Peeps!! Alien here. I hope you’re well and kicking and plenty weird.
Except for you, Mr. Headlights_way_too_bright. You know that guy, drives the pickup, jacked up so even when he’s on low-beams, they’re hitting you right in the eyes? He followed me most of the way home. Thanks for the migraine, buddy. Needed that. Why do we need headlights bright enough to land aircraft? I mean, really? Is it because everyone but me has tinted windows? What gives?
As for shining lights, I have an interesting update for the entry last week about Preston and Harriet. Well, it’s about Preston. Here’s a forum excerpt from Kama Supernatra, www.kama_supna.com\content\discussion\61881\b. If you’ll recall, Preston was the first name of a guy posting on SDX about a woman who contacted him through the mysterious box on an audio cable he found. Evidently, she warned him just in time to avoid getting crushed by a massive tree limb. I’ll let you read the discussion, which yes, I got permission to share from all parties. Let us know what you think.
unsnub: reminds me of ep 5 of nSight: Protocol. Dark stuff. yel291: porn, you mean. am I right?? btx_night: nsight da stuff. Yo, @cameron_jakobs, you back from Philly? you ever start that season? yel291: tweeeeeeeee cameron_jakobs: Ah, Betwixt. I just got in last night. No, I’ve not yet begun nSight, Protocol or otherwise. I have to admit, I’m dodging it from all the noise. yel291: LAme!!!!! btx_night: feel ya. worth the hype, though, man. really should check it. how was the house? squeeGurrl: Cam!! Good to hear from you, man. That long silence was scary. We was afraid Covid got you or something. cameron_jakobs: @squeeGurrl squee, thank you. No, nothing like that. Plenty of masks and sanitizer all around. @btx_night Betwixt, it was a dud. They didn’t even have shaking pipes or falling picture frames. It was run down, but not stylishly, if you take my meaning. As in, we couldn’t sell a haunted appearance. yel291: squee, I got squee for ya. btx_night: them’s the breaks, yo. I gots a 3am shift, so I’m crashin, please buckle them safety belts. squeeGurrl: nite btx. Get some rest. Cam, what you doing? admin: user: yel291 has been removed from the thread cameron_jakobs: @squeeGurrl Only the very littlest, squee. At the moment, I’m catching up on Alien’s blog. squeeGurrl: Last week was good. I like the black-eyed children stuff. cameron_jakobs: Indeed. Spookier than the houses I’ve been visiting, except the one that wasn’t haunted. squeeGurrl: what did you think of the cable-guy story? cameron_jakobs: Cable guy? Oh, Preston and the audio cable. I’m just finishing it now. Reads more like some fan-fiction to me. squeeGurrl: Oh, well, I was wondering if the name rung any bells. Preston? As in, like Preston Carver? cameron_jakobs: Carver? No. I’ll never believe it. His writing on Splintered Fangs was nothing like this. squeeGurrl: right? But check it out? Carver lives in Indiana. Not far from Alien, if I’m inferring right. He cancelled all his appearances after the first of the year, which is perfect timing for the story Alien posted. cameron_jakobs: squee, that was when Covid-19 hit. Everyone was cancelling things. squeeGurrl: stop shooting me down, Cam!!! Lol cameron_jakobs: Let us wager, then? If you find more substantive evidence, I’ll consider the matter. Until then, by all means, keep flying your theory. I’m more interested in the falling limb. What are the odds of it landing right where he was working? squeeGurrl: Yeah, man, that’s out there too.
That Preston could be Preston Carver never occurred to me. But, I am an alien and haven’t read Splintered Fangs yet. After this, it’s on my list. If you have more evidence, post it here, and the weirder the better.
If you have any opinions on Preston from last post being Preston Carver, share here. If you have any legal online stalking stories that might support this link, please, let us know. Nicole especially likes Splintered Fangs.
Nicole found a story at www.strangedeadlyunexplained.net/forums/allegra/d/29921 that seems like a good fit here. pete616 wrote:
This is in answer to @georgeau’s questions about black cubes. I have my own questions, so I’m starting a new thread.
About four years ago, I was working as a cameraman for the drama club at Banner University, up in Indy. I’m good with a camera, but I was mostly there to meet women. It didn’t work out. Turns out the camera guy isn’t all that interesting when you’re trying to get into movies.
I was bored, and I like horror movies, so when fliers went around for these guys starting up a ghost-hunting reality show, I threw my name in the bin. A couple of weeks later we got our first gig, a hotel down in Greenwood.
