Location 014Q part 2

 In the last post where I shared "Location 014Q," I said that I would just have to put Ewan's introduction in another post. That is this one. Here is an introduction to Ewan Marsh and how he came to be part of the agency. 

Location 014Q

Testimony 2019-05-17

Arch. Hale: Statement of Ewan Marsh regarding his family’s experience with Location 014Q, recorded direct from subject by Archivist Makhi Hale.

Marsh: Do I...do I start talking now?

Arch. Hale: Yes, please. At the beginning or as near to it as you can, if you would.

Marsh: Um, well, it all started way before I was born, but I know the history and can give you some info about it. It was my grandfather, Eli Marsh. He was the one that first found out about the quarry. Dove below fifty feet and found the cave. Found the message. Shouldn’t have even been there. It was too deep and it was old, too old to have been from humans. Too perfectly written to be from humans. No one would’ve been able to get there, especially with how the quarry was about letting people that deep. But he found it. He came back up, kept the message to himself. After all, everyone already knew about the wish granting. It was just rumors and legends, though, like the stories of giant catfish and drowned children. That’s what everyone thought. You know, urban legends. Everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who has a friend who went to the quarry and made a wish.

Except it was real.

At least, it was after my grandfather made his first wish. He made his first wish the way you’re supposed to. He went to the quarry at night, spilled his blood into the water, and spoke his wish aloud. It doesn’t work if the wish isn’t spoken and if no blood is spilled. Kinda works during the day if the other conditions are met, but not really. Night is the best time, dusk and dawn are next best. He wanted his dream car. His father, Earl, got the car and forbid him from driving it. He went back to that quarry and made countless wishes, but none were granted. At least, not until a year passed. Then he made his wish, that his father would give him the car. His father was badly injured, wheelchair bound, and my grandfather got the car. Life went on. He used the quarry to grow his business. He needed money to invest in his company, wished for it, his father died and he got the insurance payout. Same thing happened with his first wife, Edith Mayhew. My father and his brothers were from that first marriage. My grandfather’s second marriage, to a woman named Elizabeth Benton, resulted in one child, a daughter, Eliana.

When my father, Elliot, and his brothers, Edward and Elias, were a little older, around ten, eleven, and twelve, he told them about the quarry and took them there to let them make their first wishes. They wished for a couple dollars of their own that didn’t come from their father. A couple months later, they received a letter from the lawyer of a distant great-aunt who died and left them each ten dollars. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was definitely a couple dollars that didn’t come from Eli Marsh so they were impressed. As they grew, they made more wishes. One a year each. That was all the quarry would grant. One wish per person per year.

This tradition carried on with Edward’s daughters, my cousins, Eve, Esme, and Emily. Oh, he was married to Alexandra Brooks. It carried on with Elias’ kids, my cousins, Ellery, Eldon, Easter, and Ella. He married Scarlett Gordon. It even carried on with Aunt Eliana’s kids, Pippy and Effie—Epiphany and Euphemia—when she married Uncle Zeke, that’s Ezekiel Whitley. He took her name, which was quite a scandal at the time I’m told. Pippy, Effie, and I were born around the same time. They were a bit older than me, but they didn’t mind playing with me. My family never liked that I played with them instead of my male cousins or brothers. They didn’t like that I enjoyed dress up and playing with dolls, but they figured I’d grow out of it and it wasn’t like I did these things in public so they let me be.

My father was twenty-two, just married my mother Viviana Harrell, when he had the dream. The dream he told the family about. The dream he told my siblings—oh, right. You all like names. That’s Ezra, Eugene, Valentina Eryn, and Vincent Emory—and I about when we were old enough to understand words. I was about three when I first heard it. We grew up hearing the dream. It was the gospel, holier than any sermon in church. He dreamed of the quarry and our family standing along the shore. There were gentle waves that lapped at the shore, despite the fact that quarry is usually still. A voice whispered across the water, murmuring the message our grandfather found on the wall of the cave. But then it whispered my father’s name. It whispered his name and said, “Protect me...feed me...” The waves washed over an ornate dagger half-buried in the sand at the shore. The blade of the dagger pointed toward town.

