Date: March 5/2020/1:34 PM Mountain Time
Name: Alexander Felix HunteAge 23/Height 6 Feet
Department Occupation: Detective/Paranormal
Journal Entry: 1
So. First time writing one of these things. Figured I’d post it here because why not? I’d been told numerous times about this corner of the internet and I refused to use any social media in the past, it’s just a waste of time in my opinion. Especially this particular one, draw your own conclusion. But after reading through the stories and the tall tales, it brought to mind many of the things I have seen in my field of work.
What is my field of work you ask? I’m a police detective, and I have been ever since I was twenty. But I’m not an average detective. I mean sure, I’ve dealt with the whole shabang of theft and homicide cases any TV detective has gotten, but not in the way you’d think. You see, while other detectives would deal with the cases of your average drug busts and online scammers, I’m the one banishing the mirror demon that some idiot high schoolers summoned in the changing room. I’m a Paranormal Detective.
Don’t believe me? Every State Department has one. And in more densely populated areas, every City Department. (Chicago, hint hint.) I’m out west, and I won’t say where, because aside from anonymity I don’t want some moron ghost hunter or psychic coming to my door wanting an interview or some crap, they’re all idiots. Let’s just say I live by the Rockies, and leave it at that. Where was I? Oh yeah, every Department has a Paranormal Detective. If you ask about them most people receive a strange look from the station desk clerk. If you ask a policeman you’ll be escorted outside for “wasting the Department’s time.” And if you ask for the detective specifically , one of two things will happen. A: you’ll be taken quietly into the back and have your memory erased by a neat gadget they have (no, not like Men in Black.) Or B: You’ll be given an address after providing your statement of your plight.
Those people come to my office, and no, my office is actually not located at the Department. They’ll give you directions to my little house. My office can be seen from the street. My flat isn’t very large at all, and looks something straight out of a children’s drawing of the “bad neighbor’s” house. Two floors, a basement and a main floor. One bedroom, a bathroom, a dirty kitchen, and a very unkempt office. The office is almost always occupied by me. And before you picture me as some dashing sleuth from an old noir TV show, or a charming loose cannon, (except for the good looking part) I’m… really not… I’m a kinda lanky guy, early 20’s, 23 to be exact. I like wearing a grey vest with matching pants, a white dress shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top, a loose plain red necktie most days, and a barely contained bed head of light brown hair with cloudy gray eyes. Oh, and I keep my feet up on my desk and my sleeves rolled up as well. I like to be relaxed.
That’s what you’d see if you made it from the station and into my office. This is not the case most of the time. Most of the time it’ll be similar with the case I’m about to tell you about. Most of the time, it comes with a tired call from Chief Yancy, as it was with Case #54.
My phone buzzed across my desk and onto the floor. I always leave it a little too close to the edge. I had been reviewing a previous case about a disappearance when the call came, so I had been half asleep. I rubbed my tired eyes and scooped it up from the floor. Seeing that it was from the Chief, I answered my still buzzing cell.
“Felix.” I said. I tried to make myself sound awake.
“Did I just wake you up?” Yancy asked me.
“No… just going over that last case file.” I sighed heavily. “Paperwork is so dull…”
“Felix, we have a 23-86 on 100 North Johnstreet. I need you here as soon as possible, I have officers reporting…” Yancy hesitated, a normal reaction whenever he told me about a 23-86. These reports were always skewed.
“Reporting… what?” I asked while rubbing my eyebrows, shaking off my drowsiness.
“Well, they say that voices are coming from the photos and paintings in the house. Along with… other anomalies.” Yancy said.
“Another one of those…” I sighed, I’d have to get some of my stuff ready. “Don’t let anyone else enter the house except for the evidence crew, and make sure you give them a day off. This will probably get weird.” I told him.
Chief Yancy acknowledged and hung up the phone. I reached into one of my drawers and pulled out my case of cigarettes. I made sure it was the right pack then grabbed my gun holster. I swung it on and made sure it was tight before grabbing my car keys and heading out my door. I could tell this one was going to be tedious. I knew that forensics would do their best to ignore any odd effects a 23-86 would have on them, but if it got bad I knew I would have to go through the evidence myself, and that was never any fun. But it was better than going through past case files.
I stepped onto my driveway and climbed into my beat up car. I had an older model, a 1985 Honda CR-X. I don’t trust new cars, I’ve had plenty of cases were the electronics get possessed. But that also meant, no air conditioner, so I always rolled the windows down. The only new piece of technology I put into my car was a sound system. I started playing some albums and sped out of my driveway. The engine was doing well after I fixed it up, it payed to take that automobile class in high school.
I drove for about ten minutes and arrived on the scene at a little old brick house. The house must have been built in the 60’s, it was only a little larger than my own apartment. It had a small first floor with circular windows on the second floor. The roof dove down to the left like a summer home, almost reaching the ground. It had a stepping stone walkway like the kind you’d see at your grandma’s house, but the porch itself was all cement. The walls of the house itself were painted a neon yellow that had since faded over the years, making the house look jaundiced. The brown slats on the roof only added to the look. Not to mention some spots sticking onto the house from the neighbors kids chucking dirt clods at it. All of these elements very much made the house resemble some ancient looking drug addict during their midlife crisis.
The police cruisers around the house didn’t help any, and I parked at the curb across from the house. I could see already the afflicted officers nearby the police line. They all looked a bit paler than the others, and their eyes darted back and forth as a couple of their coworkers who were not affected checked them over, shining flashlights into their irises and and applying first aid. I also noticed that their sidearms and been taken. This was a bit worse than the usual 23-86. Normally it would just be a checkup followed by a routine destruction of the anomaly’s source, but this was different. I spotted Yancy and climbed out of my car. I cracked my neck a bit as I walked to the sickly abode. As I got nearer, I could hear the pale officers muttering something beneath their breath. It was mostly jargon, I caught only a few lines about rats living in the ceiling and a “watery wall.” Whatever that meant.
“Felix! Thank goodness you’re here. The area is getting worse.” Yancy said with worry audible in his voice. Yancy was easily startled, but he usually kept himself under control. His current attitude did not fill me with confidence.
The Chief is a portly man, in his early forties. He looked like the creator of the donut eating cop stereotype, but he didn’t eat sweets, or meats. He’s not fat by any means, but his gut that sticks out over his waist a good two inches. He has thin facial hair on his face, forming what I can describe only as a “semi-beard.” He kept his hair swept back over his growing widow’s peak, and some skinny eyebrows. He wore no tie, and he kept a black suit coat on at all times. That coat always clashed against his pants though, which were always a different color. He constantly had a nervousness to him, which made others around him always cautious of his needs. Despite all of this, he was a good Chief, and he didn’t let people take advantage of him ever. His nervousness… came from working with me on these cases.
“How’s forensics doing?” I asked Yancy, not looking up while thumbing through my cigarette pack.
“They’re nearly finished, but it’s starting to get to them.” Yancy said, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “I need you in there Felix.”
“Right…” I sighed. “You should clear out with the rest, don’t want my boss turning out like those guys.” I told him as I gestured to the cops who were still blubbering.
“Oh… yes.” Yancy said slowly. “I’ll see what I can do about their… condition. If you find anything in there that may relieve them, please notify me.”
“You do know it doesn’t usually work like that… Right?” I said.
“I know, I know…” Yancy said. He took one last look at the jaundiced building. He looked like he wanted to say something else then dismissed it, and walked to his cruiser.
I breathed out, looking up at the house. I sniffed the air. No trace of any fumes. Good, that meant I wasn’t dealing with anything airborne. And before you tell me I’m an idiot for checking that way, I’ve actually built up several resistances to the supernatural. You sort of need that when you’re in this job. Other such things that are good to have includes a lot of chemistry, and more importantly, alchemy. And my cigarettes. I pulled one out from my pack and checked the stripe. Green. I clenched it between my teeth as I went up the steps and into the house. I pulled out my zippo lighter and ignited it. These cigs are a very special variety. These incense cigs contain many helpful effects to help me with my work, this one in particular gives me another special layer of resistance to otherworldly auras and omens. It was very good for most of my cases, as many of the things I run into tend to tax human understanding. This cig helps combat those effects and lets me work unimpeded. You can buy them from a special location, but I prefer to make them myself. I remove the harmful materials, and keep the ones that I need. This way, the smoke from the cigarettes is something like an herbal tea equivalent of smoking. No addictive or harmful properties, it’s like I breath the vitamins instead of eating them. I inhaled deeply of smoke and felt my drowsiness clear a little, the smoke deep in my lungs and giving a cool sensation throughout my body. I puffed out and the ashen cloud drifted about the room, dissipating.
I looked throughout the main entrance, the place was an absolute wreck. The floor was covered almost completely obscuring the carpet from view. Clothes and knickknacks were strewn everywhere, I had to step carefully around the room to avoid them. A few of the evidence crew could be seen throughout the house, collecting items and taking pictures. The poor guys had given up with marking all of the things on the floor, and had just started snapping pictures of everything. I strolled past the guys near the entrance and walked towards the living room and kitchen. They were worse, the couch in the living room looked like a rabid honey badger had completely torn it apart on some personal vendetta. And the kitchen was a caltrop minefield of epic proportions, shattered dishes were everywhere, and more than a few bottles and cups that looked like prison shanks. Some had dried blood on them.
I turned around the corner of the kitchen and discovered why. In a small room was the body of a woman who looked to be in her mid thirties. Blood pooled all around her corpse. All of her digits here missing, including her toes, all except for her pointer fingers. Her ears had been cut off as well, and she had several sewing needles sticking out of her body, there had to be at least a hundred of them. Most disturbingly, she had one in each of her eyes. I began to examine the hands when the forensics lead, Juko, came up behind me.
Juko is a little Japanese-American woman in her late fifties who called everyone “dear.” She had completely gray hair that she kept in a bun near the base of her head, and a loose blouse underneath her baggy forensics jacket. She always had a little grandmotherly smile beneath her button nose, with eyes surrounded by the beginning wrinkles of age. Those sharp black eyes matched with her steady hands never missed a detail when she worked though, and had almost 25 years of experience. She was a major asset to the Department.
“We haven’t found her missing parts yet.” She told me. “I have some boys working on it.”
“This is… well…” I tried to look for the words. They failed me at that particular moment. I looked back at her body, the needles seemed delicately placed. “I’m guessing cause of death is blood loss then.” I said, there was a considerable amount of blood on the floor.
“Actually from what we found so far, that’s incorrect dear.” Juko said from behind me.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Alright, did you take your photos?” I asked her.
“Yes.” She replied with a slight tremble. I could see that this place was starting to get to her. Forensics probably had to start leaving soon.
“Good, then pack up the body and get your team out. I can handle the rest.” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Let me know when the autopsy is done.”
“Alright dear.” Juko replied, and darted off to gather her help. “Let me know when you find her fingers and… other parts.” She said as she left.
I was going to find the bedroom, but something itched at me. I could feel the incense fighting off something trying to get in my head. I carefully approached the corpse and examined the needles. I looked up and down. The needles were deep, but none of them were in a fatal position, including her eyes. By my guess, with the needles the way they were… She may have still been able to see before she died. Whoever had done this had been very careful with those needles. They made sure she was still alive. That was a very uncomfortable thought.
“Coming through.” Juko said as she and another forensics guy approached with a body bag.
“If you can help it, try not to disturb those needles much.” I told her. “I think they’re going to be important later.” I said. Juko frowned.
“Well obviously dear, they’re sticking out of her head!” Juko said. She gestured to her helper. “Carefully now, carefully.”
Juko handed me the file that identified the body. I opened it up and gave it a glance. The woman’s name was Betty, she owned the establishment and had been a bartender. No family in the state. I shut the folder and handed it to Juko.
“Thank you. Make sure it finds my way to my desk later, I’ve got to check the rest of the house.” I said.
Juko snatched it from my hands and laid on top of the gurney. Then she and the other forensics guy carried her body way gently. I looked at the blood across the floor. Juko was right, there wasn’t enough there to be the cause of Betty’s untimely demise. It was barely even a puddle, why did I think there was a lot? I shook myself and looked, there were no drag marks leading into the room. It likely she had walked in and collapsed. I glanced around the room again, trying to see if there was anything more to it.
All of a sudden, a voice said: “Ding.”
That’s all there was to it. A single disembodied monotone voice, barely audible. It had come from inside this room, most certainly.
“Ding.”
It happened again, about five seconds after the first one. It said the word in a deep note. I turned and tried to follow the source of the sound.
“Ding.” It said again.
Bewildered, I looked all around me. Where was it coming from? Why did it sound so odd? It was as if it wasn’t coming from vocal cords, but from an instrument.
“Ding.”
I was about to draw my gun when I saw it in the far corner behind me. A piano, slightly leaning on it’s left side that looked like it hadn’t been wiped down for at least six months. It sat sadly in the shade, fifteen feet away from the nearest window. I listened for the voice intently, but nothing came. I walked directly over to the piano and stood over it. I glowered at it for a moment. It was of course, one of the effects of the 23-86, and I knew that, but everything had to be recorded for these cases. Anything could be vital. I pulled out my note pad and looked over the whole piano, each and every single note until I came to one of the low keys. It was pearly white, unlike the other dusty keys around it. I pressed it. A flat B echoed across the room, it was the exact tone I had heard the voice in.
“A talking piano. Perfect.” I sighed out as I wrote down my discoveries. I shut my note pad and stuffed it in my vest pocket, making my way further into the house. I strolled all throughout the main floor but didn’t hear or see any further anomalies.
It was time to go upstairs now. The stairs to the second floor was just in front of the entrance, and wrapped around the the left of the house. I ascended the stairs as fast as I could, avoiding the piles of clutter everywhere. The piles were stacked high, almost high enough to create a second guard rail for the stairs. Most of it was clothes and towels and blankets. Too much for a family in fact, much less a single person. I found it odd, but hoarders weren’t too uncommon around these parts. My neighbors were hoarders in fact, and they have six dogs.
As I reached the top floor, the piles vanished. A relatively clean, short hallway was in front of me. There were spots in the hallway free of dust and gunk, and it actually felt nice. Well, as nice as it could have been. Something was weird though, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. The hall only contained three rooms. One was the bathroom, which I decided to check first. Unfortunately I found myself stepping past an all new variety of clutter when I stepped inside. Toilet paper, empty shampoo and conditioner bottles, countless tubes of grimy looking toothpaste, and lets not forget to mention the smell. It was a concoction of some of the most sour and foul smells I have ever inhaled. It smelled worse than puke in a hot summer car, worse than old tuna left in the sink, worse than baked rotten eggs. It stole first place from “Blister Bob,” the worst corpse I ever had to examine. It was horrid. The gunk was at its peak in here. Water damage everywhere and my first case of goo damage I ever had to report because I had no way and no intention of identifying some of the substances collected in the stagnant swamp in the bathtub. But the smell was the least eye opening detail. The mirror was spotless. The whole thing was so pristine, I almost didn’t figure out because it reflected all of the grime so perfectly I thought the mirror had shattered at first. But it was smooth and well kept. It was very distracting once I discovered it. Why just the mirror?
I stepped out of the restroom of nightmares and back into the hallway. Further down were two rooms opposite of each other. I took a moment and decided to take the one on the left. I walked in to what was most likely some kind of storage room, since this place had no attic. It had various boxes placed all around the room, big, small, and in between the two. Some were piled all the way to the ceiling. There was labeling in Spanish on most of them and some Portuguese on others. They also looked like they hadn’t been touched or moved in ten years, and the layers of dust were evident that Betty wasn’t the organized or cleaning type of person. I looked high and low, but none of the boxes really caught my attention, and none looked in any way like they had been disturbed or moved.