After feedback from the first show, we decided we needed a lady in the group. Maybe two. But at least one doing the talking with the lead, Ian. Ian was a big guy who oozed charisma, but some people found him menacing. Maybe it’s the dreads. Personally, I think he should have stayed as our voice/acting talent.
That was when we found Helen Osmond. Helen had a high-pitched, almost nasally voice, which when she wasn’t acting was about as annoying as the average chihuahua. The instant she thought she was on camera, though, that voice smoothed out, dripped honey, and opened doors like the magic passwords.
We did a few more haunted sets, getting into the groove. One of them was in Cincinnati, and that was fun. Six hours in a cold house, waiting for nothing. Then Ian came to us with a one-off, a lady who owned a farm down near Franklin was seeing things. Hearing things. She sent a video her grandson shot with his phone of a teakettle drifting across the room.
The video was awesome. The kid had a shaky hand, but the teakettle moved like it was really floating. What do I mean by that? What does it look like when something’s really floating? I’m not sure I can answer that, but I can tell you what it didn’t look like: it didn’t bob like it was hanging from a string, or bounce like it was on a horizontal cable. It didn’t tip, jiggle, weave, or anything else that made it look fake. In other words, it looked better than a lot of movie special effects.
We’ll call the lady with the farm Sally, and her son, Tom. They’re not exactly happy with me sharing this information online, but they agreed as long as I use fake names. That’s not going to stop a determined investigator from finding them, but maybe it’ll be enough to keep the worst away.
Maybe. I’m skeptical. That’s my name. Skeptical Pete.
Sally greeted us at the porch of her house. There were three little barn things and one big one, like one of the parents left or died. The little ones had their toys spread about like any self-respecting offspring, making it hard to walk around with building blocks or tiny metal cars with jagged pointy things stabbing you in the feet. I might be taking that comparison a little too far. There was an old tractor, some plough/rake/cultivator-type things, other machinery I don’t even know what to call. It was a bit of a maze just to get to the porch.
The other buildings were gray, weather-washed wood. The house was fairly new siding, that rubbery plastic stuff, with new-ish but cheap windows. The son was a grown man, the woman looked sixty, and the interior of the house looked older than both of them put together. The linoleum in the kitchen had skid marks that are older than I am. Where it had worn back at the door to the living room, you could see at least four older layers going down to the boards. Sally said it was a turn-of-the-century house, but I suspected it was the 1800’s turn-of-the-century, not 1900’s.
Sally wore a dress she’d obviously sewn herself. The sewing machine was black–you could see it from the kitchen, blocking a side-door in the living room, and looked like it came from the invention of the sewing machine. Clearly, in spite of having nearly 100 acres of productive farmland, they spent very little on themselves.
Tom talked about the strange things they’d been seeing. Sally went out on the porch while he talked. He said we’d understand once he got to the end.
The first thing was the teakettle. They’d go to bed with it dry on the back burner of their ancient, white-enameled gas stove, fueled by the enormous tank of propane outside. By morning, it’d be half-full of water on the front burner. Some mornings, the teakettle was still hot. Neither one of them drank coffee. Mostly they kept it because it had been the father’s.
We’ll call him Harry.
Harry liked his coffee. He’d start a kettle of water on to boil every morning before starting with the animals or the fields. He passed about three years earlier. He had a stroke out on one of the distant fields, fell off his tractor, got his leg ran over by something with more teeth than your average dragon, and stumbled a mile and a half towards the house before his body finally gave out less than 100 feet from the door of the house.
Harry did not like light. He’d get up before dawn to get a couple of hours of work done before the day got bright. Then he’d wander back to the house, take an asprin for his heart and the headache, and put on his fancy sunglasses to he could go back to work. The only color in the place it seemed, was the dazzling green and orange reflected off the sporty-looking wrap-around glasses. I pictured old NASCAR looking guys with their camo hats and those dazzling shades. Nothing wrong with any of that, but that’s the look.
What’s that got to do with the teakettle, you ask, Petey? Not much, for quite a while. But then Sally and Tom started finding those sunglasses lying around the living room. Usually, they’d be on the coffee table next to the recliner where Harry spent his evenings. Sometimes they’d be in the blinds. I know, right? What gives? Sally and Tom have pictures. Of course, without us seeing how the glasses got there…
Then there was the window.
Sally and her son woke one morning to an awful crash of breaking glass. They stumbled out of bedrooms and found all the glass of a side window in the living room smashed and spread across the room. Oddly, the curtains at that window had been pulled through–so outside, and twisted around each other like a rolled up towel you’re about to zing someone with. At that point, the tiny dust of glass in the curtain had been heated up and fused, sealing the curtains in their spiral shape.
