SECTION FIVE
Entry #0031: In the Old Storage Room: Part One - Dusty Files
12-18-2008
Time to put my paranoid delusions of idiocy aside, before they kill me.
Earlier today I got bored and decided to investigate the dark and dusty
storage room across from my station of operations. There is only a
single light bulb hanging from the low ceiling, probably a 60-watter,
so I had to bring my large camp-light with me, a 200-watter.
There are several old metal filing cabinets here, scratched, and dinged
all over, plus there's a bunch of dusty old cardboard boxes. Why my
Dad put all this crap down in the bunker, I'm not sure. Perhaps for
safekeeping, or to act as a kind of time capsule, capturing old
memories. In the cabinets are a lot of old patient files, business
letters, invoices, bookkeeping records, x-ray reports, and other boring
crud from his Chiropractic office when he was in business here in the
high desert area. In a few thick files I found pamphlets, papers, and
small booklets from various metaphysical groups he had explored, such
as Paramahansa Yogananda's Self-Realization Fellowship, the B.O.T.A
(the Builders Of The Adytum, which focused on Tarot cards and the
Cabala), Hamid Bey's Coptic Fellowships, and others. I was aware my Dad
was into these unusual things in his younger days, and of course I did
my own spiritual explorations as well, so I feel I understood him.
I also found miscellaneous stuff from us kids, like art work and school
papers and such, manufactured by me, my brother, and sister. There's
even a thick file with my crap in it! A lot of it was boring, like
quizzes and tests, compositions and drawings, and other stuff from
school.
I know there's got to be something more interesting then this crap!
Entry #0032: In the Old Storage Room: Part Two - Dad"s Old Journals
12-19-2008
In one of those dusty old boxes I found some very old spiral-bound Mead
notebooks. On each of the front flaps he had simply written "Journal"
along with the journal dates. I found one, dated from March 1963 to
February 1964, and thumbed through it. Then my own name caught my eye,
that is, the nickname they gave me (changed here for obvious reasons).
Here's what I read:
May 9th '63
Tommy has been developing a strong sense of
curiosity lately, and that is to be expected at seven-years old. He
brought his Basic Arithmetic textbook home from school this evening,
working on his times table. I was sitting in my recliner watching the
six o'clock news while Tommy sat at the table in the dining room with
his textbook, whispering numbers to himself while jotting them down on a
worksheet. From time to time I glanced over at him, and one time he
seemed to be staring into the corner of the dining room with his mouth
hanging open, daydreaming possibly. Then he looked over at me and asked,
"Daddy, how far up do the numbers go? I mean, what's the last number?"
I told him, "It's infinity."
He asked me if that was actually a number. I
told him this was an idea that was too big for numbers, that contained
all numbers, and meant that the numbers went on forever. He sat there
with eyes wide and exclaimed, "Wow!"
I told him you can write down any single digit,
such as nine, and you can continually add zeros to it, one after
another, and you could do this forever, with no end, and that would be
infinity. He thought that was pretty impressive.
Actually, I don't have any memory of that, but all I can say is, my Dad was a pretty impressive fellow.
Entry #0033: In the Old Storage Room: Part Three - Schoolyard Junkies
12-20-2008
I found something else that wasn't very impressive, but demonstrated my "naughty" side. Take a gander:
Sept. 18th '63
I felt angry and scared simultaneously.
Yesterday afternoon Tommy did not returned home from school. I was angry
because I believed he most likely walked to the home of one of his
schoolmates and didn't call us. However I was scared because the thought
occurred to me that he had been kidnapped, and I have read articles in
the paper relating to such stories. I told his mother to call the police
but she was too frantic, so I had to take charge as usual. The officer
on the phone told me all they could do was drive a patrol car around the
elementary school and surrounding vicinity of Sierra Madre. I drove
around town myself for an hour. When I returned home, he was there,
thank God! I wanted to spank him hard, but his mother had him sitting at
the kitchen table with a glass milk and homemade apple pie. She
shouldn"t be rewarding him, but I know she was just glad that he was
safe and sound. I noted how scared he looked when I entered the kitchen.
I scolded him profusely and told him he had to write a hundred times,
"I will come directly home after school every night." I told him to work
on his penmanship at the same time. He did. I also grounded him for a
week. He could visit none of his friends during that time.
Yikes! I must have felt like a little criminal! Real naughty behavior
there! But that's an event I sure remember clearly. Once school let out
that afternoon, I stayed in the schoolyard with a friend of mine,
Bobby Vincent, playing in the sandy playground with the slides and
swings and the jungle gym. All the other kids had gone home, so we had
the whole place to ourselves. It had rained lightly that morning,
making the sand perfect for molding. So we decided to build a big sand
city. We built castles and forts and bridges and tunnels and roadways,
almost a Dr. Seussian village. It was nighttime when we saw his parents
on bicycles peddling up the road which was right next to the
playground. They were mad at Bobby of course, but they sat us on their
handlebars, Bobby on his mom's and me on his dad's. They peddled to my
house first and dropped me off, then went home. They lived a few blocks
away fortunately.