I decided to move on, into the other room across. I began to reach for the doorknob when I noticed it. A thin coating of dried blood. I crouched down to look at it closer. The entire doorknob was covered in the flaky brown blood, as if it had been painted on with care. The doorknob I could see looked like it had been rusted or something. I couldn’t tell. I took out a swab and wiped a small stripe. The blood came off easy, and beneath was a shiny brass knob. This doorknob had multiple layers of blood paint on it. I dropped the swab into and evidence bag I kept on me, then gently opened the door. It slowly swung open to what I assumed was once the bedroom. There was no bed frame to be seen, and there was multiple pillows tossed about everywhere, feathers spilling out of them. There was about a hundred paintbrushes dangling from the ceiling, with human hair for string. And up against the wall was the king sized mattress. The mattress had hundreds of sewing needles inside of it, all bloodied. They were sticking out at various angles creating a gargantuan satanic pincushion. But I could see something else. Behind the mattress was blood spatter in a wipe. There was something else there.
I walked over to the tortured mattress and grabbed it. I lifted it off the ground about an inch and pivoted on my foot so I could set it aside, carefully keeping the needles away from me. I turned back to the wall and I felt a chill go down my spine. The wall behind the mattress was a garbled mess of Spanish and Portuguese written in blood. The phrases and words spiraled into the center, overlapping and becoming unrecognizable as it reached the center. In the center, was a rectangular shape that was pitch black. The edges of the shape were created perfectly out of a tar like material that had dried onto the wall. It was cracked and peeling but none of it had fallen off. When I tried to get a closer looked I bumped into something with my foot. I looked down and saw a salsa jar, the label had been slightly torn off. It was filled with a dark liquid. I picked it up and gave it a shake and confirmed my assumption. Inside were the missing fingers and toes of Betty.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a picture of the wall and the jar to Juko, then left the room. She sent me a text back thirty seconds later that she would come to pick them up once I had wrapped up at the crime scene. I made my way back out of the hallway and down the stairs. The chill did not go away from me, and I shivered a bit as I looked at the piano again. I breathed deeply through my cigarette, and the incense calmed me a bit as it’s unnaturally cool temperature swept through me. I puffed out and made my way into the living room. The damage to the couch was more extensive than I had previously noticed, it wasn’t just mangled cushions, the frame itself was splintered badly as well. It was dented and cracked all over, as if someone had taken in outside and had repeatedly smashed into it with any power tool they could find. Based on the state of the rest of the room and most importantly the walls, it had been this badly damaged while it was still resting on the carpet. And there were no clean cuts or oil stains from any power tool, so that theory went out the window.
I dismissed the couch and turned to the paintings set out across the walls. They were empty. All of them. I looked at each one, spinning on my heel. They were all just black squares resting in their frames. The blackness seemed to gape at me, like it was an open mouth waiting for its next meal. The sensation was very eerie. I walked up to one, dodging couch bits as I stepped, and took a more direct look into it. It felt so empty… like something should’ve been there. It didn’t strike me as just an empty picture frame up on the wall, but like the pictures that used to be there had just vanished. I reached gingerly out to touch the glass. I felt my instincts scream at me just before I did and I stopped mid reach. I sat there in confusion for half a second before I realized what was wrong. In the blackness of the frame were thin cracks, and from those cracks… was a slight breeze. I puffed my cigarette a bit and could see that there was in fact a literal breeze coming from the cracks. It pushed the smoke around for a bit before a sudden whoosh and the smoke was sucked into the frame. I glanced carefully at the other frames again.
“What in the…?” I said out loud to myself as I looked. The air felt tangibly cooler around me, and I felt another shiver run through me. I turned to go towards the kitchen when I saw it. The cellar door was wide open. It must’ve been where the sudden temperature change came from. I walked towards it, and I could see light coming from below. I got to the top step. There was a thick layer of black charcoal like streaks on the top of the stairway and on the walls. It smelled musty and ancient down there. I walked down the stairs and into the light. The light itself was a failing single yellow bulb that barely illuminated the room. The light failed to reach the corners of the cellar, and similar black streaks and splotches covered the concrete around me. There was a sudden drip echo, and I turned.
Back the way I had come from, behind the wooden slat stairs of the cellar, was a white door. A completely spotless and clean, white door. It was featureless. No decorative markings or designs, no door frame either. It had plain steel hinges, and where the doorknob should’ve been, was a keyhole. There was a second drip. I saw the drip come from the ground and hit the ceiling. I looked up. The ceiling shimmered like a glossy new car. It moved slightly too. Another drip hit the ceiling, and I watched the back substance ripple all across, the yellow light reflecting off it. I looked back, and there, right at eye level, was a plain steel key. It dangled end on an impossibly long strand of hair. I looked back at the door. The black liquid poured out from above it, never dripping across or down the door. It stayed perfectly clean. I could see a bit of my reflection in the key itself. I puffed out of my cig and snatched the key from the air. I was done here. For now.
I walked out the front door and watched as the few officers left on the scene began to collect the police tape. It was late afternoon now, probably 7 o’clock, judging from the fiery orange sunset. I looked down at the lawn and noticed that Juko was standing there waiting for me. I stepped towards her and I procured the salsa jar. She opened a larger evidence bag and accepted it.
“There’s several UHA’s inside. Don’t let anyone go inside other than myself and any others I specify.” I told her as she zipped up the jar. UHA, before I forget, is an acronym for: Unidentified Hazardous Anomalies. Standard police term for these cases.
“So, who’s allowed inside dear?” Juko asked me patiently.
“Just me right now.” I said. “I don’t understand much about those UHA’s yet but I got this feeling like they’re VERY dangerous.”
“Alrighty then dear. Make sure to come by the Station later to pick up the crime scene photos.” Juko said. She turned around towards those who were left. “Wrap it up!” She called.
“Thank you, Juko.” I said. I pulled out my cigarette, I had puffed on it a bit more than I intended and it was now just a little stub. I dropped it to the ground and stomped on it, grinding it into the dirt with my shoe. I then pulled out my car keys and strolled across the street to my car. I reached towards the ignition when I saw I had grabbed the wrong key. I had grabbed that key from the basement. During that particular moment I had realized that I had forgotten I grabbed it. I switched it out for the key I needed and started up my car, but I kept that basement key kept in my grip the whole drive home.
It was that night when the dreams started.
It was a very simple dream. I found myself, still in my work clothes, standing on a concrete floor. Everything was dark around me, but my eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, and I could see fine. All around me was just a massive flat expanse of concrete all around me. It was oddly calming. I decided to start running in a direction. I jogged for what must’ve been a good half mile before I decided to stop. It was clear to me that whatever this dream was about, is that the dreamscape all around me was infinite. I could try and run for miles and get nowhere. That was the feeling of this dream. Infinity and dreariness. A dull, flat ground, with nowhere to go. As those insights began to set in, I became increasingly bored. I had no idea what had made this dream come about, or why it was lucid. All I knew, was that I wish I could wake up, and at least grab a midnight snack from my fridge or something else. Any other activity would have been more engaging than this.
I had just finished those thoughts when I turned and nearly smacked face first into a wall. I stopped just about as I was about to kick into the flat surface with the foot I was taking my step with. I stopped, drew my foot back and stared. The wall was also concrete, and it was only about six inches away. I took several steps backwards, and surveyed my new surroundings. The wall stretched as far as I could see, in both directions the wall was as infinite as the expanse behind me. As I looked up into the darkness of the blank sky above me to see how far it stretched up, I could see no ceiling. In this darkness I couldn’t see if there was any ceiling at all.
Drip.
The sound pierced the silence, like a gunshot. It echoed across the wall if front of me. I turned around. On the floor, not five feet away from me, was a single drop of inky liquid. But it was off. A normal drop of water left some sort of impact spatter around it. This one had none.
I woke up in the darkness of my bedroom. My silent alarm played a soft buzzing noise as I sat up in bed. I looked at the clock to check the time. 6 AM. I was a little relieved to see that I hadn’t slept through my first alarm like I tend to do and I headed into the kitchen to boil a couple eggs to have with some toast. I brushed off my shirt as I strolled into my kitchen. I picked up a few of the dishes I had left out the day before and loaded them in my dishwasher. It was about full, and I’d have to run it after breakfast. I put a miniature pot on the stove and grabbed my loaf of bread. Over on my dining room table I could see the case file I had failed to grab the day before. Juko had left a note reprimanding my laziness. As the pot began to boil I set a timer and dropped in the eggs. I pulled up a stool next to them and opened the case file, rubbing my eyes as I did so.
Betty Stands, 37 years old, 5 foot three, 160 pounds. She immigrated into the country from Sweden back in 2010, lived in a apartment building for six months before she moved out west. She had been cycling through all kinds of different jobs, but but about two years after she moved, she became a bartender. She didn’t make a lot, but the house she bought had been cheap. The people who had been there before had cleared out one night so their belongings were scrapped or sold away. A couple of past police investigations suggested that they had been Latino drug dealers. Investigators determined that the previous owners believed that they were catching too much heat, and moved out over night to escape possible competition and police forces. Betty had moved in about a year after the case had been closed. While she had lived there, the neighbors had posted several noise complaints. Betty had been a very active person, and parties happened almost weekly. The complaints continued on for about four years until Betty was arrested on a DUI and was put on parole. She kept her job but she could no longer drink, for legal and medical reasons. After the report on the DUI, her record was very plain. No further complaints from the neighbors. Her records started becoming sparse at about the 2017 mark. Suddenly she started taking days off, witness statements had been gathered from her boss who said she had been acting very strange. Further accounts detailed how she had sometimes violent mood swings. She refused several psychiatric analysis appointments and then went missing for a month. During that month the neighbors reported sounds and low music coming from the house at almost all times during the day. Other reports said that there was a man in a black overcoat that visited the house often. Betty’s boss called the police, worried about her well being. The first responders showed up within twenty minutes after the call, about 3 PM.
There was a lot to soak in there. It was definitely the 23-86 that had effected her state of mind, but when the 23-86 got there was a bit trickier. I assumed that the UHA had manifested because of the visits from the man, who I’m going to call Mr. Overcoat, but these anomalies… They all work in different ways. Most of the time they appear as smaller objects, sometimes an old phone, or a steak knife. This 23-86 was a DOOR, making it the biggest one I’ve seen in my time in the force, and 23-86’s are some of the more common cases I come across. The bigger the anomaly, the more intense the symptoms of those afflicted.
My timer for my eggs blared, and I shifted in my stool and grabbed the handle on the pot. As I passed my toaster I pulled the lever to start toasting the slices of bread I had set there. I emptied the hot water into my sink and then started filling it with a little cold water to cool of my eggs. I swished it around a bit then set it down on my counter top next to my toaster. I reached inside the pot and grabbed the smaller of the two eggs, smacked it against the counter, and began peeling.
I thought about the case file in my head. Something scratched at the edge of my tired mind. Betty moved here ten years ago… Didn’t find a lot of work… Bought a run down little house that assumed drug dealers owned… I finished peeling the first egg and set it on my plate. I salted it, then grabbed the next one. I thought hard. She had parties… She was noisy… She was reckless… She was… She was…
Swedish. She was Swedish.
I set down a the half peeled boiled egg and grabbed the case file. I combed over the details again. She moved into the house… Latino drug cartel… All of the belongings were claimed by the state during the investigation! I flipped to the crime scene photos. I skipped the numerous main floor photos and went to the top floor. The bathroom, the bedroom… the storage room.
I rummaged into one of my kitchen drawers, grabbed a highlighter, and highlighted the storage room. I closed the case file just in time as my toast finished. I buttered them and finished peeling the other egg. I mashed them and put them in between the slices of toast. I took a big bite and grabbed my phone. I needed Juko.
Four hours later, Juko greeted me with a smile. “How are you dear?” She asked sweetly like she was my own mother.
“I’m doin’ fine Juko.” I said. “I was going over the case file this morning when I noticed something strange. I need to go over the files related to the house and Betty Stands.” I said as I walked to her.
She began walking as well, leading me down the hall of the station. “Of course, I’ll get someone from records to pull them for you. In the meantime, our autopsy of Ms. Stands is scheduled for tomorrow.” Juko told me.
“So quickly?” I asked. It normally took a while longer for an autopsy to be performed. “Why the haste?” I asked.
“Those needles are troubling dear, we’ve been doing some minor tests and checking, and we’ve found some troubling evidence.” Juko said.
“And?” I asked her, it was odd for forensics to discover anything, they’re jobs were normally just to collect evidence. A sudden deduction was scarce.
“We found fingerprints on the needles… Dear, we have a large amount of evidence that seems to lead to more questions.” She hesitated a moment before she continued. “The only prints we found belong to Ms. Stands.”
“So… did she try to pull them out?” I asked myself aloud. It wasn’t a large leap that whoever had placed the needles was almost certainly wearing gloves. “Thank you Juko, did you find anything else?”
“Her severed parts, those we recovered that is, her ears are yet to be found, have all decayed at accelerated rates. When we took them yesterday, the fingers and toes had seemed only recently severed, about a day or two. Later that night when we prepared them for examination, the flesh had completely decayed.” We reached the forensics room and I was greeted by the digits in question. They were just bone now. “The bones were clean.” Juko continued. “Even the marrow inside the bones was gone. We tested the fluid in the jar, but besides the obvious dear, it’s perfectly normal H2O. No acidic properties.” Juko looked at me as she finished her explanation, her expression silently demanded I give one to her.
“I don’t have many answers for you right now,” I apologized, “but I do have a couple leads to go off of.” At that moment a guy from records handed me the house’s and Betty’s files. I immediately opened the house file and began combing through it. “What year was that drug bust case?” I asked her without looking up. I sat at a seat nearby.
“2009.” Juko told me. “That case was horrible. Despite our best efforts, we couldn’t find much evidence of any drugs. They cleaned up so well even the K-9’s couldn’t catch a trail.”
I flipped backwards to the year. I checked the photos over and over and over.
“And all the belongings that were left?” I asked her.
“Seized by the department dear. They spent a while staying here in the station collecting dust before they were dumped in a landfill.” She said as she took a seat across from me. “We left that house completely empty.” She said.
I checked the storage room photos one last time. They were completely barren, the floor even seemed like it had been vacuumed recently. I shut the file.
“Did you grab any of the boxes that where in that upstairs storage room?” I asked her.
“Yes, dear.” Juko said. “Why?”
“I need to test a theory, could you get me a handwriting analysis on one of those boxes before dinner?”
“I can get you one before lunch.” Juko said.
She scuttled off and I stood up to walk out of the forensics room. I turned through Betty’s file again. Betty was Swedish. Her file confirmed that she was not bilingual. So why did she have a whole bunch of boxes labeled in Spanish and Portuguese? A language she didn’t even know?
I looked at the storage room photo from the drug bust case again. Empty. Completely clean. I looked at the other photos of clutter and messes and overall disrepair of nearly all the other rooms. Bathroom. Pristine mirror. Living room. Picture frames on the wall, all missing photos. Nothing but a black gaping hole. They were taken and thrown into a land fill.
They were the exact same as the one’s currently in Betty’s home.
I had to know if the last residents had anything to do with this case. If my theory was correct, Betty was not the first one to die in that house.
The Latinos were.

