looked at me and grinned, it was a really sweet smile that made his eyes squint.
“You’ll see.”
---
Every tree in this town was huge and old, if you looked down the street at the right angle it’d look like miles of woods in front of you. Every one of the houses was perfectly hidden till you were right in front of it. Almost none of them had any cars in the driveway, and the ones that did looked equally uninhabited till I saw a few lights on and the shapes of people standing aro-
“I wish you told me you liked peeping into other peoples houses.” I quickly turned, feeling my cheeks flush up again when our eyes met. He was smiling lightly, and his eyes were so dark, glinting every time we passed under the orange glow of a streetlight.
“Oh, sorry- its just that your town is neat.”
“Neat huh? I dunno, its always been the same old same old for me.” He lightly held my hand; it was so smooth, and cool at first. We were quiet for a while, walking down the oddly wide road with nothing but the sounds of the wind and a few lonely crows felt nice. The breeze was carrying a light mist from the mountains and each streetlight was enveloped in an orange haze. Every now and then we pass a parked car covered with leaves or a signpost covered in fliers, I don’t get close enough to see. The trees are hanging so low, I reach out and touch them sometimes as we pass. Each oak leaf is bigger than my open hand, and wet with dew from the fog. I feel his hand brush up against mine sometimes, I’ve never felt this happy.
We’ve been talking and walking for what feels like hours; favorite comics, favorite music, in-jokes from online chats. It feels the same as our usual conversations, but I am tingling all over. This is the same person I’ve known for what feels like ages, but he’s still a stranger. He seems to really like me, or at least he thinks I’m cute. Even I know someone likes you when they laugh at every shitty joke you make.
At some point I squeezed his hand without realizing it, he glanced at me and stopped walking.
“What is it?”
Antony just stood there, it was like he was looking through me. Inside me. His face looked so peaceful and my heart started beating so fast. I really wanted him to kiss me, I wanted to kiss him.
“I’m happy this worked out.”
“Oh, me too. This is the first time for me. Uh, on a date with a guy I mean.” Fuck, why did I say that. Fuck, Fuck. His smile became a little wider, I was afraid he was about to laugh. Or get angry, some virgin wasting his time.
“Really? It’s ok, I see why you’ve been acting so weird now haha.” I felt relieved and also a little annoyed at how transparent I was, I really wanted to seem cool. His teeth are glistening as he smiles.
“I’m sorry if I was acting weird, I didn’t want to-”
My mind went blank and suddenly he’s kissing me.
His lips are so soft, they are cold a little. His tongue is against mine, its so smooth in my mouth. Its longer than I thought, he’s making me drool a little on him. I don’t care, it feels good. He’s gripping at my waist, his arms feel stronger than they looked. His tongue is so warm, when did it go in?
“Wanna go inside?” I see a string of spit connecting out mouths dissipate. He looks at the house, nodding to it. I blearily try to kiss him again, I dont care where we are.
“Sure.”
It almost felt like he was the one saying that. Man I am feeling this so much right now. I could have stood out here forever.
Wait, this isn’t his house is it? Its definitely not the same house.
“Oh don’t worry, I have the keys for like ten of these places.” He must have sensed what I was thinking. He slides a hand under my shirt as we walk in, it gives me goosebumps. “Oh, you cold?”
“No, just- excited.” I’m being too forward, I’m definitely coming off as desperate. He clearly does not care, he’s pushing me over onto the couch. He crawls on top of me.
“I like you.” Oh fuck, he’s kissing and biting at my neck. I feel myself shudder as he nibbles my ear too.
“S-so are you a house sitter? Or something?” He grabs at my pants.
“It gets pretty lonely up here, all by myself. It’s ok.” I kiss him as he undoes my pants, I try to slip my tongue into his mouth but he bites at it a little. “Tell me if I am going to fast.” I hear the sound of our weight on the couch make the floor creak, it echoes through the house.
I just nod, I look away from him for a moment as he begins to kiss my chest and stomach. He’s pulling my pants down and I feel like someone is watching me. I pass my fingers through his hair as I feel his tongue on my dick. I almost cum just from that, this all feels like its going too fast. But I’m not going to stop this. I hear him hum a bit, he feels good doing this. I feel hands in my hair, he’s looking down at me. His smile is so beautiful.
Wait-
Thats not right.