They showed us the curtains, which they keep in a plastic gown bag on a hangar in the living-room closet, next to Harry’s old denim coat.
The thing with the teakettle began two years to the day after Harry’s death.
We spent a couple of days prepping. Kelly and Ian wrote scripts for Helen while Josh and Irish worked with Tom to find the best places to put cameras and sensors. I left them to it and just filmed. And there were some nice pieces of footage. Joking between Ian and Irish, who were best friends from elementary school up in Kokomo. Casual elephant-in-the-room flirting by Tom to Helen. Helen ignored him the same way she ignores me. Like that cockroach on the other side of the room you can hear crawling around because it’s legs make annoying tapping sounds on the floor or the wallpaper but you don’t get up to kill it because you’ve only got your shoe and–let’s face it–who wants cockroach guts on Helen’s fine Miu Miu’s.
And, just like any movie with ghost-hunting, we basically camped out in Sally’s house when it got dark. Ian offered to put us up in Franklin, because it wasn’t far away, but Sally insisted, and we all wanted to be there if anything happened. I took a spot on the living room floor. Kelly had the couch beside me. Kelly was a Velma type, and you can imagine, I was loving that. Nice sweaters down to mid-thigh, with no hose or warmers or anything so you just had to wonder, was there a skirt, was there–well, you get the idea. Ian and Irish bunked in the spare, Josh slept in Tom’s extra bunk bed, and Helen, sweet, mysterious Helen, took her Miu Miu’s and slept in the van. Ian offered to keep her company, and for a long moment where it looked like she might deck him, if you watched closely, you could see the corners of her mouth twitch ever-so-slightly. Expect relationship drama between those two in the future.
After a couple of hours of Kelly’s oddly pleasant snoring, I finally drifted off. Five minutes later, I woke to sunlight and screaming.
Tom had gotten up just after sunrise and peeked in on his mom–only she wasn’t there. He didn’t panic at first, but then discovered she also wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen. Some of the guys were helping look for her, shouting her name and checking the various barns. I did what any respectable cameraman would do. I fired up my 4K camera, and followed Kelly like a puppy.
We searched the immediate grounds while Tom and Irish took the 4-wheeler and checked the fields. It wasn’t impossible that Sally had gone to feed livestock or tend the crops, but with everything going on, it didn’t seem likely.
We found her at the back of one of the barns, standing tucked behind some machinery with her forehead against the outer wall. She didn’t look hurt, so we called Tom, who raced over and gently pried his mother away from the wall. His hands shook, but he didn’t fumble as he guided her onto the ATV and drove her back to the house.
Tom put his mother in bed. She remained unresponsive. Her eyes were open, but nobody inside was watching TV or baking dinner.
That was when Ian called a meeting. He gathered everyone in the living room. I changed batteries and memory cards so I could keep recording, and he started up. Tom was with us.
Basically, in the hustle and panic while Sally was missing, Josh and Helen opened the basement door. As soon as Ian said this, Tom dropped his head into his hands. Ian pointed at me, beckoned, so I followed him. Kelly hadn’t seen either, so she went with us. I followed Ian past the living room to a small hallway that went around the back of the house and to the spare bedroom and bathroom. A shorter hallway broke off and went to the door to the basement stairs.
Ian opened the door. A black shape seemed burned into the back of the door, like the silhouette of a man running. It wasn’t a burn in the wood, it was more like charcoal and other minerals had been seared onto the panels.
“That’s my dad,” Tom explained when we went back to the living room. He was clearly embarrassed, but it turns out, the cops wouldn’t let them say that was how Harry had died, so they had the story of the stroke and the accident. They skipped the funeral because they had no body and because the mortician wouldn’t sign a certificate of death. They had to wait five years to declare him deceased.
No one knew what the real story was. Sally told her son she was doing laundry in the basement. She saw something out the tiny basement window on the south side that distracted her as Harry went back upstairs. When she looked away, Harry was gone, which seemed normal at the time. On the way back out of the basement, she saw the shape on the door, and while confused, she didn’t start to dread that that was Harry until he didn’t come home. None of the vehicles went missing, and Harry was never seen again.
Helen was furious about the deception. She retreated to the van after saying we should leave and threaten litigation.