My husband thinks we might have a claim for damages here, but I'm not totally convinced after doing some of my own research. I'm hoping y'all can help me sort this out.
Location
Philadelphia, PA, USA
Background
We bought a house in March of this year. We had an inspection performed prior to closing, but due to COVID, were not allowed to be present when it was conducted.
The inspection told us a lot of stuff we already knew, as our house is an old-ish Victorian in Philadelphia. We knew the basement walls needed to be fixed/re-plastered, as moisture has caused some damage over the years. The inspection report noted this. What the report didn't note were issues with the external wall/walkway on the surface above the damaged basement wall, which (possibly) contributed to some minor flooding in the basement this summer.
Additionally, the previous owners did not disclose any knowledge of water damage.
Explanation
On the side of the house where the damaged basement wall is, there's a blacktop walkway that butts up against the house. This area was open and totally accessible during the time of the inspection.
After the flooding occurred, we looked at this side of the house and noticed some gaps between the blacktop and the house. Someone had sprayed expanding foam into the gaps at some point - we don't know if it was the people we bought the house from, or the owners before that.
Even though the ground is graded away from the foundation like it's supposed to be, because of the poor condition of the blacktop, the gaps basically act as funnels in this location.
None of this was mentioned in the inspection report, but issues, mostly cosmetic, with other external walkways were. There's actually nothing in the report about this side of the house, not even pictures to document the condition - which the inspector did for every other area - so we think they didn't look at this side at all.
Also, the gutters are clear and there aren't any downspouts near this location.
Inspection contract and our questions
Without posting the entire contract, these are the sections probably relevant to this. I've highlighted some things that I believe to be pertinent here:

GENERAL EXCLUSIONS: Our inspectors do not disassemble equipment, dismantle items, move furniture, lift floor coverings, open wall coverings, or disturb items belonging to a Property owner. Our Home Inspection services do not encompass anything that is concealed, underground, or inaccessible for inspection at the time of the inspection. Our Inspectors do not: (i) enter any area or perform any procedure that may damage the Building; (ii) check items hidden behind walls or ceilings (e.g., electrical wiring systems, plumbing systems, insulation, etc.); (iii) check telephone or cable/satellite jacks and connections; (iv) check security systems, fire sprinklesuppression systems, intercom systems, central vacuum systems, exterior low voltage lighting systems, antennas, remote and radio controls, motion sensing devices, solar systems, specialty HVAC systems, or other non-primary electrical/timing systems; (v) inspect structures detached from the Building; (vi) evaluate cosmetic features such as paint, wall coverings, carpeting, floorings, paneling, lawn and landscaping; or, (vii) inspect common areas. Our Inspectors will not determine if “normal” operating controls such as heating units, thermostats, humidifiers, or switches can be operated by the Property owner as intended.
ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS: Our Home Inspection services do not encompass testing, evaluation or investigation into: (i) the possible presence of biological contaminants ... ; (ii) indoor or outdoor air quality; (iii) water treatment/purification systems, well systems or the quality of the water supply; (iv) the condition or suitability of septic or other on-site waste systems; (v) the possible presence, condition or suitability of underground storage tanks; (vi) geotechnical conditions, soil conditions or types, site drainage, sinkholes or the propensity or future potential for foundation or below grade water penetration; (vii) geological hazards such as floods, erosion, earthquakes, landslides, mudslides, and volcanoes; (viii) local pollution issues relating to smog, landfills, industrial waste products, groundwater contamination, noise and other environmental concerns; or (ix) the possible presence of wood destroying insects, organisms or pests (termites, ants, fungus, dry rot, rodents, bats, birds, etc.) that can cause damage to a dwelling or structure.

Given that this issue was visible from a completely accessible area (pictures of the house from the day of the inspection show a sunny day in March without snow or rain, and no physical barriers to this area), should we have expected this issue to be documented? Is this something I should bring to the inspection company or is it crappy new homeowner stuff?

There’s another list of all the regular stuff that happens every week, so don’t forget to check for all your karaokes, trivias, and so on. There are also links to all of Tally’s theater options, both stage and independent cinema (from fancy to cult).
The Leon County Public Libraries host classes, clubs, and events all the time. All ages, all locations. Check the calendar here.
TUESDAY, 1/28

• TCC Center for Innovation: The Holocaust Remembered by Florida Survivors Reception. “On Jan. 28, at 5:30 p.m., TCC and the Holocaust Education Resource Council is holding an opening reception of an original exhibition of the Florida Holocaust Museum that explores the reactions of Florida Holocaust Survivors to events as they unfolded. The exhibit will be shown until March 3, at the TCC Center for Innovation.” 5:30pm
  
• St. John’s: A Local Press: Healthy local journalism and our deepening national divide, Presented by Village Square. 6pm/$95
  
• Student Life Cinema: CDU Presents: An Evening with Hunter Harris and Jesse David Fox. “Hunter and Jesse will be sitting down to discuss their experience writing for Vulture magazine as well as their work on other projects. They will also comment on the current state of comedy and film, and anything else they would like discuss! This will be followed by an audience Q&A.” 7pm/free/18+
  
• Ruby Diamond: Kristin Chenoweth. 7:30pm
  
• Waterworks: Slave Cemetery Found Under A Country Club: A Science Salon. “For decades, stories have persisted about the existence of a former African American cemetery on the grounds of the Capital City Country Club golf course. These led Jonathan Lammers to research whether or not this cemetery could be definitely tied to the former Houstoun plantation, which for nearly 100 years marked the eastern edge of Tallahassee. In November 2019, this research helped inform the first-ever archaeological testing of the suspected cemetery location using ground penetrating radar. Mr. Lammers will discuss the results of this testing, as well the history of the plantation and the outsize role it played in the development of Tallahassee.” 7:35pm/free/all ages
  
• The Bark: The Jerome Stern Distinguished Writers Series Presents Sean Hill. “Sean Hill is the author of two poetry collections, Dangerous Goods (Milkweed Editions, 2014) and Blood Ties & Brown Liquor (UGA Press, 2008). He has received numerous awards including fellowships from the Cave Canem Foundation, Stanford University, and the National Endowment for the Arts. His poems and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in Callaloo, Harvard Review, New England Review, Oxford American, Poetry, Terrain.org, Tin House, and numerous other journals, and in over a dozen anthologies including Black Nature and Villanelles.” 8pm
  
• Blue Tavern: Poetry Night w/Readings by Diamond Forde and Yolanda J. Franklin. 8pm/free
  

WEDNESDAY, 1/29

• City Commission Chambers (City Hall, 2nd Floor): City Commission Meeting. Click here for the agenda. 4pm
  
• And At The Meeting: Conversion Therapy Ban Public Hearing and Speak Out. “LGBTQIA+ youth in Tallahassee need your support to speak up and demand that the City of Tallahassee pass an all inclusive and highly protective Conversion Therapy Ban ordinance. We need you to come speak (or waive in favor) of the Conversion Therapy Ban at the January 29th City Commission meeting where the ordinance will have a public hearing and the Commission will vote to pass or deny the ordinance in Tallahassee. Please wear red or rainbow colors and feel free to print or make your own 8 ½ by 11 sign. Rainbow ribbons will be provided at the Commission meeting as well.” 4pm
  
• Challenger Learning Center: Resilience: The Biology of Stress and Science of Hope. “The new documentary Resilience reveals, toxic stress can trigger hormones that wreak havoc on the brains and bodies of children, putting them at risk for disease, homelessness, prison time, and early death. While the broader impacts of poverty worsen the risk, no segment of society is immune. Resilience, however, also chronicles the dawn of a movement that is determined to fight back.” 5:30pm
  
• Goodwood: 24th Annual Tallahassee Bar Association Chili Cookoff. “Local teams will compete for a variety of awards including the highly coveted “People’s Choice” award. Tickets are $25 for TBA members and $30 for non-members and can be purchased online. For information about event sponsorship or to register a team please contact Christen Perry, TBA Executive Director, at [email protected] or 850-702-5008.” 5:30pm
  
• Momo’s at Market Street: LD Hatfield. 6pm
  
• Tara Angel’s Magic: D&D Experience. “This a one-shot campaign, meaning the game will start and finish in the same session. This D&D Experience will last between 3 and 4 hours. This event is intended for adults ages 18+ (co-ed). Players should bring pencils and dice (which can be purchased in store). We have pregenerated characters for players to choose from in store. Campaign will consist of 4 to 6 players. Please sign up in advance so we can be sure to have enough game masters (also known as Dungeon Masters) present. Sign-up on SignUpGenius.com.” 6pm/$15/18+
  
• Cap City Video Lounge: Mulholland Drive & The Art Life: David Lynch Retrospective. “Join us at Cap City Video Lounge as we celebrate the work of artist and filmmaker David Lynch every Wednesday with a double feature of his selected works through the month of January.” 7:30pm
  
• The Halfway Point (RR Sq): Queer Craft Night. “A weekly meetup for artists & makers of all experience levels! From 6pm-8pm every Wednesday, The Halfway Point is hosting a social meetup for LGBTQ+ crafters in Tallahassee. Come work on your personal projects with community, or stop in and get an introductory lesson in select art forms by one of our Resident Artists. Our craft kits let you take your project home with you! Entrance to The Halfway Point is found in the Drum Circle, however, latecomers can enter through the back door of the shop until the weather warms up!” 6pm-8pm
  

THURSDAY, 1/30

• FSU Museum of Fine Arts: Poetry Storm. “The Museum will have a poetry reading hosted by doctoral student Eleanor Boudreau. The poems will focus on place and storm experiences. The reading will be followed by an invitation to the audience to craft their own response to the exhibition 𝑅𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 and share their work if desired.” 6pm
  
• The Plant: Touch The Sky: Stories, Subversions, & Complexities of Ferguson. “Officer Darren Wilson, did not face criminal charges after a grand jury declined to indict him for the murder of unarmed teenager Michael Brown in 2014. This did not sit well with the city and sparked months of protests in Ferguson and around the country. Join us for a free film screening + Q&A with the filmmakers of Touch the Sky: Stories, Subversions, & Complexities of Ferguson. A new video collage reflecting on the raw moments of the 2014 Ferguson riots... A film for the wild ones, the anarchists, and the dreamers...” 7pm
  
• Cap City Video Lounge: The Beginning Of The End & The Deadly Mantis: MST3K Thursday. 7:30pm
  
• Leach Aquatic Center: CDU Presents: Dory's Dive-In 2. “Join Club Downunder and FSU Aquatics at the Leach pool to enjoy the classic movie, Jaws!” 7:30pm/18+
  
• Works of Light Yoga and Meditation: Revenge = Self-Sabotage. “In our next community talk, we will be talking about the pitfalls of revenge. It is most likely clear already in the more intense cases of revenge, but what about when we just want someone to feel the way they made us feel so we endeavor to bring it about? Join us on January 30th and as always free and open to the public.” 7:45pm
  
• Blue Tavern: Paddy League with Michael Bakan & Brian Hall. 8pm/$5
  
• 926: City Ordinance / The Feeling Ecstatic / No Rogues / Bench Warmer. 8pm/$7
  
• Island Wings: Ace of Hearts. 9pm
  
• The Bark: Chatterbox&LDS/Marissa./Petty Problems/Jacob FM. 9:30pm/$5/all ages
  

FRIDAY, 1/31

• Greek Orthodox Church Holy Mother of God: 2020 Greek Feast. “Missing your favorite 🇬🇷️ foods? Come out on Friday, January 31, 2020, for a mini celebration with some of your favorites from the Greek Food Festival. Dine in or take out from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. at Holy Mother of God Greek Orthodox Church.” 11am-8pm
  
• The Bark: CRIT CLUB. “Bring your art and come socialize and talk about it. Get critiqued by your peers. Vent about the struggles of being an art human. Ask for advice. Bond.” 6pm-8:30pm
  
• Fat Cat Café: Movie Night With Kitties "Breakfast at Tiffany's". “Join us, as we will be projecting the movie "Breakfast at Tiffany's" onto the walls of our cuddle room Friday, January 31st at 7:00 until 9:00. Bring a $9 donation to FALC, which gets you entry into the movie, a bag of popcorn, and unlimited snuggles from the kitties. 15 spots available so reserve yours online! Walk-ins will be welcome the night of the movie if there are still openings. Movie event will be cancelled if less than 3 participants reserve.” 7pm/$9
  
• Fifth & Thomas: Drivin N Cryin w/ Pat Puckett. 7pm/$28
  
• Wine House on Market St: Conor Churchill. 7pm
  
• Proof: Renegage. 8pm
  
• Junction @ Monroe: The Retrograde. 8pm/$10
  
• Indianhead Factory: Fresh AIR Tallahassee. “Fresh AIR (Artist-in-Residence) is a concept bringing musical artists from across the country into Tallahassee, Fla. to experience its budding creative community. The AIR will become a Tallahassee resident for a weekend, supporting local businesses and partaking in our day-to-day activities. Also, they'll have a chance to perform for our community. The AIR will share their musical experience and background with Tallahassee's uniquely diverse community, further enhancing the city's arts scene and potentially increasing tourism. This month, we're starting with Dayton, Ohio native, Frxxmxn w/ support from Tallahassee resident, Elijah Kenny.” 8pm/$7
  
• The LitterBox (on Meadowbrook): Bernie & The Wolf w/ Shep Treasure, and Good Going. “Hosted by Cat Family Records.” 8pm/$5/18+
  
• Cap City Video Lounge: Shaken Not Stirred Burlesque presents Netflix & Thrills. “Our dazzling dancers are bringing your small-screen streaming faves to the stage in this new binge-worthy burlesque love letter to all things Netflix!” 8pm/$10 standing/$15 seating/18+/don’t forget to tip the performers!
  