I feel a jolt as something passes between my thighs thats too cold. I try to look down but the hands dont let me. I’m shuddering as I’m looking up at him, I cant see his eyes. Fuck, this feels good. He seems taller than before, the streetlamps outside make his skin look so strange. Like its stretched over his body.
Something is going in me, its so cold. Like ice.
It hurts and feels good.
“What are you doing? Ant what is thi-”
His neck is too long, I see it now as he’s leaning. How is he doing this- his mouth is too big, his hair is covering the rest of his face but that mouth is too big. His nose is streched out above his lips, there’s spit dripping down the sides, is that spit?
Its going over my face, his teeth are so big and flat, pressing down under my jaw and above my forehead, I try to scream but his tongue goes into my mouth. I feel it throb and become so cold, something is choking me. It tastes like cum but more bitter.
My stomach and lungs are burning, I feel like I should be in pain. Like I should be afraid, but its all just happening. I feel his mouth come off of my face, but I still cant see. I want to talk but no sound comes out. I cant breathe, I cant move.
“It’s ok, it’s ok. Go to sleep. I love you.”
---
I’m covered in something thats like hot wax, but it feels silky and isn’t hot at all. I can’t move very much, and he squeezes me when I try to. I can almost make out Antony through one of my eyes that not covered as much. This stuff stings my eyes. He’s tall now, and his arms are longer than they were, these films of skin are stretched at his elbows and armpits, like his bones are too long. He’s carrying me through the woods. The leaves are all orange now. I try to talk but I cant open my mouth, I feel full.
“It’s ok, it’s ok.” His voice sounds the same, and his hands are the same. He’s stroking my hair. Its sticky, but his hand is so soft. “It’s ok, it’s ok”
I cant keep my eye open, I feel tired again.
I'm going on a date soon, I am excited. But a little nervous too. At least I've talked to him a lot online, and we've called each other on the phone. Wish he'd show me a picture of where he lives, but that's a weird thing to ask right? I'm probably worrying about nothing.
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---
“ Alright, I think I know one that you might like to hear. Though its a story thats not exactly very old.
During the War there was a small internment camp a few miles outside of town, on the other side of Mnt. Francois. There were a few German fishermen, but mostly us Japanese. Very old families that settled here decades before the war for whatever reason. My grandmother was just a child when they moved her into the camp, and according to her it was terrible of course, but it also wasn’t that much better than the town.
Back then the Navy closed off a lot of northern ports up here to prevent disruption of the sub bases, and our town had one a few hundred miles to the north and south. So without the fishing, and because of the draft, the town was barely there.
One night during a storm, my grandmother and her brother were awake and wandering about the camp while everyone was asleep. They usually did this as a game, to avoid the four or five guards who patrolled around the camp, whatever you can do to have a little fun went a long way I guess.
But that night the guards were all on the far end of the camp, watching something strange on the horizon. When my grandmother and her brother got close, the guards didn’t even care, they were gobsmacked.
She said she saw this great shape swooping up and down on the other side of the mountain, a huge thing the size of a house that moved between the clouds so fast. She said it looked different every moment, like it was falling apart in the sky. It had these long things that looked like arms one moment and wings the other, they were ragged and had these long strands fluttering off of it.
They watched it go up and down for what felt like hours. She said it was like a hawk diving low to pick up its food of the ground, but that it just kept doing it. After a while she realized that it wasn’t falling apart like she thought, it was dropping things from the sky.
Thats the part that scared me the most as a kid.
Anyway, it eventually just soared off up the coast. The guards just let them go back to bed with no trouble, she says they never gave her or her brother any problems for the rest of the War.
Wish I could have seen something like that.”
- An unidentified woman.
---
Yewnport is one of the tiny port towns in Maine that is as old as it is forgettable. One of a thousand little fishing villages on the rocks of the northern coast, barely eking by on its fish and lobster. Surrounded by miles of pines like the rest of the state.
R. and I are not exactly happy to drive seven hours through mountain roads to get there, we both grew up in shitty little places like it before we decided to move to Portland and start our “media company.” We wanted to do commercials and magazine-work but ended up doing hipster camping parties and photos of rocks for the Wildlife Commission, such is life out here I guess. Just two girls and our windowless fan filled with expensive cameras.
About twenty miles away from the town we pulled into a Park Ranger outpost to avoid the wall of storm-clouds coming from the direction we were heading. Nothing worse than being caught in a storm when driving on roads mostly made of gravel and mud. Just as we both walked through the screen door we heard the sky open up, a howling storm began shaking the whole forest. The rain against our van sounded like a terrible drum corps playing all at once.
