Horizon: File 010 (Little Ashbury)

 BEGIN REPORT:

FILE 010: LITTLE ASHBURY

I've been considering calling Joan Stark for some time now. But she helped me and I don't want to put her in any more danger or betray her trust in me. Just another lead that's more or less been cut dead from me.

I managed to get some sleep, in case you're wondering. I parked up at the train station in Halifax and I'm now sat in McDonalds eating a bagel and drinking some bad coffee. I long for my coffee machine. I long for so many home comforts these days.

So, Little Ashbury.

I'd never heard of the place. That whole area of the country was pretty much off my radar. Never visited it before, but it was not too far away from Lincoln. The drive from Cambridge took me just over two hours. Two hours of sat there zoning out to overly-repeated songs on the radio and wondering just what had happened to my little girl.

The village itself was pretty hard to find, but find it I did. A quaint place nestled between a huge expanse of woods to the west and rolling hills to the east. I had to travel through Lincoln to get to it and it was nearly dusk when I finally arrived at the church - St. Christopher's. The fog had descended and the church looked ominous, looming out of murk like a dark, stone beacon design to ward travellers away.

I was met by a gruff, small Scottish woman at the entrance of the church who ushered me away from the building and into the picturesque little vicarage just off to the side of the building. Once inside the vicar, Joan Stark, greeted me with a handshake and a concerned face. She looked like she'd seen some things in her time. An ancient face sat underneath a shock of short, white hair. But there was a twinkle in her blue eyes as well. I asked her how she had found Eleanor, but she told me to not bother asking her questions as it would only get myself in deeper.

She took me upstairs to her spare bedroom where I found Eleanor sleeping under the covers. She looked peaceful, but different. Almost like there was no life left in her. Stark told me that she had been found wandering near the edge of the woods - the aptly named Ghostwood - whilst she and her verger had been out scouting the area in the early hours of the morning. Naturally I'd asked what they had been doing out at that time, but Stark had again reminded me not to ask questions.

Jesus, just thinking about that night now...It's hard to piece it all together. The relief at having her there again. The fear of what I'd found. The unknown. The darkness. And I remembered what Freya McCormack had said about the night climbing into her and Eleanor's tent. The night certainly climbed into the vicarage that night.

Stark offered me a room for the night, and part of me wishes to God I hadn't taken her up on the offer.

I need a moment. This is all bringing back too many screwed up memories. I'll be back.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 009 (Shadow)

 BEGIN REPORT:

FILE 009: SHADOW

It's 2.35am. I'm in Halifax. I'm parked up down a side street and it's pissing it down with rain. Fuck sake. Why am I in Halifax? Why not? I mean I've been all over the place. It's how I keep them away from me. I keep moving. A while back someone asked me why I didn't leave the country if I was so terrified. What a stupid question to ask. If I leave the country then how am I meant to find Eleanor again?

Well, after the incident with the video tape, she found me.

I'd spent the next few days following the disaster with the video tape considering my next options. I cursed myself for rewinding the video as well because I didn't get to see the end. There had been more answers on it and those answers had gone up in flames.

I had nowhere else left to turn. KingVeritas was gone, Freya and her family were gone, the bunker was gone, and I had no idea who the mysterious letter writer was. I had considered what the writer had wanted me to do. There were no further clues. I was essentially at a dead end.

That was until a received a phone call.

The call had come from a woman - a vicar - living in a small village in the north of England: Little Ashbury. She hadn't said much at the time, instead requesting to meet me as soon as possible. I asked her why and how she had gotten my number. She told me that Eleanor had given it to her and that my daughter had been found on the edge of the woods. She gave me a location to meet her and asked me not to call the police.

Now, you can probably imagine what was going through my head at the time. Firstly I was elated that Eleanor was still alive and I felt vindicated for never giving up that hope, and secondly, I was concerned how she had found herself miles away from Bluebell Hill. And I didn't have to be warned off calling the police. At this point I wasn't trusting anyone.

Even this vicar.

The vicar, Joan Stark, had sent me evidence of Eleanor. She'd forwarded a photo she had taken of her, promised me that she was safe and being cared for and was currently tucked up in bed sleeping. But when I'd received the photo I had gotten a chill up my spine. Something wasn't right. She was a little older than when I had last seen her, and it was undoubtedly still my little girl, but she was pale. Haunted even. A shadow of her former self.