• Blue Tavern: Kenny Hill Tribute to Country Music. 8pm
  
• Backwoods Bistro: Twisted Rooster. 8pm
  
• The Wilbury: The Polar Boys w/Cannibal Kids and Good Times Floral Shop. 8pm/$5/18+
  
• Warrior on the River: Neighbors Through the Wall & more! 8pm/$10
  
• The Bark: For Your Health/Gillian CarteNight Witch/DEADENDERS. 8:30pm/$5/all ages
  
• The Chxrch: Jean McQueen and The Man Eating Machine. 8:30pm/$5
  
• Island Wings: Jet City. 9pm
  
• Railroad Sq Craft House: CS Presents: Rest in Pierce & Ludge. 9pm
  
• Brass Tap: RP Allen. 9pm
  

SATURDAY, 2/1

• 2280 Miccosukee Rd: Household Hazardous Waste & Electronics Collection. “When hazardous waste is disposed of through traditional means, chemicals and other pollutants can harm the local environment by infiltrating the ground water and soil. Leon County Solid Waste Management Division is dedicated to decreasing these toxic landfill items through its monthly Household Hazardous Waste (HHW) & Electronics Collection events. Citizen superheroes may bring up to 100 pounds of hazardous waste per vehicle, in addition to electronics.” Check here for more details. 9am-1pm
  
• Kleman Plaza: Be My Neighbor Day 2020! “Sponsored by Prevent Child Abuse Florida and community partners, downtown Tallahassee will be a Tiger-tastic neighborhood from 10am to 2pm! Meet Daniel Tiger at Kleman Plaza, ride the city’s trolleys between neighborhood stops, and celebrate WFSUs 60th Birthday with sweet treats!” 10am
  
• Wakulla Lodge: Wakulla River Heritage Carnival. “Celebrate carnival style as we honor the memory of people who lived along the Wakulla River leaving their historical traces and connection to the Caribbean islands. Your all-inclusive ticket to this fun heritage event includes park admission, entertainment and lunch.” 11am-3pm/$20, kids under 12 $8
  
• Midtown Reader: Be My Neighbor Storytime. “In conjunction with WFSU's "Be My Neighbor" Day, we're hosting a special Mr. Rogers-themed storytime! We'll read poems from A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood and complete a craft together!” 11am
  
• Landis Green: CDU Presents: Sustainable Saturday. “Although sustainability should happen everyday, come learn more about it on Saturday, February 1st! CDU Presents: Sustainable Saturday! From 1 PM-4 PM come to Landis Green to participate in activities such as painting pots and planting succulents, decorating your own reusable water bottles, decorating reusable bags, listening to live music, swapping clothes with Thrift Club (MAKE SURE TO BRING CLOTHES TO SWAP!), eating Krishna lunch (vegan/vegetarian food only), and MUCH MUCH MORE!” 1pm-4pm/free/all welcome
  
• 208 Love Building, FSU: FSU Math Fun Day 2020. “This FREE Open House event is hosted by the Department of Mathematics (FSU Math Fun Day). Come join us for some math fun! Each year, faculty, staff, and student volunteers from the Department of Mathematics engage with the community to demonstrate that MATH is FUN! There will be hands-on activities, presentations, exhibits, demonstrations, and workshops. Activities are available for all ages in grades K-12, but students in kindergarten and grade 1 will need extra parental help. Bring your children and families to experience mathematics in a fun and engaging way!” 1pm-5pm
  
• Deep Brewing: Coastal Plains. “Join us Saturday, February 1 at 1:00p.m. to kick off our February Monthly Mission partner, Coastal Plains! They are bringing t-shirts for sale, Surfer the striped newt to meet, and will have a raffle for a chance to win an exciting adventure with them. $1 of every Scapa Flow pint, growler, or flight sold will be donated to their nonprofit at the end of the month.” 1pm
  
• Growler Country: Brew Bus To The Bay. “The 2nd Annual Brews by the Bay Craft Beer Festival -- Wakulla County's first and only craft beer festival -- is back at Wooley Park in Panacea and once again benefiting the Florida Wild Mammal Association! Last year, the event was SO popular in their first go 'round, they sold twice the amount of tickets they expected and nearly ran out of beer! And this year, we're bringing people from Tallahassee and Wakulla to join in the fun of unlimited sampling, fresh seafood and live music RIGHT on the water. Not only will you get a safe trip too and from the festival for $25 each, but when you ride with us, Brew Bus riders will pay just $20 for their general admission ticket compared to the regular listed price of $25!” 1pm-6pm
  
• Woolley Park (Panacea): Brews by the Bay - Craft Beer Fest. “Brews by the Bay Craft Beer Festival offers unlimited samplings of local and national craft beers. Held at Panacea’s Woolley Park overlooking picturesque Dickerson Bay, Brews by the Bay is a one of a kind craft beer festival. The event features live bands, food trucks, craft vendors, and live animals like eagles and pelicans. All proceeds will benefit the Florida Wild Mammal Association.” 2pm-5pm
  
• TCC Fred Turner Auditorium: David Engel's Star Force Academy: A Madcap Intergalactic Parody. “A long time ago and not so very far away…children yearned to be Rebels. Your family will thrill as they join the Rebel Alliance and access the Force within! David Engel’s Star Force Academy is a solo, comedy variety show that captivates kids and nostalgic adults alike. Come learn the ways of the Force with Panniken Moonjumper, a true Master of Intergalactic fun and adventure. During this laugh-riot parody, your Youngling Warriors, Princesses and Vader’s will be delighted with comic antics, exciting physical challenges, magical mayhem, a visit from a furry alien sidekick and engage in an epic battle to save the Universe! Kids are encouraged to attend in costume. Ages 4+ please.” 2pm-5pm
  
• Madison Social: Tallahassee Tot Fest. “The five best words of 2020 are here. All. You. Can. Eat. Tots. On Saturday February 1 from 2-6pm we are hosting the inaugural Tot Fest. There will be two tater tot creations available at Madison Social, Township and Centrale. We are kicking off Tot Fest with a tater tot eating contest. $5 to enter. First person to eat 100 tots will win free Hot Tottys for a year. Festival tickets are $20 and include all you can eat tots plus a select drink at check in. Bounce around the area and eat as many tots as your heart desires. Check in and tot eating contest will be on our patio.” 2-6pm/$20
  
• Ology: Artist Talks. “Serena Vck and Camden Goddard will be joining us that evening to speak about their work and mingle with guests.” 4:30pm
  
• Tara Angel’s Magic: Kids Board Game Night. “Kids will be introduced to many types of board games! They will learn new skills such as math, geography, negotiation/interpersonal, memory, and more all while having a blast playing some of the best Board Games in the U.S.!” 5pm/$10 (includes pizza)
  
• Good Shepard Catholic: MOGS Italian Feast. “Dinner features two varieties of pasta with choices of our fresh Italian sauce or our garlic butter and mushroom sauce. We will also serve our famous homemade meatballs, sausage, garlic bread, salad, desserts and iced tea or lemonade.” 6pm/$10 for adults, $5 for children under 18, and a $30 cap for families
  
• The Crum Box Gastgarden: Comedians Against Cards Against Humanity. “Come out to The Crum Box Gastgarden and join us in playing Cards Against Humanity (CAH)! In a combination of CAH and comedy, local comedians will be reading, joking about, and scoring each team's card submission, with prizes for 1st, 2nd and 3rd place! This is an absolute blast and you don't want to miss it!” 7pm
  
• Wine House at Market Street: Pat Puckett. 7pm
  
• Railroad Sq Craft House: Maddie Avery. 7pm
  
• The Bark: When Particles Collide/Emily Gabriel/Bench WarmeSmall Talk. 8pm/all ages
  
• Blue Tavern: Avis Berry with Mason Margut. 8pm/$10
  
• Junction @ Monroe: Belle and The Band with Thousand Dollar Hen. 8pm/$13
  
• Fifth and Thomas: That’s What She Said. 8pm/free/21+
  
• Bird’s: Tammy & The T-Rex: A Trash Cinema Event. “Hey Gang, The Primal Root here, inviting YOU and a date to join us for Trash Cinema Night at Bird's Aphrodisiac Oyster Shack so you can kick the romance into high gear with our February 1st screening of the Uncut and Unrated version of 1994's Tammy and the T-Rex starring Denise Richards, Paul Walker and directed by the man who brought us Mac & Me and The Ice Pitates, Stewart Raffill!” 9pm
  

SUNDAY, 2/2

• City Hall: Urban Gorilla 2020. “This is a mountain bike ride that starts at City Hall and heads towards Cascades Park, Myers Park, Indianhead Acres, Kohls Trail, Fern Trail, Tom Brown Park, Cadillac, Alford Arms, Miccosukee Greenway, Maclay Gardens/Lake Overstreet ($2 park fee), Phipps, Red Bug, Live Oak Plantation, then back towards downtown by way of Waverly Hills, Betton Hills, Midtown, and Old Town. If you complete the classic route you'll cover 50+ miles! Make sure you ride smart and within your ability! A post-ride celebration at Backwoods Bistro located at 401 East Tennessee Street. This is a free event however in our efforts to continue to support new trail and maintain existing trail we are accepting donations! If you haven't experienced this classic group ride before make sure you're at City Hall by 9am for the grand depart. This is something you don't want to miss! The ride will break up into smaller groups riding at their own pace so you'll have plenty of groups and speeds to pick from.” Click here for all details. 9am
  
• Ruby Diamond: PRISM Concert. “PRISM is a lively showcase of talent from Florida State University’s top-ranked College of Music. The evening includes a diverse array of performances by chamber ensembles, jazz combos, concert bands, and the World Renowned Florida State University Marching Chiefs. There’s something for everyone in this FSU tradition and perennial audience favorite. You might hear a tuba ensemble perform Radiohead, or a trumpet choir playing Beyonce. The only thing that’s for certain is that it sells out every year. Go Noles!” 2pm
  
• Cap City Video Lounge: Groundhog Day & Groundhog Day. “Celebrate Groundhog Day with us Sunday February 2nd at Cap City Video Lounge as we present Harold Ramis's 1993 brilliant comedy classic, Groundhog Day, starring Bill Murray, as it's very own double feature! That's right, you have to chances to see Groundhog Day, or you can enjoy it twice in a row for the full Groundhog Day experience.” 3:30pm/byob alcohol if you’re 21+
  
• Junction @ Monroe: John "JB" Babich. 5pm/free
  

MONDAY, 2/3

• The Bark: BURSTERS/Grace/Bobb Hatt/Murmurs. “Come get wild with some crazy fun sweet weirdo freaks.” 9pm/$5/all ages

