I underestimated how big a deal this was to you guys. I have to say, I appreciate it. It makes me feel less alone - at least someone fucking cares. Thank you, all of you.
So, in case you’re not keeping up, my friend Jessica wrote a series of weird nosleep posts about her experiences shortly after I blacked out and apparently disappeared. In the posts I am called Dean (my name is Alan) and my friend Elizabeth, who also disappeared, is called Samantha. The posts ended with the understanding that whoever has been fucking with us got to Jess and Alex.
Right now, my girlfriend Lisa and my friends Jess and Alex are missing.
Elizabeth called me yesterday though. Thank fuck. I talked to her on the phone and she sounded okay, if shaken. She lost a few days in an unexplainable blackout, like I did, but she woke up before I did and has been trying to get in touch ever since. She is still in our hometown.
Apparently she woke up in the basement of her apartment building, which is now evacuated due to a heavy infestation of mold. Just like my own building. This mold seems to be spreading.
I spent today and last night reading through Jessica’s posts and most of the comments. It was actually astounding. Right now I know about as much as you people, but I’m definitely not jumping on that supernatural bandwagon.
I agree, things look really weird from what Jessica wrote, but I truly think there’s a logical explanation for everything here - the mold, the person in the vents and in the basement of my apartment building, Alex acting weird, the texts, everyone disappearing. I don’t know if it’s drugs, illness or even a government conspiracy but there is no such thing as monsters.
First off. That journal that Jessica mentioned in Update 4.5 isn’t a clue. I doubt it has anything to do with this.
Lisa used to be a dabbling Wiccan. She still sort of believes in the power of rituals and manifestation. We were goofing around, conceptualizing a story about angels and demons that could maybe be used as a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. She pulled out her old Book of Shadows from high school, ripped out all the pages and looked up Enochian on the internet. Then we wrote some bullshit demon invocation ritual in Enochian. It was just something like “We summon you, we welcome you, we invoke you.” According to your comments, we’re not very good at Enochian, which makes sense, as we researched it for about five minutes.
Then she wanted to try it. She said it would be fun. I was humoring her because we’d fought about bills earlier. We found some chart of demon symbols online and picked Hismael the Acquirer because he sounded like he could “acquire” stuff for you. Her friend is a Satanist, and he told us Hismael was a pretty chill dude. Lisa drew a Satanic summoning circle on a piece of poster board and wrote our names as one and two in Enochian in the journal. I added Jess and Liz as three and four. We were supposed to be the targets of Hismael’s generosity.
So we sat on our bed with candles and incense, and chanted the invocation three times. No response. I couldn’t stop laughing when Lisa told me she felt something in the room with us. I blew out the candles, got up and went to the kitchen to get a beer.
That was that. We did the ritual two weeks before shit went down, long enough that even I forgot about it. I’m not sure when Lisa ripped the other pages out of the journal, or wrote “I am not sorry,” but I assume she did it shortly before she left for Chicago.
I don’t think she did make it to Illinois. I called the friend she was supposed to meet and she said Lisa had texted her cancelling the plans a day before I saw her leave.
I saw her leave, though, that’s the thing. Bags packed and everything, big smile, all excited to go. I waved from bed, still half asleep, and said “I love you.” I haven’t heard from her since. She must have left her phone and I must have taken it. Is it repetitive to say I’m worrying my ass off?
I took a plane home to Oregon today. I found my wallet in my jacket, with all my credit cards. The card used to book the room was my own, but other than that there were no charges this week. No money spent on food or tourist activities or anything. I talked to the guy at the front desk, and he says he remembered checking me in.
“I know this is going to sound weird,” I told him, “but what was I like? When I checked in.” He gave me an odd look so I shrugged. “Project for school.”
(Obviously I’m paraphrasing these conversations, but this is the gist).
“Tired,” he replied. “You didn’t say much. Just asked for a room and shuffled away when you got your key.” He thought a second. “You were smiling the whole time, but you didn’t sound happy.”
Okay, so there doesn’t seem to be any leads there.
As if memory loss and the disappearance of friends isn’t fucked up enough, it started to get really weird when I left the hotel.
On my way out to catch a cab to the airport, I was grabbed firmly around the upper arm. A hundred thoughts rushed through my head as I turned toward the guy who’d stopped me. Had I met him while I was blacked out? Had I wronged him? Was he a cop or some kind of security guard? For some reason I can’t remember, my immediate reaction was guilt. Perhaps because I can’t remember.
The guy was tall, broad-shouldered and looked like a Goth or maybe a metal-head. I don’t know what to call the style. He had on those big black buckled boots, grey jeans tucked in and a long brown trench coat. His hair was black and long, down past his shoulders, half-heartedly formed into dreadlocks. It looked like he dyed some strands different colors, blue and purple and green. His skin was pale and he wore eyeliner and black lipstick. He wasn’t ugly, just weird looking. Kind of a big, tall guy.
I’m describing him, because I’m wondering if he’s one of you guys. Or if he matches the description of anyone you know.
He stared at me for a long moment, searching my eyes, then seemed satisfied and let go of my arm. I jerked away from him. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Listen,” he said in a deep voice, too quick for me to interject. “We can’t talk long. You might still be contagious. I know what’s going on with you, and I know you’re going back. Nothing I can do about that terrible fucking idea. But if you get near the mold, wear a gas mask and don’t breathe in the spores. Don’t touch it and don’t let any of the others near you. I cured you once but it can take you again. It’s not like antidote grows on trees. Carry this everywhere.” He stuffed a little black satchel into my hand. “Email me if you have questions. I’ll answer what I can.” He handed me a piece of paper this time. “Be careful.”
And he slipped out of sight in the afternoon crowd. I followed him for a sec, yelling “Hey!” but lost sight of him quickly. That comment about the mold had sent me reeling, and I was still recovering from the shock. It all happened really fast.
I wondered if he’d just handed me drugs or something, if I was about to be tackled by cops, but then I opened the little satchel and found, of all things, dried lavender inside. At least, I think it's lavender. It looks like it, but it smells disgusting. The paper contained only an email address: deltaseeker.z@gmail.com. My cab driver was yelling at me, so I just stuffed everything in my bag and left.
Is this one of you? Or do you know this guy? If you don’t want to say publicly, please PM me. I assume he read Jess’s account, but I don’t know how he could have recognized me.
Anyway, now I’m in a motel. I ran by my apartment building when I got back into town but it’s all locked up, police tape across the entrance. I just kept walking.
Lizzy is with me now. She’s fine, alive and well and normal, but shaken and worried shitless. Won’t stop crying after reading Jessica’s posts. If any of you have any answers, share them. For me and my friends, for everyone involved with this mold issue, please share.
Someone mentioned a type of fungus called cordyceps and I have to think this is something like that. But whoever that guy is, he knows more than I do. I already emailed him with a million questions, but have yet to hear back.
We’ll keep you posted. Again, if you know anything, anything, please let us know.
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