So I jumped in my car and made the long trip to the countryside and to Little Ashbury to meet this mysterious Reverend Joan Stark.

I suppose a visit to Little Ashbury might be a good idea now. At least I'd have somewhere safe to stay. But I need to get moving. If I don't then someone is going to notice me sat here being creepy in my car in the early hours. My story of my visit to Little Ashbury is going to have to wait until next time. I'm so tired. I need to sleep.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 008 (Hell)

BEGIN REPORT


FILE 008: HELL

Motorway service stations can sometimes be described as Hell, can't they? Lost, wandering souls looking for their destination and wondering if they'll ever escape and break free. It's even worse late at night. And at least most of these people know where they're headed. I don't. I'm forever moving. From town to city and city to village. Anywhere they can't find me.

And right now this particular service station is Heaven for me. A chance for a coffee and a rest in the warmth.

And I've seen Hell. Sort of.

I'd borrowed the video from Jeff and then realised that my TV didn't have the capability to connect to it. Jeff told me I needed a SCART socket and continued to grumble about new, over-modernised technology. So I borrowed an old portable TV from him as well. He was curious as to what I was using it for and I told him it was for old family home videos. I had to laugh at that - my parents had died when I was young and all I had was my sister, Vicky. Life was tough and there were certainly no memories preserved on video tape.

After finally getting the equipment hooked up, I slotted the old cassette into the player with some trepidation. Part of me didn't believe this. How was I supposed I believe that a man had gone to Hell and filmed footage of it? But the other part of me - the one that needed answers - needed to view this. And I also needed to find my daughter.

Closing my eyes once, I pressed play.

Unfortunately I can't give you any screengrabs to what I saw, but I can describe it as best as possible. The whole video was about three and a half minutes long. It was hand-held, like the Blair Witch Project or something, and narrated by the guy that the letter named as Simon Roper.

The date showed 23/06/1993, but kept flicking between showing it, not showing it and then flicking to 00/00/0000. Not to mention the amount of static effecting the picture. The images kept scrolling off screen and the sound of the Ropers voice dropped out on more than one occasion.

Roper continued to narrate, introducing himself, informing me of the date and that he was about to enter what he called "The Interior". He sounded nervous, a little breathless maybe. 

The picture began in complete darkness before opening up to a foggy landscape. To be fair there wasn't a lot to see. It was like looking at distant buildings on a foggy morning. There were pockets of red flashes and the occasional spark of blue light.

As Roper moved forward I was able to make out some of the shapes a little more clearly - pillars. But not made of stone. They looked more like trees. Dark, twisted bark snaking high up. Roper angled the camera upwards and they disappeared high up into the foggy upper reaches.

And there was a sound as well. As the camera moved through the mist I could hear his feet crunching on something. Something that cracked and broke under his weight. Like when you walk on loose gravel. And there was a strange, deep sound throughout the entire video. Like when you hold a shell to your ear to listen to the sea, except this sound was deeper. More like a rumble. A continuous, threatening rumble.

And the smell...

That's when I had realised that something was definitely off about this video. You don't get smells from watching a video. But it was right there. Stuck in my nostrils. I can still smell it now as I sit in this service station. Burning, but not like cooking on a barbeque or anything. Like...I can't describe it. The only thing I can compare it to is rotting meat. Cooked, rotting meat.

Roper continued his narration, describing the heat, the smell, the visuals in front of him. The video had flickered another time before he had spun around wildly. In the dizzying spin I - and Roper - caught a glimpse of something in the gloom. A flash of blue and silver and a terrifying, piercing scream. I'd stopped the video and wound it back in an attempt to get a freeze-frame on the image. It was blurry, but it was the shape of a woman. A woman with silver hair and a blue dress.

It was then that the picture fizzed, popped and then evaporated into nothing. The video player was on fire. Actually on fucking fire. I tried to eject the cassette but it was no good. The only thing coming out of that machine were flames. I disconnected the player, ran to the back door and hurled it out into the back garden...and spent the next few minutes apologising to Jeff about destroying his precious equipment.

I'd cursed myself for rewinding it. Now I'd never get to see the end.