We sat alone in the tiny front-office. R. angrily tried to get some sort of reception on her phone, I just watched the tiny bulb above us begin to flicker. The door behind the decrepit front desk opened, Ranger L. walked in, completely drenched.
“I didn’t expect you guys back here so soon. You two are lucky you barely missed the rain, its killer out there.” His long black hair had fallen out of the bun beneath his hat, as he took I saw a streaks of grey I didn’t remember last time. Odd for someone to go grey in their mid 20‘s, but it happens. I wondered if it was a Native American thing for a second before realizing that was probably fucked up to think.
R. nudged at me.
“Well, A. was in a real hurry to get back up here. She wants to play this fucking awful game.” R. was still angry that I forced her to come with me. I had begged her all through the night and the day before, I think she finally gave in to shut me up.
“This is hardly a game, this kind of thing is dangerous. If we aren’t careful- If we aren’t really careful, this could go really bad.”
“Wait, what do you mean us?”
“A. after you called me yesterday a lot of weird shit has been happening around here that I am not exactly, uh, equipped to deal with.”
Outside the rain calmed down, allowing a thick fog to stream through the forest, obscuring the trees on the other side of the road. The lightbulb above us finally stopped flickering.
R. scoffed.
“Jesus, don’t give me that Indian magic shit ok? This is just someone messing with us. Probably some creepy old man with too much time on his hands” L. payed that no mind, but I shot her a mean glance. Her usual attitude was the last thing I needed.
“A huge metal box covered in dirt showed up in front of my place a while ago, I’ve been trying to call you but the phone lines are down all the sudden.”
“Where is it now? What was in it?”
“A projector, and some computer stuff. And a lot of papers, all of it is transcribed conversations you had with people in town, and me.” He sat on the desk and shifted uncomfortably, he looked at the floor. “But I don’t remember you interviewing me or anyone else in town. I just remember you coming for the wedding and leaving after.”
R. and I looked at each other, neither of us remembered any of that. She squeezed my hand, despite her pissy attitude I knew this scared the hell out of her too.
“I guess we should look at it.” I stood up and so did R., we both began walking to the screen door.
“You dont want to wait for the rain to stop?” L. was clearly more afraid than either of us. I just realized how sleep-deprived he looked; his bloodshot eyes were glassy and sitting upon dark bags. His hair dried into an unkempt scraggle.
“L. ... when did you say the box showed up?”
“Oh, I didn’t. It was about a week ago.”
We were silent, the only sound was the rain, which was now a soft patter. Tendrils of steam rose off of the road and dissipated into the cool fog.
“We called you last night , it could’nt have been a week ago. Are you sure it was that long?” R. squeezed my hand tighter, her cold fingers trembled slightly.
L. looked out the screen door, the man was clearly too tired to think straight. He rubbed his eyes, something that made him only look more exhausted and nervous afterwards.
“We should get going to my place.”
---
“Well, Yewnport was founded sometime around 1019 by Norse settlers from Greenland, back then it was called Yolmsvik after the famed clan of Odin-faith warriors. The journey was led by Freydis Ericsson II, an adopted daughter of the Wicked Woman herself they say! It was the first and only stable Viking town in North America for a long time. Though, of course, they had to return to Newfoundland following after the events of the Icelandic Sagas as we all know.
They say that during a truly horrible storm a great stone clearing appeared in the woods on the cliffs to the north of the town, creating the formation we know today as Oil Rock. The vikings revered this stone, and yet feared it because of its unnatural darkness. Either out of that fear or worship the stone was dubbed the “Helvegenstein,” the “Stone of the path to Hel.”
They say that Hela herself would meet any soul who slept upon the stone, and that she would tell them a secret that only the dead know. Of course its just a story, a little ancient local color you see!
Quite an amazing origin of our little town though, ha ha!”
- A man identified as “ Thomas J. Honey.”
---
L. lived outside of the town in the Bells Lighthouse. The original lighthouse itself fell into the sea decades ago, but the house next to it remains, a white box on a sliver of stone overlooking the fog, having no other purpose than being remote enough to be of use to the Wildlife Service and Coast Guard as a radio-hub. Its the lonely place that was in the picture that appeared at R.s' house last night.
