SECTION ONE

Entry #0001: How it all Began
10-05-2008

Holed up in my ultra-top-secret, high-security bunker beneath my remote desert cabin, whose location is purposefully concealed from the public, a place I affectionately call Area 57, I have chosen to isolate myself and remain hidden from unknown adversaries who seek me out. I cannot be absolutely sure who they are; but regarding why, I can only guess.

I suspect that I have infuriated certain people concerning what I have written so far in various e-zines, web sites, blogs, and other publications. Obviously I have accused and exposed certain parties, or even revealed certain factors that someone wishes to keep hidden. I presume they may be either from the criminal underworld, or hired investigators, or some covert faction, or even certain agencies of our own government. If not all of the above. I can't be sure. But I call them "dark strangers" for lack of a better term.

For the last few years I've been moonlighting as a UFO and paranormal researcher, and a conspiracy analyst for good measure - or bad. Not exactly a moneymaking occupation, but it's an exciting venture, full of excitement, danger, and intrigue. My research and investigations have inadvertently led me down a twisted path of mystery, deception, and extreme peril.

My fingers diligently dance across the keys of my computer, cranking out the first entry for this new blog I'm creating, for all to see. Likewise, I've been working on the ongoing articles of my notorious Zones Unknown blog -- which I suspect has stirred up some trouble for me. But I've just created this new blog, which will allow me to enter a less formal and more rough-around-the-edges approach to ongoing matters in my life - as I live on the razor's edge. For all intents and purposes, this new venue is where you get the inside scoop of what goes on behind the scenes, behind closed doors, even the more private and personal scenes of those mysterious unknown zones that lead to creating those eerie if not inspiring articles of conspiratorial and paranormal portent -- hence, rougher and edgier.

I assure you, there are those whose feathers I have sharply ruffled; certain parties whom I have enraged. I know this to be true because of certain near tragic incidents that occurred in my life in the last few years.

I'll give you a for-instance...


Entry #0002: Strange Documents
10-06-2008

At the time I was living in Sioux Falls, South Dakota -- that I had to leave just a few months ago. That was back in June. I believe that I first hit a nerve in somebody two years ago when I had received a mysterious letter in the mail. Just like a scene from some crime thriller movie, someone had cut out words from a magazine, forming a message that blatantly demanded, "Stop writing your crap -- or die!" Alright, I'm not that gullible - I'm a healthy skeptic. I figured it came from the practical joke department. So my first reaction was a mild chuckle.

Then a couple months later, I had received a pack of legal documents in the mail in a large manila envelope, supposedly from the CIA, who had lodged a suit against me concerning what I have been writing. They declared I had been revealing classified government secrets, that I had been cited for treason. That I would be served an arrest warrant soon. That scared the shit out of me! Literally! Alright, so I brought the documents to a lawyer, who had said it was a fraudulent document, that the letterhead and symbol of the CIA at top were forgeries. Alright, if not the CIA, then someone was trying to scare the freaking daylights out of me. Yet another clue that told me I was not just paranoid, or imagining things. But I figured somebody out there was trying to cleverly hoodwink me -- and probably laughing about it too.

But the strange events continued...


Entry #0003: The Mysterious Black Van
10-08-2008

Sometimes when I was driving around the city of Sioux Falls, running errands and such, I could swear I was being followed. Not all the time, just now and then. Perhaps this was just my paranoia acting up. But one time this jet black sedan followed me all the way to work, even after I had deliberately taken the long way around just to see if this mysterious vehicle was indeed following me. Well, it was. But after I parked in the large Citibank parking lot, where I worked, the black sedan parked a few rows away, and waited until I walked through the front door of the building. But when I looked out the window, the car pulled out and drove away. Were "they" just trying to find out where I worked, or what? And who were these unknown stalkers? I'm sure there were more than one.