It's taken a long time for me to sift through those images. I mean nothing about it pointed to it being real. It might have been fake, but the video bursting into flames when I froze the picture on that strange woman told me something else was going on there. When I went to bed that night I had nightmares. Nightmares that I couldn't remember the next day, but in all of those nightmares was the woman in the blue dress with silver hair.

It's gone midnight now. My coffee is cold and I'm hungry. I'm cold. I just want to go home. I just want my daughter back. The last fifteen months have been difficult. I wish I could say it ended there, but it didn't. No. Because not long after the incident with the tape, my daughter, Eleanor, came home.

Or at least something that bared a close approximation to her came home...

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

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may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 007 (Letters from Strangers)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 007: LETTERS FROM STRANGERS

I'm safely parked in Tesco carpark, with a hot chocolate, trying not to shiver. Smooth Radio is on so at least I'm relaxed. As relaxed as I can be of course.

For the purpose of this ongoing investigation, I felt it necessary to include a transcript of the letter that was cello taped to the back of the VHS cassette. There was nothing particularly sinister about the paper. it was a little tatty and written on lined notepad paper. It was the content that disturbed me:

"Dear Reader,

I won't tell you my name. I'm not prepared to give anyone that information, and it's also not important. What's important is the information I have for you.

This video is the only thing I was able to recover from the bunker before they torched the place. And the only reason I was able to recover it was because I had already taken it out of there some time ago.

They torched the bunker a few days ago. We'd spent years digitising the information because having hard copies of all of those old investigations was simply too dangerous. Having it stored on a secure server was a much easier way of keeping the information safe. Well, as safe as it can be.

It had filtered down through the levels that someone had found the location of the Viking Wood bunker so there was a mad scramble on to get it cleared. I returned to the bunker after the event to leave this.

Why? Why would I betray my own?

Put simply - I believe that we are dealing with forces too great even for us. And I believe the world needs to know. We've spent years digging and delving into these events over the decades and there comes a point in your life - when you've witnessed more than you can handle - that you have to talk to someone. Because I can't keep lying and keeping secrets anymore. It's not how I was brought up.

So, I need whoever finds this video - be the so-called KingVeritas or anyone else connected with the hunt to find us - to watch this. It won't give you all the answers. Hell, it won't even give you a fraction of the answers, but it may allow you a peek into what we have to deal with on a daily basis."

I turned the VHS over in my hands and swallowed hard.

"Put simply - Horizon is real. Horizon is active in the world and we are all over. You've no doubt already made your mind up about whether we are good or bad, but always remember that not everything is black and white. The world is shades of grey and so is Horizon.

If you choose to watch the video then please go into it with an open mind. It's only one part of an ongoing investigation. But you need to see this. It's not been faked and I never knew the man who filmed it. All I know is that his name was Simon Roper. He was 35 years old at the time of filming and he was the lead investigator in Project: Interior.

You won't hear from me again, but I suspect that your ties with Horizon won't end with this video. Unless what you see terrifies you so much that you turn back from the truth and go back to living in the shadows.

After all, it's not everyday you get to watch a video recording made in Hell, is it?"

A shiver went up my spine and I let the letter fall from my quivering hands and back into the box. A video recording made in Hell? A video recording made in fucking Hell?

There are those moments in your life were you reach a turning point. This was one of them. Before the letter I was on a hunt to find answers and find my daughter. I was still on that quest, but the end of the letter had branched me out to something different. Something beyond my comprehension. I figured I was dealing with ghosts and witches and fringe sciences, but Hell? Actual Hell? I couldn't turn back now. I was firmly on the path to oblivion.

And I needed to borrow Jeff's VHS player.

This hot chocolate is good, by the way, but it doesn't make up for a warm living room, a good cuppa and some mindless TV show to pass the time. As I stare out at the late-night shoppers heading into the warm and inviting glow of Tesco I wonder if I'll ever get to experience those home comforts again.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 006 (The Box)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 006: THE BOX

Sometimes it's easier to camp out in more public spaces, and sometimes it's better to remain totally off the grid. Right now I'm in a Premier Inn just north of Sheffield. It's a Wednesday evening in the middle of November. It's cold and I'm watching repeats of 'The Chase' on Challenge TV. Oh, and the coffee is pretty crap as well. Still, it's got a bed and is as safe as anywhere else at the moment.

So, the box that I found in Bunker X087G/22... 