My Mom was excited to see me and said she thought I was lost. I told
her that I wasn"t lost, that I knew exactly where I was. I even wrote a
school paper on the whole incident -- but I waited a few years to do
it, letting it ferment with time a little. Yes, this is one incident I
remember very clearly. From the annals of my distant past!
Well, that"s enough reminiscing for one day. I"ll get back to the old storage room another time.
Entry #0034: Scoping it out
12-22-2008
It"s been a several days since that questionable encounter with the
unknown dark-suited man. I"ve been holed up here at Area 57 for several
days, afraid to go out. But I"ve seen no strange vehicles driving
around these dirt roads through the numerous cabins lately while just
sitting on the porch, or watching the footage on my security cams. But
this morning I went downtown to look around, bought groceries, and put
them in my car, then I decided to take a walk, although it"s been
chilly and windy here. So I walked down the sidewalk along Mulvern
Avenue looking in parking lots on both sides of the street for
suspicious cars and suspicious characters. But I didn't see anything
strange around town, not at all. I even asked various retailers if
they"d seen a stranger in a dark business suit. No one had so far.
Perhaps I"m worrying about nothing. Perhaps that fellow was just a
city-slicker passing through. Or one of those creepy goons looking for
me. If they had found me, if they at least knew which town I now resided
in, what were they waiting for?
I think my paranoia was getting the best of me. But I couldn"t help
except remain cautious. I knew that someday, trouble would find me.
Perhaps sooner than I thought.
Entry #0035: Sinister Footsteps in the Sand
12-27-2008
Christmas was rather bleak here at Area 57. I sat in my station of operations and spent that evening watching two DVDs: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the Jim Carrey version, and It"s a Wonderful Life while
I drank hot cocoa and ate Christmas cookies from the market. What a
wonderful life I was having, hiding from dark strangers, holed up
underground. I"ve gotten burned out at the computer the last few days,
but I had to at least put this post up, so people know I"m still here.
"They" haven"t shown their ugly faces yet. But I know they"re lurking
around out there somewhere. But something strange did rear its ugly
head.
It was sweater weather outside today, but I wore my usual buckskin
jacket as I took a leisurely walk through the desert, through the
Joshuas and the greasewood and cholla cactus this afternoon. I almost
fell into a wash while my mind wandered off onto my usual paranoia
fears of being watched. The dry river bed was rather deep as it wound
through the desert. I wondered where it led, where it came from, as if
it represented my own twisty-turny life, meandering through this fiasco
and that dilemma.
Then I saw footprints crossing through the wash, flat soled shoes,
probably wing-tips or some kind of dress shoes. I imagined that dark
suited man I saw in town a couple weeks ago. I followed the pair of foot
prints as it traversed the soft sands of the desert. It was heading
toward the dirt road. It ended there. Perhaps a vehicle picked the man
up. Perhaps a black van. But on this hardened dirt and gravelly road
you can"t see tire tracks too easily, only in the occasional soft
spots, but there are mostly rocks and ruts here. I looked around,
seeing if I could see anybody, or any vehicles up or down the road.
Nothing. These tracks could have been a few hours old, or a few days
old. The wind will pick up soon and eradicate them in no time.
So who the hell was snooping around in the desert with improper
footwear? Any desert resident uses boots or hiking shoes out here with
waffle-grid soles usually, not smooth-soled dress shoes. Since this was
all too close to where I lived, I bet someone, one of "them," was
looking for me, endeavoring to pin-point my specific location.
My paranoia was all alarm bells again. I was tired of that panicky
feeling. I hurried back toward the cabin, looking around me, this way
and that, making sure no one was watching me return. But "they" could be
hiding in the greasewood using binoculars. I ducked down, and crawled
the rest of the way on my belly, on all fours, out of range. I did this
for several hundred yards, creeping slowly to the front door. Yeah, I
felt ridiculous, but so what? Still crouching low, I reached my hand
up, turned the knob, slowly opened the door, and slid in. I closed and
dead-bolted it. I had one of those panic attacks; short of breath,
heart racing, light-headed, while I laid there on the floor.
That was enough excitement for one day. What was next?
Entry #0036: Contemplating my Possible Insanity
12-30-2008
I"m sitting at my desk in my operations station, in front of my
computer, file open to "Chronicles of Area 57," not sure what to type
next, wondering what the heck I"m doing out here in the middle of
freaking nowhere, hiding from unknown pursuers that might not even
exist. Those dark strangers have been haunting my mind and emotions
more than anything, since I didn"t know where or who they were, and saw
nobody to clearly accuse as being "them." Not being able to put a face
or name on "them" was frustrating.