In a recent flurry of videos recorded and provided by Louis Rossmann, I felt inclined to speak up about an issue that my southern neighbour has been facing, because Canada is not immune to the issues that right-to-repair legislation highlights. Upon listening to the testimony provided by someone speaking for CompTIA, I am reminded of something Louis has said on occasion that R2R is best won by culture. So to listen to Anna Powell speaking for CompTIA at the Washington hearing, I became quite offended that Anna is there for an organization that in itself, represents people like me and most anyone else working in the technology field with a certification. How could CompTIA oppose R2R when all of us benefited the ability to repair things, creating the desire to pursue the tech sector, get proper training and pay for their tests and recognition for employment? I realize the quick answer to that is because that recognition is made possible by the companies that worked with CompTIA to have these tests, and be paid to continue that relationship, but without new students to be certified or without human resource departments to not recognize the general sham that it is, can they be swayed to actually listen to the real membership - us?
​
I would contend it would be an easier task than with the Consumer Technology Association (CTA, who holds events such as the Consumer Electronics Show), Entertainment Software Association (ESA, who represents game developers for example), CTIA (an org that has a focus on wireless tech), or others. As part of having important conversations publicly available, I am including my discussion with CompTIA. As of right now, I have not received an answer. The below includes my reminder that I have not forgotten, and that I brought a lot of talking points with me.
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There is a section I walked right up to, and avoided including because software modification is a subject that I feel dearly about yet has so much bulk as something nearly tangential it would be difficult to give proper credence to. However I will include those thoughts here.
​
If we ever get the point where more devices will have the longevity that those who own them will keep them longer, another problem will arise. Given phone, tablet, watch, set-top box, or IoT stuff like routers, TV's, and refrigerators, the manufacturer will eventually stop supporting it. Apple typically keeps things supported for five years, while those using Android may see support lost after a year or two - just like with IoT, it is difficult to rely on. Some devices operate true fly-by-night when there will never be an update even when it is possible/important, others tend to a yearly schedule when the next iteration is out, support for last year's model is lost. I have a general disdain for D-Link routers because of the mountain of them found on marketplaces - trying to be sold sometimes more than a reasonable router new - but are worthless as a whole, all because they are old enough for D-Link to ignore and generally not fit for duty at the edge of the internet (I may have a front door with reasons not to trust, but at least I am not leaving it open while away for hours at a time).
​
For R2R, I also see some level of software modification. Not the kind where you root a phone so you can install junk that allows you to cheat in games with some monetary aspect. For the type of people who do that, EAD. I approach aftermarket firmware differently than the "sexy" part of the Android community, and it is a stance I grew into. I want to be able to extend the life of devices when the OEM has given up on what is otherwise a perfectly well-functioning device, and also have control over what services will collect data on me. As per the latter, I don't have an interest to play cat-and-mouse games if they don't want to offer a service on my terms.
​
For example, some time back Google started certifying individual devices that qualify to use their Play Store. Custom firmware has a few options in that event (including Google granting an exception for certain situations) however since I am not interested in the data-slurping practices that are found in Google Play Services (since the vast bulk of Android is not affected by what Google does or expects to control), I decline to re-install the very services that they have made a hassle to use anyway. Another example is something ongoing with Netflix where my set-top box is no longer supported for their service. Even though I accept a service to take steps to avoid sharing of copyrighted material (such as meeting the desired Widevine DRM criteria) and anything they record about me as a part of their business, it is unfortunate that in attempt to avoid mass tracking from Google, my current firmware at six months out of date is unable to connect to their platform. I am investigating other platforms as a result.
​
To wrap up these examples a bit, I don't expect custom firmware to do more. I expect sacrifices (reduced functionality/convenience, easier to compromise when there is physical access) in order for me to get something I value more (prolonging usable life of device, harder to compromise remotely, being in control). Achieving this goal in the real world is a tough balance - for anything that uses the Linux kernel the source code used for that device needs to be posted anyway, but that is part of the issue at hand. I am looking for a future when no later than the OEM stops supporting the device, tools (manuals, applications, or whatever is required) are provided to unlock the bootloader of the device. Also, source code is provided for the device and their components, including the latest iteration before loss of support - that would be the latest kernel used, device tree information, and userspace code to help handle certain components like the camera. This would be the new required minimum. I would really want to have both developer communities - that of the OEM and maintainers to the custom - work together for a better product. Such collaboration could very well extend support at the official level.
​
Anyway, that is all to really mention about that, below is the actual (with minor redactions of my identity) email thread with CompTIA...

Hello,
Following up since I have yet to see a response since Thursday's escalation notification. Since my original question that was a result of Anna Powell speaking at the SB 5799 right-to-repair (R2R) hearing for Washington (2020-01-21), there was another CompTIA representative at the LD 1977 hearing for Maine (2020-01-23) by the name of Bill Ferdinand. Having listened to both speeches, I believe it is fair for me to comment on some of the arguments. To be perfectly fair, the points to my rebuttal isn't anything new - the bulk (at least) would be answers that come up from other CompTIA certification holders.
Both speakers mention risks to safety when devices are repaired, especially by the consumer. Given the history of consumer equipment containing warnings of electrical shock and other dangers, the very same equipment also provided a great deal of documentation for service. My sister recently fixed her own sewing machine with documentation she found online, without (considering I tend to be asked about repairing things in my family) even telling me about until the work was done. Over the years, the working voltage of equipment, size of capacitors (dealing with a CRT of yesteryear is one of awareness), and certain mechanical functions have drastically reduced and are unequivocally safer. Yet, in the same time, access to the manuals, schematics, and parts have dropped considerably with the original equipment manufacturer (OEM) actively preventing their circulation, even (since we are here) through law. If there is any problems of safety, it's through lack of documentation for those determined to have something fixed. Your speakers are piggy-backing on decades-old hazards that the senators may have experienced over time. Today's electronics are not fraught with this with anywhere near the magnitude.
Both speakers warn of risks to security, privacy, and copyright when devices are repaired. This is completely unrelated, and speaking of hardware and software as the same concept is at best confusing, and at worst lying. For starters, a repair returns a physical object back to it's intended function. If my DVD player stops working because too much dust collected on the spindle, preventing it to move, my removing the dust and reapplying silicon grease does not make it automatically play bootlegs. A physical modification to a circuit could, but that is changing the functionality of my DVD player (not to mention unintended by the OEM) and is thus not a repair. Repairs will not change the integrity of data, nor the protections that guard them.
Modifications can do this however, so it is well worth mentioning here that while I acknowledge the possibilities in how personal/private/secure data can become vulnerable, R2R will do nothing to prevent nor dissuade those who seek such vulnerabilities. Right to repair can, however, raise the bar on securing the very things we use every day. Even going back to a physical level, my house has a front door, and thus a deadbolt lock. I am aware of at least one way someone can get inside without me even noticing someone broke in that way. Is it beyond my own right to be aware of a non-destructive entry? Could this fault be something important for the general public to be aware of, so the vendor is able to produce a more secure solution? Any argument for "security through obscurity" (if people don't know the faults, the faults won't get used) is no security at all since those who wish to do harm already know. Outlawing information only means the outlaws will have information. What would that mean for the next generation of students being certified, let alone the security experts among them?
Anna talks about steps that manufacturers take to divert old or broken electronics from the landfill, and that right to repair will interrupt that recycling process. The only interruption that will really occour from this is that once the equipment reaches e-waste to be recycled, there will be a lot more equipment capable to be reused, and as a side effect, fewer new version produced because the market can hold onto their equipment for longer. Recycling may sound like this glorious thing, but it is essentially the last-ditch effort when the earlier priorities (reduce; reuse) have failed. There is a reason why the three (in some cases, four) R's follow a specific order.
Both point out that with over a dozen states initiating right-to-repair laws in recent years, not one state has yet passed it. So? Is there some hive mentality that makes this a moral choice? Alternatively, could this be a form of intimidation to show how this bill is stepping outside the lines? Approached differently, you could ask "a version of this bill has been approached for a third of all states in this country - could this be something that deserves real attention?"
Bill in particular mentions that R2R will mandate proprietary information to anyone without certification, protections, nor accountability will cause a great amount of risk. That he compared this risk to that greater than brakes of a vehicle - a reliably safe repair for someone to complete on a vehicle still capable of many human casualties - is well overblown. The greatest physical risk to humans with a phone is not the active repair, rather an unattended device containing a defective battery that was manufactured as part of the phone. This particular example is speaking to the Galaxy Note 7, a phone that could have had a vastly simpler recall process had the problem battery itself could have been user-replaceable (as it has usually been for decades). The greatest non-physical risk is still irrelevant, see above. We currently have a process where the only legitimate option to repair phones from some manufacturers is to outright replacing it, losing any valuable data (to the consumer) in the process. As for the repair industry that functions still in need of R2R legislation, they are already subject to accountability to the state they reside in through annual fees, screening, and problem resolution should there be a consumer complaint about the practices.
Bill also brings up that R2R compromises the livelihood of parties that are certified/authorized to do so. This is a significant lie. Repair agents employed by the OEM don't repair (aside from the most superficial of issues). They replace. Those who are authorized by the OEM are forced to do the same, with additional rules (enforced by the OEM) to while prevent replacement parts from entering the supply chain, will frustrate the consumer with any broken part being shipped and verified by the OEM before a replacement is provided. Independent technicians are for this legislation, taking time out of their schedule, and paying to speak at these hearings for R2R, because this legislation will make their lives easier. The argument that repairs will open a flood gate of consumers wanting to fix their stuff isn't going to happen. There are people that have an interest - I am one of them - however the physical tools required for some repairs are going to remain prohibitive for an individual to invest in.
Finally, as response to a question, Bill suggests not allowing people to complete certain repair. Coming back to the "brakes of a vehicle" argument mentioned above, I support people repairing what they are comfortable with repairing, being capable of assessing the quality of repair, as well as being capable to seek help when they are unsure of the repair situation or result. Failing to support this falls down a very slippery slope where at the bottom you will not be allowed to refuel your vehicle at the pumps because of active fumes and fire hazard. You will not be able to clean your gutters in the event that you fall off your own ladder. You will be legally unable to plug in your new coffee pot for fear you may electrocute yourself. This is not an argument any reasonable person will want to allow themselves near.
Even though my disgust of CompTIA perpetuating lies and misinformation to senators (in states for a country I am not a citizen of) has still prompted me to reach out, as any decision made through your own actions will not only cause a ripple-effect to the region I live (these things tend to do so), it disturbs me as those who seek employment tend to require your certifications. That would mean that you are representing anyone that holds your certifications. Technology professionals are not made in a vacuum. The very desire providing more students into this broad field exists because before they chose this career path, they tore things apart to see how they work, repaired things, improved things. Going against the very culture will either turn your certifications into expensive paper, or nearly close the influx of students into the field.
To remain relevant, it would be wise to not bite the hand that feeds you.
--
Regards,
J Maxuel
On Thu, 2020-01-23 at 17:57 +0000, C (CompTIA) wrote:
>
>
> ##- Please type your reply above this line -##
> Hi again! Your request has been updated. Just reply to this email to
> provide any additional comments.
> C
> (CompTIA)
> Jan 23, 11:57 AM CST Good morning J,
>
> We strive to respond to our customers as soon as possible, but your
> request is a bit outside of our standard tier 1 issues. I've
> escalated your inquiry to a customer service manager. Please allow 1-
> 2 business days for a response (usually sooner), and thanks in
> advance for your patience.
>
> Have a great day!
> C
>
>
> J Maxuel Jan 22, 7:46 AM CST
> As someone holding a CompTIA certification since 2004, I am disgusted
> by your organization publicly opposing right to repair (e.g. to
> stance in the Washington hearings SB5799). Your very business to gain
> certification for experts in the technology field starts by those
> with an interest to learn how the devices we use today, work.
> Corporate sponsorship of your organization means nothing if you
> willingly cut off interest to the next generation of workforce.
> I believe it is a fair assessment that the right to repair is a
> common sentiment across other certification holders. What sense would
> it make to oppose those you represent?
>
>
> This email is a service from CompTIA.
> [Z3P5DL-OL7M]