My father interpreted this to mean the quarry wanted people to wish there, more people than just our family, but wanted our family to act as gatekeepers. Guarantee that it would be protected. My grandfather proclaimed my father a prophet. Clearly the quarry had chosen him, much like it chose my grandfather to find the message first. My father, despite being the third born son, was made head of the family. His siblings didn’t mind, not even Elias who should’ve been first in line for the fortune. They became his trusted advisors, listening to him preach what the quarry wanted. They told others in town of how to properly wish. Soon, there were people who lined up at the quarry at night to make their wishes. But it didn’t stop there. During the day, there would be people lining up at home to talk to my father, ask him for advice on wishes, ask if there was anything the quarry needed or anything the family needed.

It didn’t take long for my father to begin holding sermons about his dreams from the quarry. And he had a lot of dreams. All of them about the quarry. Some of them involved a humanoid form coming from the water to speak directly to him. He didn’t talk about those in detail. I read about some of them in his journal that I wasn’t supposed to read, but I was bored and didn’t know if he’d written in it. First thing I saw when I opened it to a random page was a dream about that humanoid form. It was...well, it wasn’t the kind of thing a son should be reading about his father, especially not when I was as young as I was when I found it.

But moving on from that because I don’t really like thinking about it, things were pretty great. Our grandfather’s business was booming, the town treated us like royalty and gave us whatever we wanted or needed. Well, some of the town. Those who wished at the quarry treated us like royalty, though the rest of the town kissed up to us in hopes of getting some money. My father was a messiah to those who wished at the quarry.

Things went downhill, though, starting with me.

It was tradition that when we were nine, ten, eleven, or twelve—it depends on how old our parents were when they first went to the quarry, like Uncle Edward’s kids are eleven when they make their first wish, Uncle Elias’ kids are twelve, Aunt Eliana’s are nine, and my siblings and I would be ten—we go to the quarry and make our first wish on the night of our birthdays. It was always a big deal, our birthdays, but then the birthday wish would be just between the parent who went to the quarry when they were our age. I was so excited in the days leading up to my birthday, but then when I got to the quarry to make the wish…I felt sick. I could barely speak and felt like I was going to throw up. Everything was so still and quiet. The water could have been glass, it was so still and reflective. My father handed me his pocket knife, the same one he’d used to make his first wish, and stepped back to watch me make my wish. I held the blade to my hand, but couldn’t do it. My father asked if everything was alright and I said that I didn’t know what to wish for. There wasn’t anything in particular I wanted, I wasn’t in any juvenile disputes, I had no grudges or ill-will toward my siblings or cousins. My father was surprised, but said that that was alright. I could come back to make my first wish when I thought of something. I don’t know how it was possible, but the air became even stiller as we climbed back into the car and drove up gravel road from when the quarry was active.

Things started going downhill after that, though it was so gradual that no one realized. No one connected our misfortune to my birthday. Our business started dwindling, losing money. It was fine, though. The town still liked us and we still had money. The ones who wished at the quarry still wished there, still viewed my family as the chosen family, my father as a messiah. Then we went bankrupt. Still, it wasn’t a big deal. Then my father began having nightmares. Soon, the whole family was having nightmares. Except me. I was fine.

My parents started fighting. He blamed her for breaking tradition by giving Valentina and Vincent names that didn’t start with ‘e’ and she retorted that it was his fault for letting children make wishes at the quarry, abusing the powers of it for selfish, childish things. It was about two weeks later that Valentina and Vincent were involved in a car accident. Valentina was killed—not instantly, but it took so long for the ambulance to arrive and she was so badly injured…I wish it had been instant, but Vincent lived. He had severe trauma though and amnesia. The doctors said it was unlikely he’d ever fully recover. My father changed his name on his birth certificate to Emory Vincent, against my mother’s wishes, but everyone knew he was still Vincent. Most people treated him like he was stupid. Kids mocked him, insulted him. I don’t have to tell you the kind of things they said about him. I got into my fair share of fights over it, though I usually ended up on the losing end, being younger and smaller.