Maybe I"ve been imagining it all, seeing what I thought to be signs and
clues, making them out to be something they"re not. But I did see
actual footprints in the sand from somebody. It could have been anybody
though. And I did see that dark suited stranger in town -- that could
have been anybody, like a visitor from the city. Sometimes I wonder if I
should see a shrink. For what? So he can tell me what I already know?
That I've gone nuts?
But my inner voice insists something is still definitely wrong, that I
still have to be alert, that perhaps "they" are real, that they are
actually out there, looking for me.
Or was that just the crazy voices in my head?
I"m typing these insane thoughts down now, and we"ll see how it all plays out as things progress.
Entry #0037: In the Old Storage Room: Part Four - Early Poetry
01-01-2009
Earlier today I got bored and decided to investigate the old storage
room again, hoping to find something interesting, maybe something about
the family or Dad I didn"t know. Digging up dirt on my own family? I
hope not!
Then I found something very interesting, something I had totally
forgotten about. In my box of crud anyway. A 6 x 9 spiral-bound steno
pad with my old poetry written in it! From 1973. Fortunately, the year
was written on the inside flap. I was a wild eyed 17-year-old back
then. That must've been around that time when I came up with my first
pen-name, because it was scrawled above the year in the pad, that
flashy name that has stuck with me ever since: R. R. Stark. I became
that wild-eyed writer as a teenager, and signed all of my stories with
this crazy moniker. That's when I started to become who I am today.
Which I'm still trying to figure out after all these years. . . yuk yuk
. . .
Anyway, some of this pathetic poetry was pretty dry and boring. But
when I flipped toward the back, I found several pages with weird swirly
doodles and strange designs, plus I apparently fancied drawing
flamboyant peace signs and aunk symbols. On one of those artistic
pages there is a really strange poem -- and I'll have to post it here
for you:
This world is spinning and spinning
Like a top it is spinning
But I'm afraid that someday soon
It will just stop spinning
Because people stop caring
People stop loving
People keep fighting
Because people keep hating
I hope that someday soon
We will change our minds
I hope we wake up
And keep the world spinning
Because if the world ever stops
That will be the end.
Wow. What was I thinking? What was I smoking? Was I trying to be
prophetic, or what? Was I trying to predict the end of the world? Either
way, the message was clear. Considering that was written during my
long-hair hippy days, I recall that I was a pretty radical thinker,
already conspiring conspiracy theories early in life. Anyway I decided
to share this vintage poem with you.
Entry #0038: In the Old Storage Room: Part Five - An Account of Abduction and Men in Black
01-02-2009
I was drawn to look through my Dad"s old journal"s again, see if I
could learn something about him I didn"t already know. He tended to be
quiet about certain things in his life from his past, like his religious
ventures, and his first marriage. So what juicy morsels would I
discover?
Soon I stumbled upon something very startling! This apparently took
place a year after we moved up to the high desert where he established
his new office on our ranch property on Foothill Rd. Lay your eyes on
this, folks:
June 17th '67
Approximately two weeks ago a very peculiar
incident occurred. A middle-aged male patient had an appointment for
acute back pain in the lumbar region. As I treated his back, which
required major adjustments, I noted tiny markings all along its length,
and they seemed to form a strange symmetrical pattern, which made no
logical sense to me. The unusual marking were tiny triangles
approximately a quarter of an inch wide. At first I thought these were
from some new acupressure technique that required a triangular-tipped
instrument, due to the fact the design they seemed to form was very
symmetrical, but the configuration of the numerous markings did not line
up with any Neurovascular or acupuncture point patterns that I was
aware of. In fact, the markings appeared to be burned into his skin.
I asked the patient about the strange
markings, and he relayed to me a very unusual account. I found it to be
extremely incredible, but I at least believed that he believed it,
because his voice trembled as he spoke and his eyes teared up. He told
me that one night while he was sleeping he had been taken from his
bedroom against his will by strange inter-dimensional beings, he said,
but they were definitely nonhuman. Although his memory was unclear, he
seemed to vaguely remember that they performed experiments on his body -
which explains the markings. He remembered waking up in bed in a cold
sweat and feeling very alarmed, but remembered nothing at first. But he
did tell his wife later when he began remembering the bizarre incident.
Although his wife denies he went anywhere that night, and did not leave
the house at all, he argued that he had been taken away; however, she
did find the markings on his back peculiar. I told him for his emotional
health he should visit a psychotherapist.
Yesterday, two strange men in neat black
suits came to my office asking strange questions about this particular
patient. I told him that due to doctor-patient confidentiality, I could
not disclose any information to them. They informed me that this man had
demonstrated severe schizophrenic behavior and experienced strange
delusions that he flagrantly discussed with people, especially his wife,
friends, and coworkers, and that they needed to locate him because his
wife had decided to commit him to a mental hospital. But in the last
several days people that knew him did not know where he was, especially
his wife. He seemed to have disappeared.