It was an ordinary, creamy-brown coloured, padlocked box. A little rusty perhaps, but pretty sturdy. I'd had a quick search around the debris inside the bunker but had found no evidence of a key. Who leaves a box for someone to find and forgets to leave the key? Idiots.

Regardless, I grabbed the box and made my way as quickly as possible out of the bunker and back along the trail to the car. Darkness descended during my journey, but the pathway was clear enough for me to follow. I don't scare easily either. I might not look at but I'm a pretty tough cookie. People always used to underestimate me at school. After all, I was five-foot nothing, blonde with big green eyes and barely any weight behind me. But I was determined. When all the kids at school had been spooked the night we slept in the old sports hall, I was the only one left standing after they'd all fled. I was the one who faced down the fox that had squeezed itself in through an open window. I'd lost my parents at an early age and was brought up by my sister. I had learned to look after myself. So I wasn't going to let spooky old Viking Wood get to me.

I was still living at home when I'd visited the woods. I never for the life of me thought I'd ever be in any danger. So I returned back home at gone midnight and proceeded to try and pick the lock. I don't know what I was hoping to achieve. I've never picked a lock in my life! Instead I headed to Jeff's next door and borrowed his bolt croppers. It only took a couple of minutes to get inside.

And then I lifted the lid...

I'm not sure if I felt disappointment or confusion at the time. Probably a mixture of both. All that sat in the box was a dusty old, E180 VHS video cassette. Nothing special. It wasn't even in a case and it had been rewound to the beginning. I've attached a photo for those of you too young to remember them (and I'm not old by the way. Thirty-three isn't old, kids!)

The video had no label on the top. Nothing. And the tab that allows videos to be recorded over had been snapped off. But on the side label, written in faded black, felt-tip pen letters was:

"CASE 8760: INTERIOR (23/06/1993)"

I had a number of thoughts. Firstly, how was I going to play the video? I had no VHS player. Jeff would probably have one. Secondly, who the hell had left it at the bunker for me - or someone else - to find? And thirdly, what the hell?! Case 8760? Was that the amount of cases they had dealt with up until 23rd June 1993? I'm assuming that was a date.

I swallowed hard as I picked up the video tape, and then I realised something was taped to the bottom of it. It was a piece of paper. It was a letter.

And part of me wishes I'd never read that letter...

Okay. Something strange is going on. The lights are flickering and Bradley Walsh has just frozen mid-question on 'The Chase'. I'd just got bloody comfy as well. Off I go again. Back soon!

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 005 (Freya)

BEGIN REPORT


FILE 005: FREYA

Freya McCormack was Eleanor's best friend. The two were joined at the hip. Both very much alike and both incredibly similar in looks. And notice that I am talking in the past tense about Freya.

I guess when Eleanor first disappeared I had all sorts of thoughts going through my head. Why had it been my daughter? Why couldn't it have been Freya? The McCormack's had five kids anyway... God, yeah, that sounds so awful. But when you're confused and consumed with grief your mind goes to all sorts of dark places.

What was even worse is that the only thing Freya remembered, as I mentioned in my previous post, was Eleanor standing over her in the tent on that dark night on Bluebell Hill.

I guess Freya had been in shock or something, but other than the usual grief of "losing" a friend, she hadn't seemed to have been effected by anything else that may have happened that night. It wasn't until I'd bumped into Janine McCormack, Freya's mother, in Tesco one Sunday afternoon when my quest for answers took a more supernatural turn. Janine looked like a woman haunted by something. Her skin pale. A vacant look on her face as she moved from aisle to aisle, loading up her trolley with essentials. No treats.

It turns out that not long after Eleanor's disappearance at Bluebell Hill, Freya had slumped into some sort of depression, locking herself in her room and refusing to come out. She'd stopped sleeping, instead spending all night drawing pictures under her night light. Janine told me that the pictures didn't make much sense. Mostly swirls of black clouds and scribbles, but amongst the scribbles were faces. Horrible, twisted faces. But the more she drew the clearer her pictures became.

Janine was naturally concerned and had confronted Freya about the images she had drawn. On one of the few occasions that Freya had spoken she had told her mum that she had actually seen the images. They weren't just in her mind. She had seen the smoke and the demonic faces on the night that Eleanor had disappeared. That, in her own words, "the night had climbed into the tent with them."