Alright, several weeks after the phony CIA incident and that parking lot stalker scenario, I began noticing a mysterious black van parked across the street from my duplex apartment building. I lived in the upper level and I could see the whole street from my east-facing window. The van windows were tinted dark so I couldn't see inside. Sometimes the van was there for several hours, sometimes gone for a day or two. But I never seemed to get a chance at seeing anyone come or go. I finally got curious one day, and as I left my apartment to go to work, I casually crossed the street to investigate, to get a better look at that van. I tried to look through the front windshield, but the tinted glass prevented me. I walked to the rear, I looked at the license plate -- there was no license plate number, it was completely blacked out! Suddenly the van's horn blared loudly. I jumped back, the van revved up and took off down the street.

At that time, that's as close as I ever got to figuring out who was behind these most peculiar incidents. Yet not close enough. I was sure "they" were watching me, those mysterious dark strangers, but then that sounds paranoid; they could've been watching anybody along my street. But I was sure that "they" were watching me.



Entry #0004: Sleazy Eavesdroppers
10-09-2008

Of course I've had some strange phone calls, individuals pretending to be telemarketers trying to get my personal information, you know, social security number, bank account number, so forth. Or maybe they really were telemarketers, or just stupid scam artists. But one time I got a short and sweet message from a gravelly voice threatening, "Stop -- or I'll stop you." Yikes! And stop what? Answering my phone? That's a good idea! But one day I discover that my phone was being tapped. I was talking long-distance to my friend, Leo Stroud in St. Louis, when I started telling him a few things about these strange incidents, and began hearing weird static and then subtle clicking sounds. My first reaction was that someone was listening in on our conversation, although it could have been some kind of technical problem in the lines, but my paranoia streak got the better of me. I was sure that either my phone was bugged, or "they" were listening in remotely, and with today's technology that was very common practice now. I told Leo I had to go, and after he hung up, I still heard that strange, crackly staticky sound, then I heard a muffled cough, so I yelled into the receiver," I'm ON to you, creeps!" Then I clicked off the phone, and yanked the line out of the wall jack. I'd have to go without a phone for a while, I decided.

I began to realize these alarming events were no simple practical jokes. I knew "they" were deliberately harassing me, trying to scare me. I'm sure it was those guys in the black van who were listening in on my private phone conversations. Talk about the violation of my rights and privacy!

I didn't sleep well that night.


Entry #0005: Two Men in Black Suits
10-12-2008

The most intimidating incident was when two stiffs in black suits, void of personality, came knocking at my apartment door. They explained they had important business to discuss with me, so they insisted on entering, but I coldly refused. I demanded to know who they were, and they just told me they were from the US government. I asked which agency or department they represented and to show me their IDs, but they simply did not comply. They gruffly said if I did not cease-and-desist in my negligent actions in conspiring against the US government, they would press charges and arrest me. Although the accusation was rather ambiguous, I figured they referred to some of my more aggressive articles, although I was still trying to figure out which ones. I told them they had no grounds for arrest, that I had the first amendment on my side, that I did nothing wrong. One of them glared at me with dark eyes and snarled through clenched teeth, "We're warning you. Your life as you know it is over." The sinister way he said this made icy chills run up my spine. And he even smoothly moved his hand to brush part of his suit coat aside, revealing a holstered gun just above his hip.

They turned and left. I slammed the door and bolted it. I began having a panic attack, so I fell into the nearest chair.

Exactly who were these ominous characters, these dark strangers who taunted me? In one or more of my Zones Unknown articles had I been too outspoken and gone too far in my opinions - or even revealed too much info - disclosing a dark secret I had gotten from some anonymous source? Or perhaps in some other articles I had submitted to various magazines or e-zines, many of which I had long since forgotten about? And what would they do to me within legal limits if they apprehended me? Or would they dare go beyond such legal parameters? I wondered if our "trusted" government was behind this, or perhaps some secret covert faction of the government that you hear about from conspiracy theorists. I really didn't know, and at that point I didn't want to find out.