I barely remembered it for some reason, a foggy image of a place we hiked to... But I've only just now connected it back to here, and back to the “last time” we were here. Nothing about this feels right. How did I remember that the Lighthouse was in Yewnport?
“Its cold as shit outside, I thought it was supposed to be Summer." R. trudged ahead of us, arms tightly crossed and head low to avoid the fog and sea-spray as we walked along the rocky shore to the Lighthouse.
“Yeah, we've been having some pretty awful weather for a while now. Stuff we usually have to go through in the winter but now instead. Fucking global warming."
The woods to the right of us were almost black, the fog and overcast sky made it impossible to see more than about three feet in. I couldn't help but look over my shoulder into the dark, I must have done it hundreds of times. I had a weird feeling, I could tell from the way she was walking that R. must have been feeling it too. Like something was right in front of our faces, or just barely out of sight in there. Like when you know someone was just in an empty room somehow, or when you sit down in a seat that's still warm. Just a presence.
Its not a feeling of being watched. I dont know what it is, but its close.
“We aren’t too far now, just around this bend and its a straight shot. I’m happy we’ve avoided the rain.” If L. felt anything like we did, he wasn’t letting on. But then again, he seems so ragged and tired.
“A. come on, I really dont feel like being a tourist right now." R. looked back, the worry in her voice and face peeked through her usual frustration. I wobbled over the rocks to catch up with her, passing L. for a moment long enough to hear how hard he was breathing. Weird for a Park Ranger to get that tired.
R. walked close to me once I caught up, tufts of wet blonde clung to her forehead. Looking like sickly veins on her temples and forehead, her hoodie flapped a little in the breeze as she looked at me. Her eyes were glassy and wide.
We've known each other long enough to tell what the other was feeling, friends can share a lot in a single glance.
“Dont look into the woods."
“No shit." We spoke quietly, I barely heard her over the wind. “What exactly are we going to do when we even get there? What if this shit in the box is... I don’t know, bodies or something.”
“Thats not what he said it was, its just-”
“You’re trusting that? A., it could be anything.”
“He has no reason to lie to us about this, he’s just as much a part of whatever this is.”
“Says who?”
“What? We know him, he’s got weird stuff in the mail just like we did.” I looked back for a moment to see L. looking out to the sea, panting as he tried to keep up with us.
“I get it, you’re scared ok? I am too, we just- we just need to work this out.”
The wind picked up a little, foam started spitting at our shoes and legs. The rocks became way more slick, shining in the dim light. I saw the outline of Bells Lighthouse through the fog, another twenty minutes and we’d be there.
“A. ... Why did you say that?”
“Say what?”
“Why did you say ‘we know him’?”
“Wh- we do.”
“I mean yeah, but how do we know him.”
“He saw us when we were here-.”
“We dont remember being here, I don’t remember being here. Thats what I’m saying. How do we know him?” She stared ahead at the Lighthouse, her hands were crossed so tight. “There is no fucking reason to believe any of this, OK? Fuck, I feel like I am just about to wake up from this shit. Just accepting everything even if I don’t remember it... There’s no reason to fucking see it like that.”
She was right. I’ve been talking to him like I knew him, but I didn’t. It was like the picture; I just knew that the Lighthouse was in Yewnport, but how did I know.
I looked back at L., he nodded hello to me like nothing was wrong.
I nodded back.
---
“My Father told me a story a long time ago about this town, and I’ll never forget it. A long time ago there was a hunter who fell in love with an Indian, and every night he would lie to his wicked wife and lie with the Indian woman in the woods. He hated the woman his parents had him marry, and wanted dearly to live with the Indian woman for the rest of his days.
So on one night the hunter went to lie with the Indian and he told her about his desire to be with her forever, and she wept and wept. He asked her why she cried, why she was not happy to hear his love for her. But she was also in a loveless marriage to the son of her peoples Chieftain and could never abandon him. They both fell into sadness, trapped apart from a life together.
That night they wept as they slept together, and smelling their tears the Witch of the Wood appeared. As they dreamed, she licked their tears away and spoke to them. She said that they could be free if they had a child that was for the witch to raise. In their dreams they agreed, the Witch of the Wood granted them freedom
All was well for the lovers who disappeared from the minds of their villages, at least till it was time to have a child. For every time the Indian woman gave birth, the babe was born dead. The witch grew angry after the fifth dead daughter, thinking that they were killing their children to spare them a life of Witchery. And so she cursed them to be together forever.