Their explanation sounded very reasonable
and truthful to me, but I still felt they were not telling me
everything. The strange markings on his back were not a delusion, but I
decided against telling them anything about this. Before they left they
reemphasized that I should tell no one about this matter. But I was
concerned that this patient had mysteriously disappeared.
I do not fully understand the ramifications
of this patient's unusual account or who these men really were that new
something about it; however, I do realize there are things in this world
that take place that we may have no comprehension of.
My Dad never told me or any of the family about this weird incident!
But then, like a good doctor respecting the confidentiality clause, I
can understand why. It sounds like he had encountered Men in Black,
dark strangers that attempt to silence and suppressed people who have
had alien abductions or witnessed UFOs, or anybody involving themselves
in these kind of matters. To think that my Dad came this close to the
UFO phenomenon!
Another thing occurred to me. What if these same mysterious individuals
that visited my Dad were from the same "organization" of the dark
strangers that pursued me?
Entry #0039: The Ghost Truck
01-03-2009
I briefly mentioned the only guy in town that knows me, Calvin Hodges.
Sometimes we talk on the phone, or visit, at his house or at the
Kountry Kitchen over lunch. Because we"ve known each other since grade
school, I feel I can trust him. When I first came in the summertime, I
had contacted him, and told him I was living here in town incognito,
that he shouldn't tell anybody who I really am. I told him about my
bizarre situation, that unknown pursuers were after me, searching for
me, probably due to my conspiratorial articles. I told him of the
strange incidents that occurred back in Sioux Falls that drove me to
flee and come here. I even told him about the dark-suited stranger I
saw at Mulvern Market, that this might be one of them, and about the
strange footprints in the sand near my cabin.
He thought I was a tad bonkers. Since he was an old X-Files fan, like
me, he jokingly said to me I had EXS, or Excessive X-Files Syndrome. We
laughed about that.
Perhaps I"ve underestimated Calvin. I thought he"d understand me, not think I"m nuts.
When we were kids we used to watch Lost in Space and Star Trek
over TV dinners. And he was intrigued with ghost stories or anything
that had to do with ghosts and creepy-crawly things. Obviously he grew
out of all that. He had become a practical-minded, skeptical man, but
since he worked at the Mulvern Daily Press, I asked him to keep his
eyes and ears open just in case he heard anything out of the ordinary,
especially something that could become a juicy story for the paper--
considering nothing dramatic really ever happened here. But he told me
the town newspaper wasn't a tabloid, that weird ghost stories might
circulate around the Valley by word-of-mouth, but few people took them
seriously. Well, I did, because I needed such stories for my unusual articles.
Incidentally, I remember one of those old ghost yarns from way back
when. There was this family that used to live up on Rimrock Road, and
every night around midnight they would hear one of those diesel trucks
come roaring up the road. Then they would hear the hydraulic brakes
screech to stop the long rig, then a truck door would creak open, and
they would hear footsteps on the pavement, then walking up their
driveway, stepping up their creaky steps, and then knocking on their
rickety door. But any time one of them opened the door, no one was
there, and there was no diesel truck out on the street either, nowhere
to be seen! That family soon moved away. But strangely, no one else that
lived in that house ever heard what they heard either. Perhaps they
took their truck driving ghosts with them - or maybe the whole affair
was just a crazy tale they told people to get a rise out of them.
01-05-09 Blog Comment:
"You should RUN, since you can"t HIDE!" - "them"
them@them.com
Entry #0040: And Yet Another Conspiratorial Comment!
01-06-2009
Alright, folks. That last item in the blog comment section, "You should
RUN, since you can"t HIDE!" makes it clear someone is playing games. I
think. Whether it"s the real "them" as in those annoying goons that
I"m trying to hide from, or just some crazy joker, I"m not sure anymore.
At first I felt pretty safe and secure out here in the high desert. In
spite of those questionable signs I"ve seen, the dark-suited stranger
and the mysterious footprints, or these crazy comments, I haven't
actually been confronted by anybody that could qualify as an enemy. I"m
still puzzled about whether or not that dark-suited man was one of
"them." It"s quite possible that "they" are testing me, seeing if I
attempt to flee again instead of staying in one place, which is
probably the wiser thing to do. On the other hand, hiding out and
staying in one place is like being a sitting duck, especially if they
have already found me and they're just bating me, waiting to see what I
do next. But, as far as that last comment, it very well could be some
practical joker again, trying to get a rise out of me. I'm sure that's
all it is, so I'm not budging one bit.
In fact, if this keeps up, I'll turn off the comment section. That'll
show "them!"
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