Things kept getting worse. My father became more and more fanatical about the quarry and my mother began telling anyone who would listen stories of children drowning in the quarry, trying to keep them away from it so they wouldn’t “use up all the magic for frivolous things,” in her words. People slowly stopped visiting. Then my mother suddenly vanished. We found her car at the shore, near the gravel road. There were footprints in the sand. My father proclaimed that the quarry was punishing her for her sins. That was around the time I noticed some of your agents around town and when I first heard about Verdigris wanting to acquire the quarry. As you know, it was fought by the town, but no one fought harder than my family. We lived so close to the quarry and my father had practically built a religion around it. But Verdigris managed to buy it and our family was unhappy with it, but couldn’t do anything. When Verdigris began draining the quarry, bad things happened around town, which I’m sure you heard about. But things were worse for my family. Everyone except me had nightmares. Vincent would cry and wet the bed most nights. My father would moan in his sleep, loudly. Not too sure his were all nightmares, honestly. My cousins, uncles, aunts—everyone was having nightmares. Everyone except me.

It was around the time that Sloane Cunningham came back that I dreamed of the quarry. I dreamed of gently lapping waves. I dreamed of a humanoid. A handsome man with blue-green eyes. I can’t recall any other features, just those eyes, though it might have looked like Sloane. Maybe. The voice was lyrical, but he didn’t seem to move his mouth. “I can cure your brother,” it said. “I can heal him. You just need to wish for it.”

I woke up in a cold-sweat. I went to Vincent’s room and woke him up. I told him to come with me, but be quiet. We left the house and we went to the quarry. Vincent began crying and saying no over and over, but he calmed when we were taken by the security guard—well, I suppose it was actually a custodian—to the office. I began telling him—I think his name was Tanner?—everything about the quarry. He told me to hold on and then called you. He let us stay there and told us that he’d keep us safe. You know the rest. You showed up and Tanner told me to tell you my story while he kept Vincent entertained.

Arch. Hale: You mentioned that your father formed a religion around the quarry and that people believed him to be a prophet. Could you...elaborate on the practices of your father’s cult—er, religion?

Marsh: Call a spade a spade, it is a cult. And I mean, we didn’t really do anything. We had our family tradition of making our first wish on our birthday and my father advised us to tell the town how to properly wish—bleed, speak the wish out loud, best results at night—but it wasn’t something as formal or organized as a cult. Sure, people came to my father for his advice on wishing and treated him like a religious leader, but it wasn’t like a cult. Like, they’d come to my father for wishing advice and to hear about the quarry the same way you go to a priest for spiritual counseling or a lawyer for legal advice. There weren’t really any practices.

Arch. Hale: And the stories about people drowning in the quarry are just stories?

Marsh: Well, I mean, there’s probably been someone that drowned there back when the town was first founded, but I don’t know. Didn’t really pay much attention to the town history portion of class. But no, as far as I know, any rumors of people drowning in the quarry are just urban legends. Anything else?

Arch. Hale: No, I think that covers it.

Marsh: Good. I’m going to get back to Vincent before he gets worried. He doesn’t like strangers.

Arch. Hale: Statement ends. Marsh was contacted by Superior Callum Read and strongly advised to join the Agency. It is unknown at this time what position Marsh will request once he passes the required courses and exams. Hopefully, he’ll want to be an archival assistant. This position would also give him the leeway he needs to take care of his brother.

This is the last entry involving the quarry so far, but there may be another at a later date. For now, I hope you enjoyed the cool, refreshing, blue-green waters of Location 014Q. 

Corbin Cove: Book Club & the Librarians

 Welcome back! This week we're going to take a look at a couple similar but very different organizations in the strange and wonderful town of Corbin Cove: the book club and the librarians. 