The next day, they were slain by hunters from each others villages. Living in the wilderness all this time had made them look like beasts and horrors to their peoples. They say that the place where there blood spilled was where they first slept and wept together, and that the land under them with tears and blood became and dead.
The spot is up on the cliffs.”
- A woman identified as “Abigail Smythe”.
---
There were hundreds of interviews, each was on some small factoid or beloved thing in the town. Most were innocuous enough, favorite local diners and pubs, a few old family stories. But others just were contradictory and ridiculous, we spent hours reading them, trying to understand why none of this seemed familiar at all. The leftovers of an edited together project definitely, but no final product. Just bits and pieces.
The feeling of unease towards L. left after I engrossed myself in the transcripts. R. was right in saying that we had no reason to trust him, but we also had no reason not to. Besides, he was helping, and seemed to genuinely want to help us.
“Well, this hard drive is fucked. Absolutely everything on it is corrupted.” R. stretched in the old desk chair she’d been perched in for a few hours, clearly she was pissed that getting L.s’ ancient computer to work was for nothing. “So I guess those stories are all we’ve got huh.”
“Yeah, that and the wedding tape.” L. sighed.
“You said thats why we were here right? That you were there?”
“I guess so, you were hired by the Waite family to shoot their wedding up on Oil Rock. Hold on, its around here I think.” L. dug through the piles of papers to pull out an unmarked CD in a clear plastic case. The word WAITE was written on the case in sharpie.
“L., you said that A. and I shot this right? If thats true than why would we have kept the recording and not given it to the customers.”
“I dont know, I wasn’t the one who wrote all of this down and buried all of this who knows where.”
The two of them looked at me, I tried my hardest not to pay them any mind. The last thing I really need is to doubt my actions any more than I already do, Dr. G only just lowered my meds and this would undoubtedly make things worse.
“Put it on.” R. looked worried.
“Uh, ok- I mean nothing really happened.”
“Thats how you remember it.”
He cleared his throat and put it into the projector. I take out a clean sheet of paper and a pen, I begin to jot down what I am seeing.
---
After a few moments of darkness it cut quickly to a reception dinner. A few hundred people were inside a large white hall of sorts, there was kind of cheap looking catering, and most people there seemed fairly elderly other than a few people who looked in their early 30s’. There were no kids I could see. The audio is incredibly poor, most words are impossible to make out, bizarre considering that our mic system is visible for a moment. That kind of thing simply doesn’t happen.
The setup seemed to be our usual two-camera job for weddings, but it wasn’t how we usually filmed. Camera 1 (mine) was positioned at a wall looking out across the room, it slowly panned back and forth across the crowd as they mingled and ate. Nothing odd other than how long this took, it went back and forth for about 25 minutes. Eventually it cut to R.s’ Camera 2,I’m not sure if it is in the same building, but it shows a bride in a completely white room putting on a very plain gown and veil in front of a mirror, or possibly a window. Her back is to the camera, her head is shaved completely bald. She is staring at something in front of her, but the lighting of the room is too intense to see exactly what it is. This shot lingers for about 15 minutes until a door that blended into the left wall opens, obscuring the brides face as she turns to whoever opened the door, something inaudible is said by a female voice and the bride gets up to leave.
There is a cut back to the hall. The light have been dimmed, purple accent lighting is lit on the walls, the table at the far end of the hall is lit for a toast. After all of the guests get to their seats there is a silence as the guests all look to the bride who has been sitting at the table this entire time. It is unknown if she has been there the entire time, or if the previous shot was out of chronology. She is too far from Camera 1 to make out any of her features other than her baldness. An older man at the end of the table stands to deliver a toast, it is entirely inaudible and does not sound like it is in English. There are several Asian (probably Japanese due to the notes) families present, though it also does not sound like Japanese and the speaker is clearly Caucasian.
There is another cut in the middle of his speech to a still shot of a house at night, again this is a shot from Camera 2. The camera is situated across the street from the house and does not move at all, the shot is static until a light in the house turns on. The camera zooms in to show a woman with long dark hair putting something over her head, the angle of the camera and the somewhat unfocused shot makes it difficult to tell exactly what it is, but it may be some sort of plastic bag. As the woman walks out of view the shot cuts again to the Hall, but it is empty, some people present and the dinner help fold away tables and sweep up. The camera is still panning from side to side.