A few nights later they had found Freya standing in the shadows outside her bedroom door. Still. Unmoving. Like she herself had been possessed.

Naturally this had reignited my resolve to find Eleanor and I asked Janine if she minded me popping around in the week to speak to Freya. Janine must have sensed the desperation in my voice to find answers so she agreed. However weird Freya's situation, I felt that it was at least a step forward. It was a doorway to some answers.

Except it would have been. I'd arrived at the McCormack's house on Gelder Rd on the Tuesday night to find the house unoccupied. The neighbours told me that they had moved out without warning on Monday morning. Two unmarked removal vans had turned up and they'd just left. They hadn't left a forwarding address or number or anything. And Freya had been carried to the McCormack's car by her dad, Ian, underneath a thick blanket.

So, I talk about Freya in the past tense because, realistically, she's gone. There's no sign of any of them on social media any more and the police didn't want to know. My first solid lead into what had happened to my daughter had been killed dead. And of course, right now, it all makes sense, doesn't it? 

At least it does to me.

This Horizon group knew that something supernatural had occurred on the night on Bluebell Hill. And when Freya began to remember they made sure that neither her nor her family could talk about it. And this is just another reason for me fighting to discover the truth. Nobody should possess that much power. Nobody.

I might just be plain old Zoe Parrish, but I know what's right and what's wrong.

Now, I think it's time for me to tell you about what I found in the box buried in the bunker. Because this is when my story takes an even stranger turn...

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

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may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 004 (Bluebell Hill)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 004: BLUEBELL HILL

So, we've reached that point. I've been holding it off for some time, but before I delve into what I found out about Horizon and what was stored in that metal box, I feel I need to let you in on a little bit of information about myself. So you can see why I'm doing this. Why I'm fighting to find out the truth.

There's one reason, and one reason alone. Eleanor. My daughter.

Eleanor is perhaps the sweetest, kindest kid you could ever hope to meet. When she disappeared she'd just turned eleven, so she'll be twelve now. Notice I'm saying that she will be twelve because, despite what friends and family have said, I refuse to believe that she's gone. It makes no sense. She was out on a summer camp with the Scouts. She'd set up a shared tent with her friend, Freya. In the morning, when Freya woke up, Eleanor had gone. 

The Scout leaders combed the area for hours before calling the police, but she was nowhere to be seen. Freya gave her account of what had happened. They'd talked long into the night before finally falling asleep sometime around midnight. Freya told the police that she had woken up a few hours later and found Eleanor standing over her in the dark, but she passed it off as a dream and rolled over and went back to sleep. When she awoke in the morning Eleanor was gone, her clothes had been left behind as well as her pack, and if she had exited through the front of the tenth then she had made sure she had zipped it up again.

The police had searched the hillside and surrounding woods for nearly two days before calling off the search, and despite everyone's best efforts to convince them they had refused to remount. At the time it didn't seem very important, but I remember seeing a man in a grey coat talking to the officer in charge of the search. Unshaven, piercing blue eyes and extremely handsome, despite his hair looking like he'd just woken up in the middle of a bush. He had fixed me with a sad, knowing stare and then left in his own car. An hour later they'd given up the search of Bluebell Hill.

Bear with me. Be right back...

ERROR

ERROR

ERROR

ERROR

Fucksake. I've finally got logged back on. I lost my connection. Or someone made me lose it. I better be on the move again. I'm losing signal rapidly out here. I'll post again at a more convenient time, cos this Bluebell thing gets weirder the more you delve into it, and it turns out Freya started remembering more than she initially did.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 003 (Bunker X087G/22)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 003: BUNKER X087G/22

Yeah, I didn't come up with the name. It was on a metal plaque just inside the collapsed doorway under the hill. I mean if it was me I'd have come up with something more snappy like "Bunker Nemesis" or "Bunker Azure." Or maybe even "Bunker Twat Faces". But then I'm not working for the bastards, am I?

Oh, side-note - I got away. Not that it was ever confirmed that the unmarked car was after me anyway, but I casually left the café (shit...I just realised I didn't pay. Bollocks!) and got into my car. The car did follow me for a few streets but I managed to lose them. I'm now sat in my car beside a park. It's public, but I'm safe enough that I can escape if I need to. Not leaving my car this time. Not until I find somewhere safer to bunker down for a few days.