The rest of us, to be honest, were more hooked than before. We needed to validate the story, of course. Ian put writing on hold a day to look more into Harry’s disappearance. Sally woke up a few hours later, wondering why she’d slept until after lunch. She handled the revelation of her behavior and the discovery of the basement door with frenetic tears. Kelly excused us, and shooed all of us out so that Tom could be with his mother.
I set up camp in the back of the van and transferred all my video from camera and cards to laptop. When that was done, everyone was still in limbo, so I started going over video, marking segments to toss because I was busy watching Kelly or nothing happened.
After a couple of hours, I had tuned most everything out. I was barely watching the footage. I was barely awake. Gradually, I realized something was off in what I had just watched. I rewound a few minutes. Kelly was going up the steps on the back porch. It was almost dark, so the sun was painting everything reddish. She dropped her notebook and several loose pages and sketches flew out over the stairs. I saw the drawings. Sketches of Helen in various poses, some with demon horns and a cleft tongue. Some of them were of me. That caught my attention, but not as much as the way her sweater rose up and up and…
And there it was. Twenty feet off to the side of the house. I’ll never understand how I missed it at the time. Well, yeah. I mean, I do understand. Kelly stopped just as that sweater was about to show me the crown jewel. She whirled on me, face turning red, and squished her lips together like she was furious, but her eyes were laughing. I was a gentleman after that. I turned the camera aside and picked everything up. She leaned in close when I handed everything back to her, and to this day I wish I had kissed her.
So yeah, I missed it. Fortunately, the camera didn’t.
In the video, a cube hovered a couple of car-lengths away. Twenty feet? It was tipped up on one corner and spinning, like you might find in some kind of logo or video game artifact. Except there was no billboard or screen. The cube rotated once about every ten seconds, so it wasn’t moving very quickly.
Judging by the distance, the cube measured a couple of feet on each side. It was dark, not quite black. A pale charcoal color. I know this because there was a penumbra around it that was as black as anything I’ve ever seen. A sort of black glow.
Then the view shifted as Kelly whirled on me and I helped her with the mess of papers.
I made a copy of that segment of the film and mailed it to myself. And then–well, I should have told everyone. I didn’t know what to do. We’d never seen anything so unusual. Our experiences hunting ghosts were like what you’d expect if you’ve ever seen one of the reality shows. There’s a lot of talk, a lot of questions, a lot of supposition. A lot of bullshit. And then we go home. People pay money to watch it. Not enough. We were never going to get rich. But at least it was fun, the stories were interesting, and I got to hang out with Kelly.
That night after every one went to bed, I almost told her about the video. I admit, I dreaded telling her most of all because I really had been trying to see her ass under the sweater. So I spun it in my head, like the cube spinning, until I started to drift off. I jerked awake when the front door opened, and Kelly was going outside. I called her name, then pulled my shoes on and followed her.
Outside, Kelly walked like she was sleepwalking. She was slow, and she didn’t answer me. When I touched her arm, she paused, but would not answer. When I withdrew, she walked again. She went around one corner, and then the next. She passed the back door, and I hesitated, wondering if I should get the camera again.
The cube caught my attention about the same time Kelly turned towards it. The black glow grew larger as she got closer, and then a brilliant white took over, pouring from the object like a cold, white star pulled down to Earth, blinding me.
The light vanished abruptly, and Kelly was gone.
I called her name as I ran forwards, then shouted it when I got to where I had last seen her. Gradually, lights came on and the others joined me. We fanned out, searching like we had that morning for Sally. Eventually, as we gave up, we gathered where she had vanished. Helen had her flashlight pointed at the wall, where a Velma-silhouette was reaching towards something. She was burned onto the siding, just like Harry on the basement door.
Of course, there was an investigation. Nothing. Of course, the police came, questioned us, threatened us, but they were never able to pin anything on us, even me, the most likely suspect. We took samples of Harry and Kelly’s burns, sent them to a lab to be analyzed. We got back the same thing the cops gave us. This material is an unrecognizable mix of atoms and molecules. Could these things be found in a burned human body? Yes, but not like this. This was something else. Or so they said.
We never finished the show, and our group fell apart. The last I heard, about a year ago, Ian and Irish were trying to get a new one going. I hope they have better luck than the first time around. Better luck than Kelly.
So my question now is, has anyone ever seen anything like this? The cube, the burns on the wall, any of it. georgeau’s story had what seemed to be the same cube, but it consumed rather than burned. Is there a connection? At this point, I’d be happy to hear of a friend of a friend who’s uncle dabbles in the occult and might know more.