The Book Club

The Corbin Cove Book Club is a small, but vocal group made up of avid readers. Banned from Hallowed Grounds Coffee Bar for cursing the staff when they ran out of pastries, they most often meet at other members' houses now, but will sometimes be able to convince The Spine Mine to host them. The majority of the book club are more than capable of using magic of all forms, but several specialize in curses while at least one excels at potions. Aside from their use of magic, the book club seems a rather normal group. 

The group meets weekly to discuss the newest book they're reading or make suggestions for what the club should read next. The group also occasionally brews up some trouble and mischief for the other residents of Corbin Cove. It isn't unusual for the group to brew a love potion and slip it into community punch at different meetings (the PTA meetings or gatherings at the community center). Because of this, many residents have taken to drinking from hip flasks whenever they spot a member of the book club. 

Of course, the book club's numbers are growing and no one really knows who is and isn't a member. 

The Librarians

The librarians are never seen outside of Obelisk Library. Of course, there's always rumors that they've been spotted hunting down people with overdue books like an owl hunts down a mouse, but these rumors aren't confirmed. It doesn't help that the librarians are never seen inside the library either. 

The librarians are rather helpful though and are always around when someone needs help acquiring a specific book. The library patron will usually find the book set down on a table beside or in front of them and hear the light flapping or rustle of wings, which is the only betrayal of the librarian's presence. The librarians believe, after all, that the mark of a good librarian is to be ever-helpful and never seen, only rarely heard. 

A rather short post today, I'm afraid. In the next installment of Corbin Cove, I'll give you a tour of the two places for avid readers: The Spine Mine bookstore and Obelisk Library. Until then, stay strange.

Location 009R part 4

 Here is the final part of "Location 009R." In it, we learn about one of the missing Richwell residents who may make an appearance in another entry once I resume writing new entries for The Agency. Fr now, though, gather some supplies and don't question the voice. 

Location 009R

Testimony 2017-09-26

Arch. Sykes: Statement of the alleged Caleb Henderson who claims to be—

Henderson: I am the Caleb Henderson and I am from that group.

Arch. Sykes: —one of the original residents of Location 009R, also known as Richwell, who walked into the forest and vanished on September 26, 1939. Statement recorded direct from subject by Archivist Theo Sykes with Officer Jude Holland of support team Sigma witnessing. Now, Mr. Henderson—or whoever you actually are—you’re claiming to be from the group that disappeared seventy-eight years ago. Further, you’re claiming that you are Caleb Henderson who, according to birth certificates and town records, was fifteen at the time and would be ninety-three now. As I’m sure you are aware, you look fifteen. You can understand why I find it difficult to believe you.

Henderson: I don’t care what you say. I am Caleb Henderson from Richwell in 1939. I know it is hard to believe, especially if it’s really been as long as you say it has, but it’s the truth. It was September twenty-sixth of 1939. I don’t know what happened, really. One moment everything was fine, but then suddenly there was music and a voice telling us to follow it. It wasn’t in English, but we knew that that is what it was saying. The music was the only thing that we could understand.

            It sounded like…like that song from The Wizard of Oz. The song where they set off to see the wizard. It wasn’t as upbeat as in the movie. It was…slow. More like a funeral march. I don’t know what happened after that. I just know that I joined the others walking. We started walking toward the woods. We just knew that if we got there, we’d find the music, find the wizard. We knew that everything would be better if we just kept walking.

            Someone stopped me and spoke to me, but I don’t know who or what they said or what I said. I don’t know how long I was stopped, but then I joined the others and we walked into the forest, up the trail. Things get a little foggy there. I just know we kept walking and walking. The song was always just out of reach. The voice was always just a little further away. We kept walking and walking and we stopped in front of the wall. There was…a voice. It told us to stand there and it would pick one to join it. I don’t know who it called to it, but suddenly our group was one shorter. I could sense it.