Then there is a cut to black, this lasts for about 10 minutes. Muffled speaking can be heard along with the sound of a car, its possible that one of the cameras was left on as we were driving somewhere. Though the voices are so muffled they could be anyones.
The sound fades out as a shot of white pews leading to a white pedestal fades in, this is the first transition that seems professionally done. Ironically the wind makes it impossible to hear anything. The pews and pedestal are all decorated with a blue flower and pale branches of what might be Birch, they are all situated in the middle of a forest clearing atop a dark rock formation. Though the sky is not visible due to the tree-line, it is definitely a very sunny day. This is definitely Oil Rock.
Slowly the aisles fill with people who attended the reception dinner, its unknown whether the dinner was before or after this. Everyone has a single blue flower somewhere on their clothing. Interestingly, while each man is dressed in the usual black suit seen at weddings, all shirts and ties are also black. Music is suddenly heard over the wind, as the last of the attendees are seated. Though it is hard to discern, it is not music usually heard at a traditional wedding. It is definitely coming from a live band, one of the instruments immediately recognizable is something that sounds a lot like a Hurdy Gurdy.
After the music ends all people seated rise and look down the isle, out of the cameras view. A young child spreads sticks on the ground as the bride follows. Now that her dress can be more clearly seen; it is definitely not a dress at all, its closer to a collard cloak of sorts with a capelet that is attached to the veil by a black choker or collar around her neck.
Also it is entirely possible that this is not a “bride” at all, or at least in the traditional sense. Due to the momentary closeup as they pass, it becomes clear that the gender of this person is not clear at all. Though they are clearly young, and their eyes are very red and agitated. Though they are currently emotionless, this could be due to prolonged crying. For now they’ll be referred to as bride/groom.
They stand alone on the pedestal until the music stops, the attendees all kneel in the pews and pray. Though it cannot be heard exactly, the prayer is clearly the lords prayer. As they finish the bride/groom is clearly trying to hold back a powerful emotion, their eyes are darting from face to face in the crowd. Are they looking for help?
A new song begins and the bride/groom close their eyes, muttering their own prayer as tears run down their face. The attendees remain seated but turn to watch a figure in a white robe and rounded back hat with a wide brim walk down the isle, as this person passes the attendees bow their heads. Reaching the end of the isle, they are clearly the officiator. They pay no mind to the state of the bride/groom as they raise their hands and begin the ceremony. The wide brim of the hat obscures most of their face, only the mouth can be seen. This person is probably in their 40‘s to 50‘s from what can be seen, though gender is not discernable. I’ll simply call this person the “Priest.”
The Priest begins to speak what is clearly some sort of prayer, the attendees occasionally join by saying “Amen” and other inaudible phrases. At this moment I am wondering why there seems to be only one side of the wedding present, the bride/groom is less distraught and seems to have accepted whatever this even entails. They are gazing blankly to the left of the shot, rarely blinking as they stare into the woods.
The shot transitions into the view of Camera 2, that shows the final pew of attendees and a shot of the cliffs and ocean. Bells Lighthouse can be seen from here, incidentally L. can also be seen in attendance, sitting in the last row.
Then there is a quick transition back to the original shot, the bride/groom is being held at the arms though they are not struggling. The bride/groom is trying very hard to avoid looking at something unseen to the left of the shot. The Priest has begun chanting something as the Hurdy Gurdy plays three repeating chords along with the chant. The men restraining the bride/groom are elderly but large enough to convincingly keep the bride/groom in place. They are both wearing the entirely black suits, but the cuffs and collars of their jackets have a single stripe of baby-blue.
The wind that had overcome most of the audio has stopped entirely, but the Priest is chanting so passionately that they are incomprehensible. Suddenly a few people in the pews begin to rock back and forth, praying or weeping intensely, others are laughing. The bride/groom seems oddly peaceful. A few people begin to convulse and have to be held back by those seated near them. Some begin to foam at the mouth, the child who was spreading sticks in the aisle can be heard screaming and is seen in the lower corner of the shot running away.
After a few minutes of this chaos, it stops immediately. The Priest lowers their head and stands completely still, the old men restraining the bride/groom shut their eyes tight and grimace.
There is only the distant sound of the ocean for what feels like an hour as everyone tries to remain completely still.