For the last fifteen plus years, our local grassroots committee entitled, "Carroll Concerned Citizens", (we also have a Facebook page which can be located at the following website: https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/130361223661520/), surrounding and dealing with this very topic and is replete with related landfill issues which are of a great concern to our citizens. We have been battling a local road and bridge contractor by the name of Sealand Contractor's Corporation (they are the parent company and the proponent of the implementation of the landfill by the name of Sealand Waste, LLC) who proposes to expand an existing landfill uphill from a spring-fed pristine water source which in turn feeds a local stream entitled Storehouse Run which is located and originates in the Dodge Road area in Town of Carroll. Using the terminology supplied to us by the proposed landfill operator's engineer (Mr. James Daigler of Daigler Engineering) of this planned project when he stated back in 2004 at a public scoping meeting at Frewsburg High School, (i.e. Sealand Waste, LLC – a subsidiary of Sealand Contractor’s Corporation) that "ALL LANDFILLS LEAK", which poses a significant danger to the watershed of our township (Storehouse Run & Frew Run Creek) in the immediate area of the proposed landfill expansion. If the landfill is constructed as explained herein, the potential for contamination of the watershed and water aquifers in the immediate area of this proposed landfill is significant. Storehouse Run is a tributary of the Conewango and Allegheny Rivers and beyond.
While Storehouse Run is in NY State (begins on Dodge Road via a spring-fed source), its waters also pass into the State of Pennsylvania approximately one mile to the south of the designated site of this proposed Sealand Waste Landfill. Operating under the premise that “ALL LANDFILLS LEAK", what we have here are very significant threats to our health, safety and to our environment plus to the eco-system which is centered in the immediate around the waterways mentioned herein and well beyond. If this landfill is implemented and leachate from this proposed landfill does in fact leak into Storehouse Run (a designated truck out spawning stream as well), the highly toxic leachate will impact Storehouse Run which flows to the south into the State of Pennsylvania and joins up with the Conewango Creek. The Conewango Creek watershed area is an intricate part of the Allegheny River Basin and flows into the Allegheny River near Warren Pa. As we all are aware, the Allegheny then continues to flow to the southwest and merges with the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh to form the Ohio River and so on to the Mississippi River. I am sure you get the overall picture!
For example, if one were to place one single eye dropper of leachate into a swimming pool containing 25,000 gallons of drinking water (as a control sample) that will pollute that entire sample so that it is not fit for human consumption or use. Picture leachate from this proposed landfill finding its way into Storehouse Run. The result would be environmentally catastrophic. Furthermore, Storehouse Run is a designated trout spawning stream and the ecological damage would be extensive. Leachate migrating into this stream or other area streams (i.e. Frew Run Creek - also a tributary of the Conewango Creek) would significantly damage or destroy the ecosystems of the watershed area and have a very definite impact on both wild animals, birds and domesticated animals which rely on this pristine water source for their very survival.
What further exacerbates this problem is that the proposed landfill is being planned for construction and operation within 30 feet of the footprint of the boundaries of the proposed landfill and adjacent to Storehouse Run. Federal regulations prohibit the construction and/or operation of such a project within 1000 feet of such a project. Based upon this data, the proposed Sealand Waste, LLC Landfill will be in violation of Federal law. World-renowned geologist Dr. G. Fred Lee of Lee & Associates, 27298 East El Macero Drive, El Macero, CA 95618-1005, phone: (530) 753-9630 (his website link is attached below), has confirmed in his numerous scholarly articles and extensive site investigations that indeed "ALL LANDFILLS LEAK". Dr. Lee has investigated over 500 such landfills worldwide. To further exacerbate this problem, the location of this proposed landfill consists of highly permeable soils (gravel & sand composition) which will allow leachate from this landfill to enter the water table and/or leach and migrate into the pristine waters of Storehouse Run at a much accelerated pace once the landfill liner is breached, torn or is damaged during the installation process. Even the manufacturers of the liner system of the type and design scheduled for this proposed landfill admit that the liners themselves are imperfect...they all have holes in them. Storehouse Run lies dangerously close to the footprint of the planned landfill site and once the landfill mound reaches its capacity in height, the run-off of surface water (i.e. rainwater) will carry many impurities and pollutants from the landfill operation into Storehouse Run and into the Frew Run Creek. The topography of the area in question will serve as a means by which any surface run-off will be exacerbated by the slope of the landfill mound coupled together with the topography or existing slope of the land in the area of the projected landfill operation.
In addition to the impact that this proposed landfill will have upon the watershed, the construction and day-to-day operation of this proposed landfill will have a very negative and destructive impact upon the Martz/Kohl Memorial Astronomical Observatory. The Martz/Kohl Observatory lies approximately one mile to the east of the location of the proposed landfill and as we all know, the prevailing winds in Western NY travel (blow) from west to east. The landfill operation will place airborne particulate matter (dust, debris, fibers and airborne particulate matter and diesel particulate matter etc...) into the atmosphere which will in effect destroy the clear night sky or dark sky viewing area that the Martz/Kohl Observatory currently enjoys. Proven scientific data supplied by Harvard University (referenced in the Concerned Citizens Facebook page) shows that airborne particulate matter (recently determined to be carcinogenic by the World Health Organization) of the variety generated by landfills (PM, dust, debris and fibers etc...) will in fact destroy telescopic optical equipment. This very problem did arise at Mt. Palomar Observatory in California from a neighboring landfill. They were successful in creating a protection zone or protected area to preserve the dark sky viewing area that particular observatory enjoyed.
The Martz/Kohl Observatory has been in existence for nearly 60 years and is an important part of our cultural heritage and the Town of Carroll community and this project would in effect render the observatory as being useless. In addition, the Martz/Kohl Observatory is also a very important educational tool which is utilized by many local high schools, colleges and universities in the furtherance of their astronomical studies. They have recently installed a second telescope and sensitive equipment to allow access to the Martz/Kohl Observatory telescopes by various academic institutions via the internet. If this landfill is implemented, it will virtually destroy all the efforts of the Martz/ Kohl Observatory to bring the study of astronomy closer to the students, visitors, and guests of this great institution. Attached hereto is a scholarly study (pdf document along with associated link) entitled "Effects of Airborne Particles on Optical Equipment", which was authored by C. M. Steinbach Gorgievska of the Institute of Mining and Technology and the Magdalena Ridge Observatory, 801 Leroy Place, Socorro, NM, 87801. Attached also, is also the abstract of said study which shows that observatories (such as the Martz Observatory in the Town of Carroll) are greatly impacted by dust, soot and particulate matter such as would be the case if the landfill being proposed for Dodge Road in the Town of Carroll was approved by the NY State DEC and subsequently constructed at said location. Airborne diesel particulate matter, dust, fibers and various volatile chemicals that will be realized by the construction and subsequent operation of this proposed landfill.
With the Martz Observatory only being approximately one mile to the east of this proposed landfill site, the threats to the Martz Observatory are significant. The prevailing winds of Western NY and particularly the Town of Carroll, will ultimately carry the aforementioned materials from the area of the proposed landfill, directly toward the Martz Observatory. As evidenced by this attached scientific study, these harmful particulates will settle upon, and ultimately destroy the optical surfaces of the telescope mirrors and related equipment and serve as a source of severe contamination of a most valued resource within our community. Furthermore, the Sealand Waste, LLC project will be responsible for polluting the atmosphere with the impurities mentioned herein and will render the use of the night skies as being useless by the Martz Observatory. The magnification process currently enjoyed by the users of the observatory, will not only magnify desired objects in the heavens, but the impurities and particulate matter in the atmosphere will also be magnified by the observatory optics which will render the viewing process useless. The pollutants in question will be blown toward the Martz Observatory by the prevailing winds which are indigenous to our area.
What is interesting to note is that Sealand Waste, LLC in their efforts to get their project approved, cited a court case which compared this landfill implementation to that of a mining operation. The attached scholarly text also makes a similar comparison to a mining operation in New Mexico, which impacted Magdalena Observatory in a fashion which will likely impact the Martz Observatory with particulate matter not only from the construction and operation of the landfill itself, but also from the diesel particulate matter from the thousands of diesel truck that will arrive at and depart from this proposed landfill on a weekly basis. Landfill operations and mining operations are very similar in their scope and size. Both are involved in the disruption and movement of vast amounts of earth and soils to accomplish their end desire. Strong dust events that will be realized by the proposed Sealand Waste, LLC landfill project are addressed within the attached study. These type of events should be avoided as per Gorgievska's attached material. Because of the close proximity of the proposed landfill to the Martz Observatory, these described events are unavoidable unless the permit being sought by Sealand Waste, LLC to construct and operate a C & D landfill on Dodge Road in the Town of Carroll.
http://proceedings.spiedigitallibrary.org/proceeding.aspx?articleid=847712
Please access the data which is contained in the Carroll Concerned Citizens Facebook page and you will readily see that our committee has done exhaustive research on the effects that such landfills will present to a community such as ours. When this project was first announced, our community was warned by political entities from Rush NY (where Sealand Contractor's Corporation is located) that we do not want to allow Sealand into our community because they will destroy it. Mrs. Tracy Vogel, a former Town Supervisor from the Town of Rush, personally told me in an interview not to allow Sealand into our township and called them "a bunch of ramrods". Their town attorney, whose name escapes me as of this writing, told me basically the same thing. The problem with their modus operendi (MO or method of operation as it is commonly referred to in law enforcement circles) is that landfills are basically a "cash cow"...The owners of said landfill businesses find themselves in a very lucrative and profitable position because various businesses that have or deal with toxic and/or dangerous substances or that have the label as "hard to get rid of", know that they must be disposed of somehow and most of these firms know that there are places or companies which will do just that if the price is right. Sealand Contractor’s (Sealand Waste, LLC) is one of those firms that employ such unethical business practices and often employ heavy-handed tactics when dealing with the public. As we all know, DEC monitors cannot be present 24/7 at a landfill site to see what is dumped at such a location. We have recently learned that "cuttings" from the fracking processes in the State of Pennsylvania might be included among the items placed into this proposed landfill. We feel this goes hand-in-hand with the well fracking story that ran on WGRZ in Buffalo back on 12/13/2012. The difference being here is that these items will be placed into the ground above the water table and the landfill mound that will be realized as a result of the anticipated layers of dumping on a daily basis will be above or at higher ground from the now pristine water source we call Storehouse Run as previously described. Our community does not want nor do we need this landfill. Chautauqua County has a landfill and it is a very viable business as can be attested to by our County Executive George Borrello. We do not need, nor do we want another landfill in Chautauqua County. We implore you to contact the EPA to inform them of the potential hazards and threats that this landfill poses for not only our township but to many who reside to the south of us in the State of Pennsylvania and well beyond. This is not a project which will be indigenous to the Town of Carroll and New York State; it is a multi-jurisdictional problem and thus would come under the control and auspices of the US Environmental Protection Agency.
Furthermore, this landfill will have a very profound and negative impact upon the Jamestown Audubon facility on Riverside Road in the Town of Kiantone. One of the primary designated routes of travel of thousands of trucks going to and from the landfill site in the Town of Carroll is Riverside Road. Diesel particulate matter from these truck will have a very negative effect upon the day-to-day operations of the Audubon Center. Diesel particulate matter which emanates from this projected traffic, is a cancer causing carcinogen and attacks both human and animal physiology. Figures supplied by Sealand Waste indicate that they anticipate a total of 77 waste trucks coming to the landfill. No mention was made of those same trucks departing from the proposed landfill project. If you include the round trips of said waste trucks, that figure becomes 154 trips. Upon examining Sealand’s handout on the number of trucks anticipated at the landfill site. It is grossly inaccurate it clearly states 77 waste trucks per day. There is no mention whatsoever of the projected outbound trucks. That figure should be 154 (77x2). That means in a 10 hour day of operation, 154 round trips will be made. 154 divided by a 10 hour day (as listed in a Sealand Waste handout) = 15.4 trucks per hour or to be more precise, a total of 4 trucks per minute traveling through on on the roadways of the Town of Carroll. This influx of diesel trucks is TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE and is a health hazard and most definitely a roadway hazard both in terms of safety and in terms of roadway damage when using the NY State DOT parameters and formula on potential damage to the affected roadways to and from the proposed landfill.
Per Johns Hopkins University Particulate Matter Research Center verifies that Airborne Particulate Matter (PM 10 & PM 2.5) are as hazardous to animals as they are to human beings. According to a scholarly study conducted by the Johns Hopkins University Matter Research Center between October 1, 2003 and September 9, 2006, they verify that the airborne particulate matter of the variety which can be anticipated from the hundreds of diesel trucks which will pass by the Jamestown Audubon Sanctuary while en route to the proposed Sealand Waste, LLC Landfill slated for construction and operation on Dodge Road in the Town of Carroll, will create a hazardous environment for the ecosystem which presently thrives within the Audubon Sanctuary. Below is an excerpt from that scholarly study. Animals which call the Jamestown Audubon Sanctuary home, will be adversely affected by the airborne particulate matter emissions of these anticipated waste trucks which will be headed to this proposed landfill. All that we are asking is that your organization act in a manner as to preserve the Jamestown Audubon Sanctuary for now and for generations to come. It is a scientific proven fact that airborne particulate matter (PM 10 & PM 2.5) are contained in the emissions of diesel trucks. When conducting the appropriate research which has been done by Johns Hopkins Matter Research Center) as to the extent of particulate matter emissions of just one diesel truck, and then extrapolate those figures to the anticipated diesel truck traffic (200 + trucks per day) which will be realized if this landfill is permitted by the NY State DEC, then one begins to understand the extent of the hazard that exists not only to humans, but to plant and animal life as well, residing and thriving within the exposed area.
"Project 3. Biologic Assessment of Toxicity of PM and PM Components:
PI: Dr. Joe G. N. Garcia
Objective of Research
Exposure to particulate matter (PM) is currently associated with development and exacerbation of various respiratory diseases such as lung cancer, COPD, and asthma. There is also substantial evidence linking PM to adverse cardiovascular effects, both in epidemiological and animal studies. Hallmarks of asthma include airflow obstruction, bronchial hyper-responsiveness, and airway remodeling. Recent studies suggest a strong association between acute exposure to PM and daily mortality, which was the strongest for respiratory and cardiovascular related hospital admissions and cause of death in susceptible individuals in the USA."
It would be a shame if the Jamestown Audubon Center & Sanctuary was destroyed by a company (Sealand Waste, LLC) by the utilization of Riverside Road as a means to transport construction and demolition waste to the proposed landfill site (on Dodge Road) in the Town of Carroll. Enjoy the beauty of this pristine facility while it lasts because if this landfill project is permitted by the NY State DEC, it will place the Jamestown Audubon Sanctuary in harms way as far as the airborne particulate matter released into the atmosphere by hundreds and possibly thousands of diesel trucks passing by on their way to and from this proposed landfill on a daily basis. Airborne particulate matter (also called nano-particulates) emitted by diesel trucks is easily absorbed into the blood streams of not only human beings residing in the area of such exposures, but also by the many species of animals and plant life which absorbs these impurities which are an integral part of the Jamestown Audubon Center & Sanctuary. Particulate matter (PM 2.5), has been shown to enter the physiology of a living plant, animal and human species and have been shown to have altered DNA as a result of being exposed to diesel particulate matter. If there are those that doubt the veracity of this data, I suggest you then do the research on the effects of diesel airborne particulate matter on plants, animals and human beings. Contact Cornell University...I'm sure they will be more than happy to provide you with any data necessary for you to make up your own mind. If you care for the livelihood of such institutions as the Jamestown Audubon Center & Sanctuary, the Martz/Kohl Observatory and many other businesses, please contact Assemblyman Andrew Goodell or Mr. David Denk of the NY State DEC at 270 Michigan Avenue, Buffalo NY 14202. He is the Permit Administrator for this proposed landfill project and who will ultimately make the final decision as to whether or not this landfill will be constructed in the Town of Carroll. Your involvement is important and critical to the survival of our quality of life here in the Town of Carroll as well as the animal and plant ecosystems which thrive in this area not to mention the severe toll it will have upon the human population of our immediate and surrounding areas.
Websites of Dr. G Fred Lee & Associates:
www.zerowasteamerica.org/landfills.htm
www.ejnet.org/landfills
When evaluating the environmental impact of the proposed Sealand Landfill on Dodge Road in the Town of Carroll, it is important to consider the attached study below and the impact that diesel particulate matter can have on our Township and the surrounding jurisdictions. In addition, diesel particulate matter will have a very profound and negative impact upon the migratory birds in our area and particularly indigenous species such as the Bald Eagle. Diesel particulate matter affects humans, animals and plant life within an area of high diesel vehicular traffic which would be realized by the implementation of the proposed landfill on Dodge Road.
Evidence is overwhelming of the resurgence of the Bald Eagle within our area and as such, we as citizens of the Town of Carroll should pursue a course of action which not only protects our citizens, but also protects our ecosystem and our environment as a whole.
SUMMARY: DIESEL PARTICULATE MATTER HEALTH IMPACTS
Diesel engines emit a complex mixture of pollutants, including very small carbon particles, or "soot" coated with numerous organic compounds, known as diesel particulate matter (PM). Diesel exhaust also contains more than 40 cancer-causing substances, most of which are readily adsorbed onto the soot particles. In 1998, California identified diesel PM as a toxic air contaminant (TAC) based on its potential to cause cancer. Other agencies, such as the National Toxicology Program, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and the National Institute of Occupational Safety and Health, concluded that exposure to diesel exhaust likely causes cancer. The most recent assessment (2012) came from the World Health Organization’s International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC). IARC’s extensive literature review led to the conclusion that diesel engine exhaust is “carcinogenic to humans,” thereby substantiating and further strengthening California’s earlier TAC determination.
Diesel engine emissions are believed to be responsible for about 70% of California's estimated known cancer risk attributable to toxic air contaminants. 1 Also, diesel PM comprises about 8% of outdoor fine particulate matter (PM2.5), which is a known health hazard. As a significant fraction of PM2.5, diesel PM contributes to numerous health impacts that have been attributed to particulate matter exposure, including increased hospital admissions, particularly for heart disease, but also for respiratory illnesses, and even premature death.2 ARB estimates that diesel PM contributes to approximately 1,400 (95% confidence interval: 1,100-1,800) premature deaths from cardiovascular disease annually in California.3 Additionally, exposure to diesel exhaust may contribute to the onset of new allergies; a clinical study of human subjects has shown that diesel exhaust particles, in combination with potential allergens, may actually be able to produce new allergies that did not exist previously.
Several factors exacerbate the health risks of diesel PM exposure:
•Diesel PM is often emitted close to people so high exposures occur
Diesel PM is in a size range that readily deposits in the lung
•Diesel PM contains compounds known to damage DNA and cause cancer
•Additionally, diesel PM pollution can affect the environment:
•Diesel PM causes visibility reduction
Diesel black carbon (soot) is a potent contributor to greenhouse gasses
•Assessments of Diesel Exhaust Health Impacts
Summary of Findings:
•The National Institute for Occupational Health and Safety (NIOSH) 1988
•Animal evidence “confirmatory” for carcinogenesis
•Human evidence “limited”
Diesel exhaust classified as “potential occupational carcinogen”
•International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) 1989, Rat data “sufficient” for carcinogenicity
•Human epidemiology data “limited”
•Diesel exhaust considered a highly “probable” human carcinogen
World Health Organization (WHO) 1996
•Rat data support carcinogenicity
Human epidemiology data suggest “probably carcinogenic”
•Epidemiology studies considered “inadequate for a quantitative estimate of human risk”
•California Environmental Protection Agency 1998 Rat data “have demonstrated” carcinogenicity of diesel exhaust particle
•Causal association of diesel exhaust and lung cancer in epidemiology studies is a “reasonable and likely explanation”
•Designated diesel particulate matter a “toxic air contaminant”
National Toxicology Program (NTP) 2000
•Diesel exhaust particulates listed as “reasonably anticipated to be a human carcinogen” based on findings of elevated lung cancer in occupational groups exposed to diesel exhaust and supporting animal and mechanistic studies, U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) 2002
•Diesel emissions considered “likely to be carcinogenic to humans”
Strong but less than sufficient epidemiologic evidence
•Evidence of carcinogenicity of diesel exhaust particles in rats and mice by non-inhalation routes of exposure
Extensive supportive data including the demonstrated mutagenic and/or chromosomal effects of diesel exhaust and its organic constituents, U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) 2009
•Although not diesel-specific, the relationship between particulate matter (such as diesel PM) and premature mortality was determined to be causal
National Toxicology Program (NTP) 2011
•Diesel exhaust particulates listed as “reasonably anticipated to be a human carcinogen, based on limited evidence of carcinogenicity from studies in humans and supporting evidence from studies in experimental animals and mechanistic studies”International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC; part of the World Health Organization (WHO)) 2012
•Diesel engine exhaust classified as “carcinogenic to humans”
•”Sufficient evidence” in humans for diesel exhaust as a cause of lung cancer
• “Limited evidence” for increased risk of bladder cancer