Thanks,
Pete
There you have it. Pete’s story. It’s outlandish, to say the least, but that’s what we like around here. If you’ve ever seen these cubes or heard of them from someone, let us know, or head on over to SDX and give Pete a hand. It sounds like he could use it.
This is a post for updates, it seems. Here is a conversation that came up just yesterday with an EMT dispatcher out of Idaho Falls and myself (Amy). Like with Pete’s story, Ruby is not her real name. This is from my phone, so if you see any formatting errors, sorry, and let me know, will ya? Thanks, peeps.
EMTD: Hi. Are you Alien?
Amy: Hey, there. Is this Ruby?
EMTD: Yeah. Thanks for talking to me.
Amy: No prob. This might be easier on a call, though.
EMTD: You a mom, Amy?
Amy: Yes. I’ve got a six-year-old.
EMTD: Then you know about sharing information, sometimes. It’s not safe.
Amy: True enough. We’ll do this at your comfort level, Ruby. So you mentioned you had some information?
EMTD: Right. I work nights. Sometimes it gets weird, but this is the weirdest I ever saw. It was, let me see, about two after midnight when we got a 911 from a cell on the interstate. Old lady reported an RV swerving violently before it went off the road. She said the last turn it looked like something hit the thing from the rear, but there wasn’t anything there.
Amy: That’s…yeah, that’s odd. Can you send me files? I’d love to hear this.
EMTD: You know I can’t.
Amy: I had to try. Okay, Ruby. What happened then?
EMTD: I sent EMT’s and then radio’d police and fire, like with every accident.They went to the scene, where they found a woman in a manic state wandering half naked away from the wreckage, which ended up well off the road. She had cuts and bruises and probably a concussion, but otherwise looked healthy. The kid was another story. They reported glass wounds to neck and abdomen and raced the boy to the hospital. He wasn’t expected to survive.
Amy: Yikes. Not cool.
EMTD: Very not cool. You never get used to kids getting hurt.
Amy: I can only imagine. I’m sorry you have to go through that sort of thing.
EMTD: It’s the job. Anyway, the officers on the scene thought maybe the woman was on something, or that she was responsible. They said over the radio she kept ranting about this black-eyed kid. That’s what led me to your blog. Search hits for black-eyed children. Some creepy stories out there, but they mostly read like fiction, some of it not that good.
Amy: I can see where you’d think that about my site.
EMTD: Well, the thing is, Amy, the woman from the RV was named Becky Kemper, and her son, Mark, was seven years old, just like that post from around Christmas.
Amy: If you hadn’t had my attention before this, you’d have it now. This is intense. What happened to Becky and her son? Do you know?
EMTD: They took the woman to the Wilton. It was supposed to be for a few days, there at first, but I think they moved her to the fifth floor. You know, permanent residents.
Amy: And the Wilton is?
EMTD: Psychiatric hospital. Scary place.
Amy: There’s a place like that here. It’s not popular, and for all the wrong reasons. So what about the boy? What happened to him?
EMTD: He bled to death in the ER.
Amy: Oh, man. That’s the worst.
EMTD: There’s more. You see, I know the guy from the ambulance. He’s a good guy. We dated a couple of times. I’m black, he’s white, there was a lot of friction from his family. It hurts, but I can’t blame him for folding under the pressure.
Amy: I’m sorry, Ruby. The world shouldn’t be that way.
EMTD: But this guy was an EMT in the gulf. He’s been through other stuff where people’s lives were on the line, you know. He didn’t fold for that. Not once. That’s why when he started talking to me out back after my shift one night, I didn’t think he was making it up.
Amy: Making it up?
EMTD: He was wild-eyed, you know, like either he was on PCP or he’d seen a ghost. My friend don’t mess with chemicals. He don’t even drink. But there he was, sheet white and trembling. I held his hand for a long time before finally he started talking, started telling me about that night in that RV. With that boy.
EMTD: He said they got there before the cops and fire. His partner went after the mom, so he crawled into the front window because the RV was on its side. It had been hit by something in the back, like that woman said. They never found what.
EMTD: He said he found Mark standing in the wreckage of the kitchenette side of the RV, between the microwave and a cabinet, above the sink, if you will. There was a window there, but somehow it wasn’t broken. The glass was from the other windows.
EMTD: My friend, he was talking about this boy arguing with something in the back of the RV. Saying, no, he wasn’t going to do it until they helped his mom. But he was keeping his voice down, like adults when they’re arguing with kids in public. You know that voice. Keep it down or we’re going back to the car and going home.