There is the barely audible sound of sticks breaking and the movement of brush from the left of the shot. The bride/groom stares in this direction, one of the old men turns away with their eyes still closed shut.
Theres something coming out of the woods. I think that might be a cane or- no its an arm. A long black arm slowly with a large and thin hand is placed on the ground, pulling a figure. Its walking on all fours. It has unnaturally black skin, its stepping out of the woods and into the light. Its hea- its not a person. Its head is huge, its entire body is. It has a head like a horses, but its entirely black and glistening in the light. There are no eyes, no nose or ears. There are two long horns that curve back, making its head into a large Y-shaped wedge.
Its body is hairless other than its legs and very long and thick neck, jet black hair hangs low, tips drag against the stone. Its arms and legs are so long. Its feet are hands, its feet are long human hands.
Its so silent.
Its walking to them, the old men just walk away, they are standing there just looking at it.
The thing is grabbing at them slowly, gently. Its mouth opens, a long tongue- they are opening their mouth too.
Its kissing them, its mouth reaches their ears. They are choking on something, something going down their throat. They swallowed something, there is this black juice all over the cloak now. Its drawing back, they are smiling at it. They are smiling at the thing, now its pulling-
---
Suddenly I heard R. screaming, I dont know how long she was doing it for. I was writing down everything, I couldn’t think. She’s pointing at something, something behind me?
No.
I dont want to look now. She’s cowering, she fell out of her chair. My hand is bleeding, why is my hand bleeding. No its all over the papers now, fuck. Wait, whats that smell. There’s a window open?
Shes grabbing me,pulling me We are going out of the house. There’s a fire. Its raining
I feel sick. I forgot my medication, its been hours since we left. I’m having an-
there’s one of the old men. He has L. They are going into the water.
I feel Sick. Someone else is touching me.
---
“IF I HAD THE KEY TO THE WORLD, I’D THROW IT AWAY FOR YEWNPORT”
- Sign of a homeless man identified as “David.”
---
Its been a few weeks since we went to Yewnport. Dr.G was not happy to re-admit me, but she says that I’ll probably only have to be here for a few weeks or so. R. is pissed at me for all of it, but she visits every day. Group is weird, I dont know how I should be telling them why I relapsed. I mean, I could. But I dont want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.
Is that show still on? Anyway, being in here I cant exactly get any info on exactly what happened. R. told me what she was able to, so at least I know that much wasn’t just me. She wont tell me about what happened after we watched the wedding footage. And I dont remember much outside waking up in the van a few miles outside of Portland. She says I should just forget it, that we already tried to “sleuth it” and that didn’t end well.
Its funny though, ever since then, I remember.
I remember what I forgot about Oil Rock.
I don’t know if I should tell her though.
Ok, I guess I’ll be making a record of all of this… weird shit going on. Here’s the letter I found:
:::U—-G:::
Hey future-me
It took hours but I finally finished transcribing the mp3s. I’ll be saving the important ones in the harddrive we keep you-know-where with this note, the rest of the notes and recordings are going in the safety deposit boxes or to Dr.G. like she wanted.
Remember don’t let anyone see that shit unless you really know they can believe you. Actually, fuck that. Its for the best that you don’t let anyone at all see this shit, especially if you still live anywhere near fucking Maine. If everything goes well you wont have to ever come back here, but we cant get rid of this stuff. We have to have something on them in case they want to try any shit. I know they probably wont, but we cant take chances.
Don’t go back to Oil Rock, even if they offer you a million fucking dollars. Even if you forget don’t fucking do it. If you are reading this and its not at the bottom of a fucking hole, that means you need to leave, you need to make sure R. is safe, make sure she remembers.
Please remember this ok?
If you are not reading this after digging the rest of the shit up, that means you’ve forgotten. So to prove its me this is a secret only we know, I’ll include one only R. knows too:
For you: June 13th, we lost them
For R____: ███ ██████ in the back seat
Please stay safe. This is real.
Well thats how I write, it even has the way I write “harddrive” wrong and other shit. And that date is real enough, its when I buried Smoky, and nobody knew I had him. I’m not sure what R.’s thing is, but she was pretty shaken up when she came over.
Fuck, I hate to be all horror protag about this shit, but I want to know whats going on. A fucking picture came to R.’s house last night, and she is taking it bad and wants nothing to do with this. I’m happy that its one thing I remember out of this I guess, now I know this is for real at least. But I dont know if I want to go back to Yewnport.