Entry #0006: The Intentional Accident
10-15-2008

Then came the most tragic occurrence. It was only three months ago, right before I left Sioux Falls. I had a car accident that should have killed me. At first I didn't think anything of the large, bright red, Ford pickup truck that hovered impatiently at the stop sign at the intersection of Summit Avenue and 10th St. When it was safe, I proceeded to cross 10th, but from the opposite side, the large truck barreled across, sharply swerved into me, and hit me point-blank on the driver side. I was stunned for several seconds, feeling a sharp pain in my neck. Whiplash! I glared out my cracked window and saw the big red pickup backing up away from my bashed in door, then it revved up, preparing to ram me again. In pain, I scrambled over the passenger-side seat, opened the door and tumbled out just as the truck crashed into my already totaled Mercury Sable station wagon, causing the open car door to butt me in the back, causing excruciating pain. However, I managed to flee from the scene, staggering across the street and onto the sidewalk. I grabbed the metal pole of the stop sign to hold myself up as I looked back and saw the red truck peeling away, other cars screeching their brakes to avoid the crazed driver from hitting them.

I don't know how long I lay on the grass next to the sidewalk, as I was dazed and confused, but someone had called the police. I gave my report, declaring that someone was deliberately out to kill me. But the cop had said it was obvious that the driver was just a reckless drunk, as an empty bottle of vodka had been found lying in the street at the scene of the accident. Although I was still dazed, I was cognizant enough to realize that was very suspicious, but the cop seemed oblivious to the strong possibility that the perpetrator had planted that bottle there. So the police report indicated a drug driver, no malicious intent to harm or kill, which is exactly what the case really was. Unfortunately, I didn't get a license plate of the vehicle, nor did anyone else, if there were observant witnesses around. The police assured me they would search for this "big red pickup truck," but I knew they wouldn't take it seriously.

Fortunately, after my visit to the emergency room that same tragic day, I was left with a few cuts and scratches, and a bruised back from the car door, and a minor whiplash, which flares up in my neck now and then, even to this day.

I realized now those strange men in dark suits meant business, and that something tragic would happen if I didn't do something about it.

The very next day is when I got a shocking phone call. Some mysterious person gruffly warned, "That was just a warning. Next time you won't be so lucky." They hung up sharply.

The phrase "Get out of Dodge fast!" slammed into my brain!


Entry #0007: Getting out of Dodge
10-19-2008

At first I wondered if I was getting delusional and imagining things. But it also occurred to me that these peculiar incidents could be a series of elaborate practical jokes -- until the car accident occurred. That was no joke! That changed my whole perspective of what the hell was happening. I knew somebody was definitely after me. I just didn't know who yet.

I had a small nest egg in savings - I quickly withdrew it all. That's when I bought my forest green '97 Chevy Blazer, a great traveling vehicle. I've always wanted an SUV because of all the extra room in back. Besides, statistics claim that impacts from auto accidents cause less damage on SUVs and trucks compared to smaller cars -- plus I just think they're cool! Yeah, okay, they're big gas-hogs -- so you got pros and cons with everything these day.

So I had immediately packed my bags and left Sioux Falls. Farewell, gentle Prairie-lands! I left practically everything in my apartment, allowing the appearance that somebody still lived there. Likewise, I informed no one that I had moved way. Except one particular close friend that I confided in, to remain anonymous. I arranged with him to ship only the important items to me later, sometime after I established a P.O. Box. I only packed my big duffel bag and a few pillowcases with necessities, and then I took off in a hurry.

I headed cross-country, into the Southwest, to the high desert. I can't disclose exactly where or which state, because those mysterious adversaries may very well be reading all my blog posts or e-zine articles for clues that may reveal my location. In fact, I may very well have gone to Alaska, or Canada, or even Mexico for all anybody knows. Misdirection and misinformation is the technique the government uses for their cover-ups, so why shouldn't I do the same?

So, for now, we'll just say that I headed for the high desert in the Southwest. There was a particular little town there, in a particular Valley, a wondrous place I once lived for most of my childhood, especially my teenage years. For me this had been a place of many good memories and fascinating adventures. But now, it has become a place of seclusion and hiding.

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