So, talking of bunking down...the bunker.

I made my way towards the hill. The doorway had only partially collapsed. I knew I didn't have long though. The sun was setting fast and I needed to make sure I was back along the path and headed towards the car before nightfall. The trail was simple enough to follow, but it was a long way back and I didn't fancy trekking through the woods this late on.

It turns out that the hill only contained a set of stairs that made their way down into a lower area. I'd used my phone to light the way and found myself standing in a large, empty room filled with empty filing cabinets, recesses on the wall with cut wires where computer banks had likely been placed, and rubbish strewn over the floor. The smell of smoke and blackened walls led me to believe that someone had left this place in a hurry and tried to torch the place. They had only been partially successful.

I wasn't really sure what I was looking for down here and I was conscious of the time. I mean why would KingVeritas lead me to an empty bunker that had already been gutted? There was nothing to be found here. Unless...

Unless what he wanted people to find had been dropped off here after the place had been torched. I started to piece together the timeline of events in my head. This mysterious Horizon group had a secret bunker in Viking Wood which, presumably, contained hard copies of files, and computers and...I don't know...secret stuff. Someone had discovered the location. They had been spooked and pulled out, taking everything with them, burning the place and leaving it an empty wreck.

Then, presumably KingVeritas, had leaked it's rough location online in the hope that other members of the The Eye forum might try and find the bunker. But then that didn't add up either. Why send someone to an empty bunker? Just to prove a point that they existed? Or maybe...maybe KingVeritas had left something behind after the torching.

It was then that I spotted the small, metal, padlocked box underneath some discarded, empty folders.

Okay. I'm on the move again. I have got to find myself somewhere to hole up and get myself on a VPN network. I don't trust anything or anyone at the moment. Be back with you shortly. 

Jesus, I need a drink.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Horizon: File 002 (Viking Wood)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 002: VIKING WOOD

I've found a new safe location. I say safe, but for how long, I don't know. Still, at least I can enjoy a coffee. I considered whether it's safer to be holed up somewhere or safer to be in public view. Both have their inevitable problems. For now, I'm public. Although the gentleman sat across by the door to the café looks a little shady. 

Scratch that, he's just realised he doesn't have enough money for that massive slice of chocolate cake he bought. And he doesn't have his debit card. Whoops.

Anyway...

I'm wasting my precious time here. The point is that I'm never safe. I'll get onto exactly why my life is under threat as we go along, but firstly I need you to know about the bunker that I found in the woods.

Maybe I'll eventually tell you more about Eleanor...

I mentioned Viking Wood in the first report. And as I mentioned before, KingVeritas disappeared before I could get any more details from him. But what he did mention was that buried somewhere in Viking Wood was a a source of information that he himself had uncovered. So naturally I decided to head out there.

Now, don't get too excited. What I found isn't going to blow the lid on any of this, but I did manage to pick up a few pieces of information. I'd driven up there, parked and car and followed the trail into the woods. Although the wood itself is hard to get to, it's also used by hikers and families in the summer. I wasn't expecting to find anything along the main trail, but KingVeritas had suggested following a less trodden path that branched off from the main route in.

The branch-off was located around 45 minutes into my walk and was signposted by a red sign with white letters proclaiming that it was "Private Property". Underneath the words was the white symbol of a skull and cross bones. Great pains had been taken to make sure that the ever-encroaching threat of the trees didn't cover the sign. 

They clearly didn't want people walking this way.

KingVeritas had said that I would know what I was looking for when I found it. So I kept walking. For a further two hours. It was a long bloody walk.

The trail here was narrow. It passed under fallen trees, through thick, dense bushes and didn't seem to have any ending to it. That was until I arrived at what I suspected KingVeritas had meant by knowing what I was looking for.

Amongst a clearing in the woods, surrounded by huge, tall trees, was a partially collapsed hill. The sun was already setting at this point so visibility was low, but this wasn't any ordinary hill. This was manufactured, or at least dug into. As I made my way closer to the structure I realised that something had been built into the hill. And although the structure had collapsed there was no mistaking it. This was the twisted, metallic remains of a collapsed bunker.

Shit. Okay. There's an unmarked, black car that's just pulled up outside the café. Maybe I'm being paranoid but I don't want to risk it. You'll have to wait for my next update. Wish me luck!

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a review.