            We started walking again. We kept walking for so long. Any time we stopped at the wall, the voice called one of us to it, told one of us to go back, and told us to eat. I shudder to think what we were eating that whole time. We kept walking and walking. Our number grew and shrunk and sometimes there were others that hadn’t been part of the original group. The routine kept going and we kept walking.

The voice finally spoke to me. It didn’t tell me to come with it or to go home. It just spoke to me. I don’t know exactly what it said. I know it was a good conversation, though. I felt at ease. Safe. It talked and finally told me that I was going to come with it, but then I would go home until it called me again. It told me that I would need to do things for it and it didn’t seem happy when I asked it what it wanted me to do.

It was angry with me for questioning it. It talked to me for a long time then told me to go home. I asked it why I wasn’t going with it and it told me that I needed to learn to appreciate things before it would let me come with it. It told me to go home and it would call me again when I learned to be appreciative and not so defiant. I didn’t argue after that, but it told me that it wanted me to come with it, but I was going to be more helpful to it out here. It didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. It told me to walk back the way I came and then I’d be back on the trail and able to find my way home. It told me to just keep walking back down the trail and I would find my way home. It also told me that it had one more thing to tell me. When I asked what it was…I don’t remember what happened after. I just remember pain and then everything went black. Then I was walking off the trail into town and the town looked so different.

Arch. Sykes: Okay. Thank you for your statement. You’ll be remanded to support team Sigma’s custody.

Henderson: You can’t keep me locked up!

Off. Holland: Come with me. Fight and I will tase you.

Arch. Sykes: Statement ends. Until we have confirmation of his identity, the alleged Caleb Henderson will be held in support team Sigma’s custody. Once we have his identity, he’ll likely be kept in Sigma custody.

Arch. Sykes: Addendum—As of October twelfth, Omega scientists and Epsilon medical personnel have reviewed dental records, done DNA tests, and checked his appearance against photographs from that time. They have found that he is, in fact, Caleb Henderson. He has been offered an employment opportunity and it seems likely that he is going to accept. It isn’t as though he has many other options.

 

I hope you've enjoyed "Location 009R." I certainly enjoyed writing it, even though I had to write it during the day only since it spooked me.

Corbin Cove Locations: Remains to be Seen & Imagi-Knit

 For this week's post about writing projects that aren't The Agency, I've decided to share a little more about the town of Corbin Cove. Today, it's going to be two shops that are near each other and had a small legal battle that's been sorted out: Remains to be Seen and Imagi-Knit. I'll warn you now that this does involve a little bit of gore so if the casual mention of viscera, dead things, and people working with it bothers you, you may wish to skip this post altogether or proceed with caution. 

Imagi-Knit is a shop that sells all the supplies needed for knitting and crocheting such as various sized needles and yarn in every color possible and impossible. If you can think it, you can create it, is the shop's motto and belief. Imagi-Knit also offers workshops on crafting with yarn and other stranger knitting materials. This is where they ran into some conflict with their across-the-road neighbor, Remains to be Seen.

Remains to be Seen is an unusual shop, even by Corbin Cove standards, that crafts and sells crystal-clear urns and coffins. They also sell articulated skeletons and artwork that involves real skulls and bones. While the main portion of the shop is the showroom, there is a small room next door where people can create their own artwork, much like how there are some pottery shops that let you paint your own pottery in a room adjacent to the main one. The owners of the shop hold workshops that include bleaching the bones, painting, weaving, and incorporating other natural items such as feathers into artwork. 

Remains to be Seen and Imagi-Knit got into a dispute regarding Remains to be Seen's weaving workshop and Imagi-Knit's use of intestines in their "Knitting with Viscera" workshop. See, both workshops involved the use of intestines and, while one was knitting and the other weaving, neither shop liked that the other one also used a material they did. It didn't help matters that Remains to be Seen's weaving workshop also taught participants how to knit with intestines, which was by far more popular than weaving with intestines. 