EMTD: This argument went on for several minutes. My friend couldn’t make sense of it. Mark didn’t look hurt. He was bouncing on that window as he argued, jerking and hissing and spitting like he just hated whoever he was talking to. My friend checked for earbuds or something, but whatever it was the kid was arguing with, it was in the back of the RV.
EMTD: Finally he said he heard it. Barely louder than the ambulance engine outside, or his own breathing. At first, he didn’t think it was a voice, but eventually he realized it was saying, “Liar.” Just that, over and over. Liar. Liar. Liar. It was the worst thing he’d ever
heard. Said it sounded like a bear singing death metal, but in a whisper. Liar. Liar. Liar.
EMTD: Finally, Mark snapped. He snatched a shard of glass like a kitchen cleaver and cut himself. Cut his throat, stabbed his chest and gut several times before my friend could get the glass away. And of course, by then it was too late.
Amy: I admit, I don’t know what to say. That’s…that’s bizarre.
EMTD: My friend looked around like he was paranoid. He leaned close to me, cause there was more. After Mark was dead, my friend and one of the cops went back to the RV. It wasn’t on the freeway, so they weren’t in a hurry to tow it like they might have been otherwise. They looked around for needles, pills, anything that would explain the behavior of mother or child. They didn’t find anything like that. Instead, the officer called my friend into the back of the RV, as far as they could get into the crushed bedroom area. From the outside, it looked like a semi had rear-ended them, only there was very little damage to the bumper. The back wall was smashed in. On the inside, though, it was a different story.
EMTD: The beds were crushed, the small closets shattered. The really, really weird part, Amy, was that someone had written Liar all over everything in black.The L’s were reversed, and there was no discernable up to the writing. Here, up was towards the ceiling, there it was towards the rear wall, next it was towards the floor, and in between, more were oriented in random angles. Just everywhere, at every angle, Liar, Liar, Liar, with the L’s backward.
Amy: Holy…wow. That is STRANGE.
EMTD: Now, the really, really, really weird part, as if the rest weren’t enough, was the writing material. The ink, if you will. Guess what it was.
Amy: Oh, wow. No idea. Crayon? But that’s obvious. You wouldn’t have asked if it had been crayon. What? Coffee beans? Blood?
EMTD: Charcoal.
Amy: ???
EMTD: Right? Charcoal. It was the same composition as the busted water filter. It even had traces of the same water in the tank.Now ask me where the water filter was?
Amy: Uh??
EMTD: Twelve-hundred feet behind the point where they left the road. Something hit them, crunched the water filter, and it was still lying on the road all the way back there, meaning someone carried charcoal from the busted filter up to the bedroom of the RV, or the writing had been done before they lost the filter but after it was crunched.
EMTD: My friend said they checked samples of Becky ’s and Mark’s handwriting, but no match. And they looked for charcoal elsewhere in the RV and on both victims. Nothing.
Amy: Ruby, you got me checking over my shoulder, here. What…wow. That’s one of the strangest I’ve ever heard.
EMTD: My friend is scared. Today he told me he thought someone was following him. He hadn’t seen anything, it was just a feeling. He went home early. I’m going to go see him after my shift. His family can go effff themselves.
Amy: Thank you for all this, Ruby. I know it can’t have been easy.
EMTD: Like you say, people need to know how weird it gets.
Amy: Please let me know when you know your friend is okay.
EMTD: I will.
There it is, straight from the dispatcher’s mouth. I’ll post more about this as soon as I find out.
I have a few things before we wrap this up.
First, I’d like to send a special thank-you to everyone who shared their pictures and stories from the LA-Ghost-Con™ last month. AngieG, your pics with Felix Kennedy were especially interesting. PatriciaK and ErnestB shared some great stories with me privately, and they’re okay with me sharing them here. I’ll try to get those added to the next post.
JamesR? This was for LA-Ghost-Con™, right? It’s about ghosts and hauntings. Please keep the UFO stories in the UFO events.
Andrew and Katie N: No, I don’t share selfies. The painting Kevin did for my profile on the About Me page is as close as I’m getting. Please don’t ask again.
AignslyT: Are those pictures real? Your ‘pets’ are breathtaking. The fennec in particular looks like something out of a video game. I mean that as a compliment. The artistry is lovely. Is there a story with the critters? Or with that fireplace?
FillipeA:Yes, please submit your stories even if they are in Spanish. We’ll do our best.
And to all of you, I’m envious. I didn’t get to attend the show in any form. I had to work–the day job is overwhelming sometimes. Maybe next time.
Keep it real. Keep it weird. Alien out.