1. Based on estimated ambient statewide diesel PM levels in 2012, the current cancer risk is estimated to be 520 new cases of cancer projected to occur per million residents exposed.This estimate was calculated using a unit risk factor of 8.94 x 10-4 µg/m3 derived using methodology developed by the California Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment (http://oehha.ca.gov/media/downloads/crnappendixa.pdf)and assumes an ambient diesel PM concentration of 0.58 µg/m3. Derivation of both of these values are summarized in Propper et al. 2015. Environmental Science & Technology49(19):11329–11339.
   
2. A more extensive list of health impacts associated with particulate matter exposure was released in 2009 by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.
   
3. Based on 2009 to 2011 exposure
   

Respectfully submitted,
Russell L. Payne
Member - Martz/Kohl Memorial Astronomical Observatory
Member - Carroll Concerned Citizens
34 Frew Run Street
Frewsburg, New York 14738
[email protected]
(716) 397-7268

(ORIGINAL POST)[http://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/2zoerb/best_friend_swallowed_by_cavernous_tunnel_unde]
FIRST UPDATE
THIRD UPDATE
Hey NoSleep. It’s been a week since my last update and a lot of stuff has gone down. On one hand, I’ve seen things I thought only existed in legends and nightmares, and made discoveries that shine some needed light on a very dark situation. On the other hand, I’m no closer to finding Jude. There’s a lot to tell so I’m just going to jump right in.
I’ll be honest with you, folks, I spent about half of the week since we talked last on the biggest bender since that time my 21st birthday fell on a Saturday.
I didn’t go into it with the intention of being incoherent for days. Honest. Last time I was on Reddit talking to you guys was around 9 last Sunday night, and I was battening down the hatches and getting ready to spend the night in Jude’s room with the window open. This, as you will see momentarily, was not a very good plan. I set up my laptop carefully, making sure that both windows and the bed were in frame. I changed the muddy bedding and got ready for bed, feeling that crawling sensation on the back of my next the whole time like I was being watched. I laid the staff on the floor between the bed and the desk where the laptop sat. I slammed two energy drinks from Jude’s stockpile right before I climbed into bed. I was determined not to miss a thing.
I laid there with my blood buzzing with caffeine, watching the naked branches of the tree outside the window sway in the wind, luxuriating in the feel of being piled with thick blankets with the chill of an early spring breeze blowing over my face. Jude has her bed pushed up against the window so that your head and the pillows are right beneath it. It’s lovely in the summer. For a moment I let myself relax, unclench, detangle my mind from its frantic gnawing at all the problems I had on my hands.
I didn’t doze off, exactly, but I drifted for awhile, not thinking of much of anything. I was still in that odd halfway state when I saw a spiraling plume of black smoke spill out of the tiny wormhole in the staff that lay on the floor. It rippled out and hung a few inches off the floor, undulating gently in the faint light from the window. I peeked at it through my lashes, pretending to be asleep. The green light on the laptop that signified it was recording hadn’t turned on yet, but I was pretty sure that was just because the thing was still too low to the ground. If it moved up another inch I’d have it red-handed. I watched, holding my breath, waiting for it to rise. Instead, after a long moment of sniffing and turning its dark head this way and that, it flowed underneath the desk. I lost sight of it for a second.
BANG.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the laptop slammed shut. The shadow pooled on top of it, looking somehow satisfied. I ground my teeth internally but continued to pretend I was asleep. The creature flowed up onto the nightstand beside me, then up onto the windowsill. I hazarded a careful glance upward and caught sight of it, turned outward, stretched upward and scanning back and forth as if it were looking for something. Its movements became more and more agitated. It stretched its whole body out, locking around the handle of the window and dragging it laboriously down. It moved slowly. Either it wasn’t very strong, or it wasn’t entirely substantial.
Just as the window clicked shut, something dark rolled over the glass. The worm cringed away, arching its back like a startled cat. The window stayed dark for a long few moments while the worm stayed motionless. I didn’t dare breathe. Then the shadow slid past, letting in the light from the street outside. Tension seemed to pour out of the creature perched above my head. It slid down from the bed and vanished somewhere in the mess on the floor. I glimpsed something blot out the light coming in from underneath the door as it squeezed underneath and out into the hall.
Moving quickly, I threw off the covers, snatched up the staff and the roll of duct tape I had tucked under the pillow, quickly wrapping the staff with a couple of layers of tape that completely blocked the hole the creature had come out of. I had no idea if duct tape would stop it, but I did know that I’d had it with wishing and wondering and lying in the dark waiting for the next thing to happen. I had no plan of action, no direction, but I was damned if I’d continue to stand around with my thumb up my rear. So I took the taped up staff and shut it in the closet. Then, at 2:37 a.m., I went out to the living room, brewed a pot of coffee so strong it could stand up outside the cup and got online.
I reserved a small corner of my attention for signs of the worm. Once in a while I would catch a flicker in the corner of my eye, moving stealthily along the walls and under the furniture. I pretended not to notice.
We all know those late night Google/Wikipedia/Youtube sprees that turn into rabbit holes leading us further and further down. This was one of those. I started by searching random combinations of key words and phrases that I thought might be relevant. The first pay dirt I hit was something to do with protective rituals. As far as I was concerned, all of the sites I was finding were cut from the same New Age bullshit cloth, but I had to figure that some of this stuff was around for a reason. If there was something else lying just beneath the surface of the reality I knew, it stood to reason that others had encountered it too, and that some of those folks would have figured out ways to guard against things going bump in the night. My dad always used to tell me that there’s nothing new under the sun. Back then I hated the concept, but now there’s a comfort to it. Whatever is happening to me, I can’t be the first. Someone must know what to do.
So I skimmed pages and pages of witchcraft forums and Wiccan blogs, and then I raided the spice cabinet. I pretty much dumped anything I could find with protective connotations into a bowl. I emptied the containers and scraped out the dust with my fingers. Sea salt, sage, rosemary, peppermint, cloves. I even went so far as to pour the remains of some organic lavender bath oil I found in the bathroom into the mix. Once it was a gooey, potent smelling mass, I carried it around the house and smeared it all the way around every window and every door. I made sure there were no gaps. I let it fall where it would, dripping down the walls and into the carpet. I was locking my apartment down. Nothing was getting in or out. I even found some Norse protection runes and scrawled them on the window panes with a permanent marker. I was past caring what my landlord would say. I had bigger fish to fry.
Once that was done I sat back down. By this time the bottle of Irish cream from the fridge had made an appearance next to the computer. My nerves were a frayed mess. A stiff dollop in each cup of coffee went a long way towards smoothing them out. I was feeling pretty good by the time the pot was empty. I had moved on from protective rituals and was now filling a window with tabs of videos of the Decatur haunted tour, pictures of the cemetery, blog posts detailing ghost stories and legends. I found a few items of interest. Millikin University apparently sits on top of a subterranean lake that used to occupy most of the land where the school was built. Aside from Greenwood, the university has the most ghost stories of any location in town. There are also persistent rumors of tunnels underneath the campus.
If you put together all the whispers that have anything to do with underground tunnels, the picture they build is pretty mind-blowing. They may have originally had something to do with the coal that was once mined all over this part of Illinois. Jury’s out on why they were first built. But regardless of their origins, if the stories are to be believed, they go absolutely everywhere, all over the town. Supposedly all the oldest businesses downtown hold basement entrances to the network, although most or all of them are said to be blocked off. They were used for smuggling liquor during prohibition, stashing stolen goods, hiding bodies that weren’t supposed exist. Many sources claimed that they figured heavily in the Underground Railroad. As a sidenote to that, Greenwood is supposed to hold a hell of a lot more bodies than historic records show – not only was it a Native American burial site before the white folks rolled in, stories go that there are mass amounts of corpses scattered in unmarked graves all over the cemetery, from Confederate prisoners that died of infectious diseases in the war camps to escaped slaves that died in transit on the Underground Railroad. Either way, the mental picture I was beginning to build in my head was staggering. There’s an entire web of underground side roads and highways right beneath our feet. Some parts of the tunnels are said to be so cramped you have to hunch over to walk. Others are big enough for a freight train to pass through. No one has ever mapped them or even explored them to fullest extent. But they’re definitely there. Like I said, information doesn’t stick around without a reason. There’s always a grain of truth at the center of the tallest tale.
The dark sky outside was beginning to lighten. I popped the cork on a bottle of wine, feeling like I was finally starting to get somewhere.
I switched tacks and began looking up anything I could find on a name that one of you dropped in the comments of the last post. Troy Taylor is a prolific author whose name pops up at the heart of any internet search regarding scary stuff in Decatur, or hell, in Illinois. He’s written spades of stuff on the history of the town and all the brutal stuff that happened here from its infancy to its heyday. The first few times he came up during the tunnel legends part of my search, I mentally dismissed him as an overeager ghost story enthusiast who had found a way to make his hobby into a lucrative career. He collects ghost stories from all over the Midwest and compiles them along with old photographs and historical facts into the kind of easily digestible collections that I could see people having on their mantels or coffee tables, as conversation pieces for out of town guests (It happened right here in this very town, Bob! Here, take a look at this book that talks all about it!). You know the type.
The more I read, the more wrong I realized my initial reaction was. The guy pioneered basically all known research on Decatur’s weird past. He talked his way into places the general populace didn’t even know existed. He collected hundreds, maybe thousands of fragments of lore and memories and legends and pieced them together into something resembling a coherent mythology. I made a mental note to go out to the old Book Barn, where I always saw used copies of his books, as soon as I got a chance. I sent a message to his author page on Facebook, claiming to be a local student journalist working on a piece about Greenwood, asking if he’d agree to an interview.
Somewhere in the rosy depths of that bottle of wine, I fell asleep with my head resting on the keyboard.
I woke up Monday afternoon with a pattern of small squares imprinted on my cheek, an address bar filled with H’s and J’s, and a vicious hangover. I felt like something the Bandercub dragged in as a hunter’s gift for us poor soft humans. I wondered for the umpteenth time where our cat had wandered off to. I hadn’t seen hide or hair of her since the morning Jude and I left for the Catacombs.
I’m not much of a drinker normally. That’s more Jude’s style. She likes her craft beer and her Irish whiskey and her occasional jazz cigarette, while these days the most exciting drug I take is an extended release antidepressant at the beginning of every week. I was not prepared for the hell that was unleashed inside my skull the second I opened my eyes to the light of day.
I swallowed a handful of ibuprofen, washed down with a tall glass of water. Then I returned to my computer. I tried gamely to make some headway on the research list I had apparently scrawled directly onto the coffee table last night thinking it was a piece of paper. I’d had my fill of ghost tales by that point. I focused my efforts towards recalling anything Jude had ever told me about her friend Caleb. It was slow going. My brain felt like it was encased in thick mud, filled with cobwebs, memories slipping through my fingers like butter when I reached for them. The ibuprofen did little to nothing to ease my headache.
I gave in when the shadows began to grow long and went into Jude’s room to check the secret compartment in her jewelry box, the one she thought I didn’t know about. Sure enough, there was a quantity of bright green herb wrapped up in a twist of plastic along with a small book of rolling papers. I recklessly took both into the bathroom and smoked under the shower vent. When I was done my brain felt, if anything, heavier, but the pain in my head had subsided to a dull ache. I went out to the kitchen and stared into the fridge for few minutes, having an internal battle with myself.
I lost. When I went back into the living room, I went with a half-full green bottle in my hand. I grimaced at the smoky harshness of the first few swigs, but it went down easier and easier the longer I sipped.
I told myself I was doing research, but realistically, I was just kind of sitting in a miserable heap on the couch with my laptop open in front of me, letting the scent of smoke and liquor wash over me, lifting me out of the horror show my life was turning into. Anytime I floated down too close to the ground, I took another drink. I dozed off at some points, drifting in and out of consciousness with the ease of a cat. At one point I rolled over to check the time and my laptop was dead, but the darkness outside the windows was absolute. I nearly got up to look outside, but the cozy warmth inside my cocoon of intoxicants talked me out of it. I slept.
It should tell you something about how much I drank that I was still buzzed when woke up at almost three in the afternoon. The voice of my conscience whispered that this was becoming a bad habit. I ignored it.
I didn’t even pretend to do research that day. I didn’t even get dressed. I bummed around from room to room, continuing to smoke and sip away at Jude’s stockpile of intoxicants. The undone belt of my flannel robe dragged on the floor. My mouth felt like the inside of a landfill. I took perverse pleasure in the scarecrow reflection I would catch in mirrors. My clothes were rumpled, my hair a matted nest of dirty, tangled curls that hung around my shoulders, the underside of my eyes puffy and stained bruise-dark. It felt like the perfect visual representation of how I felt inside.
I’ll be honest, I don’t really remember much of that day. It passed in a blur. I was miserable. Jude was gone, the cat was gone, the creature that had been living in the staff was gone, my self-respect was gone. There came a point in the early evening where I sat in a heap of dirty clothes on the floor of my closet with tears prickling at my eyes and a tightness in my throat, and admitted to myself that I am a coward. I’m not tough or strong or adventurous. I’m not fearless. I’m not Jude. I wished I had been the one to disappear. Jude would have raised hell and dug up every stone in Decatur by now to find me. All I’ve done since waking up outside the cemetery is run away from shadows and beg for advice from strangers on the internet. I’m a lousy excuse for a friend, and the worst part of it is that I’m all Jude has. I might as well write her obituary myself.
I looked up through a blur of tears and saw the staff. It was propped up across the closet door, right where I left it, and the tape hadn’t budged. I blinked and angrily smeared at my eyes before standing up and looking closer. There were singe marks all around the tape, centering on the side that covered the hole. When I pulled it down and looked at it in the light, there were also a bunch of tiny, hair-thin scratches surrounding the blocked hole. I was wondering what to do with this information when I heard a sound at the window. I whirled to look. My panic turned instantly to joy when I saw the Bandercub peering peevishly at me, her whiskers full of cobwebs. I ran over and threw open the window, flinging salt and herbs heedlessly all over the carpet. She meowed and rubbed her face against mine, seeming almost as happy to see me as I was to see her. I sat on the floor, stroking her bedraggled fur and talking to her, unloading all of my troubles. She gazed up at me and listened quietly, giving the occasional solemn wink. Her familiar golden eyes and the warm solid weight of her in my arms soothed my overwhelmed soul. We sat there together and watched the sun dip towards the horizon. I felt better than I had in weeks.
As soon as the last glowing slice of orange light faded into the blue of twilight, though, I shivered, suddenly cold. The shadows outside seemed deeper and more substantial than they had seconds ago. As if to confirm my fears, the Bandercub stiffened, claws pricking into my legs, and then ran under the bed. I stood and looked down at the yard.
The shadows were definitely moving. They crawled and poured and oozed towards the building, flowing from under trees and out of storm drains. They washed over the yard like an oil spill in the ocean, breaking against the outside wall of the downstairs apartment and rolling upwards, each wave lapping a little closer to my window than the last.
As the darkness crept closer, my eyes fell on the line of sea-salted herbs that I had broken when I opened the window to let the cat in. The nights since I had set up the barriers had dried out the mixture, making it soft and crumbly and loose. Most of what had lined the bottom of the windowsill was now lying on the floor, and there was a broad gap in the line. I swore and dropped to my knees, trying to pick what I could out of the carpet. The pressure in the room changed. My ears popped. The windowpane seemed to darken with every passing second.
I shot up and emptied my hands over the windowsill, hastily brushing the herbs across the gap. Seconds before I completed the line, something black and nearly transparent flickered over my hand and outside, right through the closed window, leaving it unbroken in its wake. I closed the line. Something huge and heavy and black as the inside of a body rolled over the window, blocking out everything but the sliding sound it made as it dragged against the glass. I threw myself backwards and crawled shamelessly underneath the bed with the cat. She was hunched up as far from the window as she could get, ears flattened to her head, a low, hostile yowl brewing in her throat. She ignored me, saving all her attention for what lay outside.
Me, I just laid there, crammed up against shoeboxes and dust bunnies, wishing I was anywhere but here.
The darkness flexed and settled over the whole house. I could feel it like a heavy blanket on top of me. It would sort of squeeze every so often, like it was checking for weak spots. I tried not move. I tried not to even breathe. The staff lay out there on the floor. Just a glance was enough to know there was nothing special about it now, just a stick with some weird markings. I kicked myself repeatedly for the move with the tape. Whatever had been in that staff, it wasn’t an enemy. It was all that had saved me from the shadow that came for me that night in my truck. I didn’t blame it for abandoning ship.
The feeling of pressure got worse and worse. I could swear the room seemed smaller. It was hard to breathe. It felt like my lungs couldn’t expand enough to get the air I needed. It got so bad that I climbed out from under the bed, desperate for oxygen, but it didn’t help. I slid to the floor. Sparks were dancing across my field of vision. I couldn’t breathe.
Just before everything went dark, the pressure eased. I filled my grateful lungs with air. The window was calm and clear, but the sudden and total stillness was hardly comforting. I took a few deep breaths and army crawled to the window.
The shadow had slid away from the building. Now it was hovering about ten feet off the ground, roiling and seething in a slowly spinning mass. Small tendrils lashed earthwards here and there like lightning in negative. It seemed focused on a single point near the edge of the yard. Real lightning flickered somewhere in the distance and illuminated a flash of what stood before the cloud. It was a familiar figure, but that moment of displacement triggered by seeing someone you know in an unfamiliar setting meant my brain took a moment to catch up. But catch up it did, and even under clinging dirt and leaves I recognized the gleam of pink hair. It was Jude.
She raised her hand towards the cloud and took another step into the yard. The shadow lashed and boiled, but it drew back. Step by careful step, circling it as slowly as a hunter stalking a deer, she moved along the inner edge of the yard, maintaining her distance from the shadow but always moving closer to me. She kept one shoulder advancing towards the apartment and the other arm outstretched. Her body faced the shadow. She pivoted like an ice cream scoop carving the shadow away from the building. She moved like the moon around the earth.
The cloud was slowly herded to the edge of the yard, and when it hit the invisible property line between us and the alley, a great raindrop of darkness swelled up on the underside of it and fell to the ground. Shadows leapt up like water where it hit. When they fell back, they revealed a second figure.
That figure was also Jude.
But this Jude was clean, her hair smooth and as bright as a glowstick, her skin soft and shining pale, clad only in the darkness that flowed and writhed about her. Even from here I could see that her eyes were dead black, jet black, cigarette burns in the paper white of her face. I got a good look. The thing that looked like my friend hung at the edge of the yard for a long moment. It floated just above the ground where the real Jude had pushed it, but it didn’t look at her. Not once. It looked at me, and the pure, venomous hatred in its eyes impaled me like a butterfly on a pin.
Then, in a flurry of motion that left a fleeting impression of claws and scales and horns, it vanished into the night. When I looked for the real Jude, I saw nothing but empty, rainswept grass below my window.
It was too much. I burst into tears. Maybe you think that makes me weak. Maybe it does. All I know is that after everything that’s happened, all the fear and the doubt and the guilt and the worry and the supernatural stuff that’s been hijacking my life this past few weeks, seeing Jude covered in cemetery filth, stepping up to a monster that wore her face and protecting me the way that I failed to protect her…well, it just about broke me. I used the last dregs of my willpower to drag myself into my best friend’s bed and curl up under the covers. Tears swelled my eyes shut and soaked into the mattress.
After some time passed I felt a weight settle on the pillows next to me and the Bandercub’s sandpaper tongue begin gently licking the salt of my tears off my face. I buried my face in her fur and fell asleep.
I woke up in the soft blue light just before dawn on Thursday. I swam up from the depths of sleep slowly, warmed by the drowsy cat curled up at my back. A quiet thump on the windowsill above my head brought me to full consciousness with a jolt. I laid there, motionless, listening for another sound. None came. I opened my eyes. The sheer white curtains were shifting in the breeze, ghostly in the pre dawn light, and the Bandercub was purring sleepily. I sat up. The windowsill was completely wiped clean of any trace of salt or herbs. All that marred the clean white paint were some smears of dirt and a round, green apple covered in muddy fingerprints. A length of brown yarn was knotted around the stem before running outside. I got up, disentangling myself from the cat to go throw on some clothes. I went outside into cool stillness that happens just before the sun peeps over the horizon. Using the string, I pulled the apple down off the windowsill and caught it, then started wrapping the yarn around it while I followed it to its point of origin. It wasn’t a far walk. It led me to a tiny, overgrown garden on a quiet street that had wrought iron fences blocking off most of the through streets. There were old wrappers and dilapidated stryrofoam cups scattered about, and the whole place had a neglected air. I followed the string to a small pair of statues where a stick was thrust into the earth at their feet. One end was burnt and the remainder of the yarn was wrapped around it. Peeping out of the wet black earth was a rounded, paler shape.
Here are the pictures I took of the apple and the garden. I apologize for the abominable quality. My phone has been acting up ever since all this started, turning on and off on its own, and the flash on the camera only works maybe 30% of the time.
(http://imgur.com/a/8HsVw)
The sun came up as I poked around in the dirt, and I quickly wrapped everything back up and took it back to my apartment. I brewed a pot of coffee and drank it black, spending the early hours of the morning chipping away at the hardened coating of dried mud around the buried object. It took some time and patience, but here’s what proved to be underneath all the grime. I have no idea what to make of any of it. Maybe you guys can figure it out.
(http://imgur.com/a/C6wqv)
After I finished taking the preceding pictures, I washed my hands and peeled the tape off the staff. I had caught the barest hint of a tired gray shadow hiding under the bath tub while I was in there washing the mud off the stuff I dug up. It moved like it was exhausted, and it was almost completely see-through now. I knelt down and gently pushed the staff into its hiding place. After a few minutes I felt the wood vibrate slightly. It felt somehow more alive in my hands.
I sat for awhile thinking. Then I went and got my thinnest crochet hook and poked it into the wormhole gingerly, feeling about with the tiny hook on the end, waiting for it to snag on something. For a while I had no luck, and then something caught. I pulled gently on it, trying not to dislodge it from the hook. It came easily at first, but as soon as it was moving it began pulling back. There was an elastic feel to it, a dangerous tension. The harder I pulled, the more it slid up out of the depths of the staff, but the harder it pulled back. I gritted my teeth and yanked. The tension broke. Something lightning fast and small and black darted out of the hole, lashing out against the hand holding the crochet hook. I felt a red hot sting in my fingertip and dropped both staff and crochet hook with a clatter. A drop of ruby red blood welled up on my finger. The staff was motionless but there was a definite air of resentment about it. I sucked my finger and thought some more.
After awhile, I grabbed a razor and, wincing preemptively, drew it across my palm. Blood welled up and filled the lines and wrinkles. I reached down and wrapped my hand around the staff right where the hole came out. For a minute my blood just dripped against the wood and fell onto the floor. Then something moved against my hand. It felt almost like a tiny warm tongue licking my skin from within the staff. Then there was a feeling of suction, and no more blood fell away. The suction continued for nearly five minutes while the staff slowly warmed up in my hand. Finally the connection broke, and I lifted my wounded palm off of the wood. All that remained of my injury was a thin white line that looked like it had been a scar for years. There was not a trace of blood anywhere except for the tile where a few drops had fallen.
“Ok,” I murmured. “You’re going to need a name. I think I’ll call you Wormwood.”
There’s not much else to tell. I’m done sitting around feeling sorry for myself. The situation sucks, but I’m not going to keep wasting my time crying about it, and I’m not going to drown myself in liquor and self pity when there’s a chance Jude is alive and can be helped. I’ve made an appointment to meet with a hypnotist in Champaign, one with credentials who is also a licensed therapist. I’ll let you know how it goes. I also got a message back from Troy Taylor offering to do a phone interview sometime in the next couple of days. I’ll let you know how that goes too.
One last thing. There’s this stunted little willow tree in our back yard. It grows in the corner where two stone walls meet, concealing it from the neighboring houses and the alley that runs behind our building. Well, that willow tree has doubled in size. It used to be this sad little thing that barely put out any leaves and drifted listlessly when there was a breeze. Now it’s huge and stately, nodding a leafy crown covered in the green growth of deep summer. And there are cats everywhere, more every day, cats I’ve never seen around here before. They practically swarm the yard around twilight. When I went for a walk last night I had to blink and rub my eyes. It seemed like they were chasing bits of shadow around, catching them in their paws and batting them about between the willow fronds that dragged against the ground. I’d been sleeping in my contacts for days by that point, falling into bed too drunk or distracted to remember I was wearing them, too tired to get back up and peel them out of my eyes. Maybe I was seeing things. But the way the shadows moved and scurried reminded me an awful lot of Wormwood.
I’ve taken my time writing this update. Sorry about that. There’s a lot of information to sort through. It’s been hard to sit down and write it all out. Honestly quite a bit of the time since finding the apple on the windowsill has been spent walking aimlessly around the West End, or just sitting by the window with Wormwood in my lap, its wood warm to my touch. I uploaded the pictures of the garden and the music box over the weekend. I’ve been walking down to Greenwood every evening around sunset, taking the staff and a small white candle. I go straight to the sealed entrance by the hole in the fence and light it for Jude, dropping it on top of the melted remains of the last one in the tall glass vase I left there. Maybe she’ll see it, wherever she is. Maybe it will help her find her way home. It looks like I haven’t been the only one out there. People have been visiting and leaving little tokens. Bits of colored glass, old metal buttons, pebbles, animal bones, someone’s sunglass hooked onto the fence right above the hole. I take comfort in those trinkets and proofs of passage. Jude hasn’t been forgotten. My words are reaching people. There’s a darkness in this town and it’s wearing my best friend’s face, but the real Jude is somewhere down there beneath our feet, and she needs us. I’m going to find her or I’m going to die trying. That’s a promise, Decatur.
*