With neither shop willing to change the way they taught or negotiate without bloodshed, the owners approached two members of the Town Council that would be best suited to handle their issues: The Peerless Prosecutor and The Devil's Advocate. While The Devil's Advocate primarily handled demon rights and housing, she was in fact still an advocate and would make sure that their voice was heard. So it was that the owners of the two shops and the two Council members met to discuss the problem with The Peerless Prosecutor representing Remains to be Seen and The Devil's Advocate representing Imagi-Knit. 

The discussion lasted for several days, but finally--after much shouting, arguing, and severing of tentacles--a compromise that neither party liked was reached. Imagi-Knit would cease using intestines in their workshops as intestines counted as remains and Remains to be Seen would cease teaching their students how to knit with intestines as knitting was something that Imagi-Knit specialized in. Remains to be Seen could continue to teach weaving with intestines and anything else except knitting and, though unlikely and unpopular due to complexity, crocheting. Imagi-Knit, however, would have to cancel their "Knitting with Viscera" workshop, permanently. 

Of course, Imagi-Knit did manage to win one small concession that had been briefly brought up during the discussion. Remains to be Seen would no longer be allowed to teach any workshop or sell any artwork involving hair unless they could prove and certify that the hair had indeed come from remains. Imagi-Knit, meanwhile, could continue to sell hair and teach lessons regarding crocheting and knitting with hair, provided they could prove it came from a living donor. 

Neither side was pleased with this, but this was agreed upon and things soon returned to normal. Imagi-Knit couldn't teach their patrons how to knit with intestines, but they could teach them the basics then explain how things differed when working with intestines. Remains to be Seen couldn't teach their patrons how to knit with intestines, either, but they could continue the weaving workshop. It wasn't as popular, though.

Imagi-Knit has recently gotten in a fantastic set of knitting needles--solid bone topped with preserved eyes. Remains to be Seen is not yet aware of this. 

Location 009R part 3

 I promised that the next post would likely just be the one entry from "Location 009R" where we learn the ultimate fate of Paul Rhodes and see what else the trail has in store for those who decide to brave a walk along it. 

Location 009R

Testimony 2010-09-26

Arch. Sykes: The following is a recording of Jack Hopkins, a collector; Wade Harper, an Omega scientist; Bailey and Jennifer Watson, Theta forest rangers; Paul Rhodes, an Iota archival assistant with some familiarity with the oddities of Location 009R; and Daniel May, a Zeta assistant, who were all sent to investigate the trail near Location 009R. The tapes, carried out by Daniel May, are all that returned from the expedition. Recording begins.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Alright, this recorder is going to be on the entire time we’re on this trail. It will record everything, every sound. This will also provide a record of what we are experiencing should we end up in another situation like what I was in before I was hired.

Sci. Harper: It will be on all the time?

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Yes, all the time. Which means that if you plan on doing anything with May, it will be recorded.

Sci. Harper: I don’t—

Coltr. Hopkins: Enough. You’re wasting tape arguing. The recorder stays on, pants stay on too. Everyone clear on that?

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Right. Now that we’re all agreed, everyone state your names and occupations.

Sci. Harper: Why? The Agency knows who they sent here and who we are.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Procedure. I’ll start. I’m Archival Assistant Paul Rhodes of support team Iota.

Coltr. Hopkins: Collector Jack Hopkins.

Rngr. B. Watson: Forest ranger Bailey Watson of support team Theta, navigation specialist.

Rngr. J. Watson: Forest ranger Jennifer Watson of support team Theta, tracking and survival specialist.

May: Um…Daniel May of support team Zeta. I guess I’m a pack mule or something?

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Harper?

Sci. Harper: Fine. Omega scientist Wade Harper, mycologist. For the ones who don’t have enough brain cells to figure it out, I study fungi.

Rngr. B. Watson: And why did the Agency put you in this group? Like, I don’t think that mushrooms are something we’d need to worry about.

Sci. Harper: On the off chance that the incidents were somehow triggered by some type of fungi, I’m here to examine the fungi we encounter and determine whether they are normal or need to be collected as specimens. That’s why Superior Reid sent me on this…mission.

Coltr. Hopkins: Now, Rangers Watson have the map, compasses, and all our navigation equipment.

May: We have a map of this trail?

Coltr. Hopkins: We have a map of the trail, yes. But we don’t know for sure where the wall is. We also have places where the mutilated bodies of the previous hikers have been found marked on the map. It looks like there is some sort of a pattern, a circular one, so it’s possible that the wall is in the center of the circle or near it. Our goal is to find the wall and figure out what is beyond the wall and how it is connected to the incidents.

Rngr. B. Watson: And when we find this nonexistent wall?

Rngr. J. Watson: Yeah. I’ve walked this trail before and never seen any kind of wall.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: It’s real. I’ve been here before.

Coltr. Hopkins: We’re not going to argue about its existence. Once we find it, we document it. We mark it on the map. We quarantine the area and call Superior Read for further orders, which may include closing the trail completely and setting up a guard shack for custodians to keep trespassers away from here. Now, let’s go.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: Everyone stay together. We walk two by two. Me and Ranger Watson—I don’t care which one—will lead, followed by Doctor Harper and May with Collector Hopkins and the other Ranger Watson bringing up the rear. Anyone hears anything, say something. Even if the recorder doesn’t pick it up, we need a record of hearing it.

Arch. Sykes: The tape here has been damaged due to exposure to the elements and as such there are some parts that are unable to play. The next part that we were able to salvage took place on what Archival Assistant Rhodes says is day three.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: It is now day three and the chanting has been going on for thirty-six hours now. The marchers made an appearance last night and, at the command of Collector Hopkins, we joined them in their night march.

Rngr. J. Watson: The maps don’t match up with how much we’ve been walking. The amount of miles we’re walking doesn’t add up either. We’re walking in a straight line, but we’ve passed the same creek and the same clearing at least five times.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: We haven’t seen the wall yet, but we will. Things are getting…there’s the song again. The singing. The singing from before, from my first hike here.

Coltr. Hopkins: I don’t hear anything except the chanting.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: No, you wouldn’t, would you? It doesn’t want you yet.

Sci. Harper: You’re acting as though the wall is sentient.

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: You know nothing of what we’re dealing with. You know about mushrooms and fungi, you think if you can explain something, find a logical explanation for it, you can name it, control it. But you can’t.

Sci. Harper: And I think it’s clear to everyone here that Rhodes has taken a running leap into the deep end of insanity.

Rngr. B. Watson: Um…guys? There’s…look.

May: Twenty feet long, seven feet tall. It’s the wall that we’re looking for, isn’t it?

Rngr B. Watson: Yes, but it shouldn’t be here. We’ve passed this spot a dozen times and there’s never been anything here.

Rngr. J. Watson: We haven’t been here before. There’s no trace of our footprints in the mud, see? We must have taken a turn or something.

Rngr. B. Watson: We’ve been walking in a straight line, no turns or anything. We passed the creek, the clearing, we’ve had to have been here before.

Rngr. J. Watson: We haven’t, though. There’s no evidence. Will someone shut Rhodes up? I can’t think with him cackling.

Coltr. Hopkins: Rhodes, get ahold of yourself!

Arch. Asst. Rhodes: It’s just so damn funny! This whole time…we’ve been walking this whole time and it…it wants me back now. It finally wants me…and it…this whole time…

Arch. Sykes: Here, Archival Assistant Rhodes dissolved into hysterical laughter and continued until the tape ran out. The next tape showed less visible damage, but has more audio artefacts according to some Omicron researchers, though I don’t hear anything.

May: Maybe we could just…turn around? Go back?

Sci. Harper: That’s not allowed.

May: But—

Coltr. Hopkins: Shut up and keep walking. We’re almost there.

Rngr. B. Watson: We’ve been almost there a dozen times. We’ve passed that wall so many times and we keep passing everything else we’ve passed before. It’s been five days since—

Rngr. J. Watson: Shut up. The math doesn’t make sense, the map doesn’t make sense. Nothing will make sense until we get to the other side of the wall and we can’t get to other side of the wall unless we keep walking.

Rngr. B. Watson: But we’re walking in a circle!

Sci. Harper: We’ve been walking in a straight line. We’ll come around the wall eventually.

Rngr. B. Watson: We’re walking in a circle! I know it seems like a straight line, but it can’t be a straight line! We’ve passed the creek, we’ve passed the clearing. We’ve passed the front side of the wall a dozen times.

Sci. Harper: We’re walking in a straight line like the other marchers.

Rngr. B. Watson: The other marchers who are probably dead, you mean? They’ve been walking since 1939! They’re definitely dead and we will be too if we don’t turn around!

Rngr. J. Watson: Shut up, you stupid bitch. Look what happened to Rhodes. You want that to be you?

Rngr. B. Watson: You want to be like the marchers? Or do you want to be like the ones that completely vanished? Or maybe you want to be like the ones who ended up as dinner?

Rngr. J. Watson: Is that a threat?

Rngr. B. Watson: You want it to be?

May: Stop it! Hopkins, make them stop!

Coltr. Hopkins: We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.

Arch. Sykes: The rest of the tape was Rangers Bailey and Jennifer Watson fighting and screaming before the screaming abruptly ends. Following that, Collector Hopkins could be heard repeating the same phrase over and over, at times muffled. There were also…also sounds of ripping, tearing, and…eating.

May: It’s…it’s day…fuck if I know. Maybe day twelve now. I don’t know. It’s been four days, maybe, since Ranger Bailey’s death. It…we’ve been walking ever since. We’ve passed the creek, the clearing, the…the wall. Collector Hopkins…he vanished at some point. I don’t know when. He just stopped being part of our group. We’ve joined up with the marchers. I don’t…I don’t want to be here…

Rngr. J. Watson & Sci. Harper: We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.

May: They just keep saying that, just like the other marchers. We keep walking in a straight line, but we keep walking passed things we’ve passed before which means we can’t be going in a straight line, but we are. I just want to go home…. What? What was that? Oh. Okay. I can…I can do that. You’re right…he doesn’t deserve Oz. He wouldn’t appreciate it. How do…oh. Yes, yes, I can do that. That would work…

Arch. Sykes: The tape ends with the sounds of someone being hit over the head, then more ripping, tearing, and eating, and sobbing from May. He is also mumbling the song the others were. The next tape is distorted and it is hard to make out who is speaking at any given time. The one clearly identifiable voice is that of Daniel May.

May: Can I go home now?

(Distortion)

May: You said that once he was dead and she was with you I could go home.

(Distortion & May screams)

May: I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to argue with you! I just want to go home!

(Distortion & May sobs)

May: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

(Distortion)

May: I-I can? I can go? Okay. Thank you. Thank you. I…y-you will? I don’t…okay. You don’t want me yet? Okay. I…I’ll keep an ear open for you to call me again.

(Distortion)

May: That way? Okay. Thank you. What was the one more thing?

(Distortion & May screams)

Arch. Sykes: Recording ends. Well, that was…disturbing. I don’t often get to say that, though it would be expected with this job. Daniel May was found at the trailhead on the twenty-sixth of September and is, predictably and understandably, catatonic. He hasn’t said anything since his escape from the trail. Trying to get him to speak of it leads to sobbing and little else. The recording was somewhat useful in understanding what transpired. I don’t have any other words that could sum it up other than disturbing.

Arch. Sykes: Addendum—As of September twenty-seventh, the bodies of Omega scientist Wade Harper and Theta forest ranger Bailey Watson were found on the trail. Ranger Bailey Watson was found near the creek while Harper was found in a clearing. Both had been killed by blunt-force trauma and had been partially consumed, either through scavenging or cannibalism and based on the sounds on the tape I am inclined to believe the latter. 

The next post on September 16th will be the final one from "Location 009R" and in that one we'll learn about one of the missing Richwell residents.