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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness Review – Exhaustive Look Is Long Overdue

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Netflix‘s new docuseries The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness aims to restructure a deeply ingrained story. New York City’s most notorious serial murderer wasn’t a serial murderer after all. If David Berkowitz was part of a team of street level satanic power brokers, the entire story is a false narrative.

The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness is an impressive entry in the true crime documentary premiere run at Netflix. It focuses on the work of journalist Maury Terry, whose investigation into the Son of Sam case was criminally sidelined. Terry was convinced that convicted lone serial killer David Berkowitz was part of “a highly motivated and well-organized cult group whose various criminal enterprises included the .44 homicide.”

Terry’s 1987 book The Ultimate Evil: An Investigation of America’s Most Dangerous Satanic Cult, is a must read. But it got lost in the Satanic Panic, and Terry got sucked up into the world of the tabloid press. If Geraldo Rivera couldn’t survive The Geraldo Show with his journalistic reputation intact, how could Maury Terry? A wall of authority was built by a seeming Satanic cabal to shut out any idea the infamous murders could have been by anyone but a singular “Son of Sam.”

The “Son of Sam” spree captivated the world in the late 1970s. The chase for the killer was legendary, it made household names of investigators and district attorneys, careers and reputations were assured by it. All of New York City clung to its every detail. Berkowitz pled guilty to eight shootings in 1977, and the case was closed. Nobody else was charged with any crimes related to the shootings. The arrest and conviction of Berkowitz made people believe they were safe to go back out on the streets.

The documentary does a fantastic job showing how the police, press and the public all came together to create the lone gunman mythology. Berkowitz christened himself “The Son of Sam” in a letter designed to taunt police, and the documentary makes it seem like they never forgave him for it. He wrote to Jimmy Breslin, the recognizable “face” of The New York Daily News, name-dropping Beelzebub before promising to return. “Yours in murder, Mr. Monster,” he signed the letters, but the demonic names meant nothing more than lurid prose to the police.

The press fed the beast. The documentary vividly captures the mania which fell on New York City, as women cut or tied up their hair, because the roving gunman was targeting long-haired women, and stayed home anyway. Discos emptied. Neighbors followed neighbors. The documentary mirrors the rabid and rising hunt for the killer with Terry’s increasing obsession. The cops closed out the Summer of Sam by accident. A lucky coincidence linked a witness with a ticketed car. Berkowitz was arrested in front of his apartment complex on August 10, 1977.

Filmmaker Joshua Zeman (Murder Mountain) expertly incorporates archival news footage, and damning snippets of conversations. Terry’s own words and case files are thoughtfully read by Paul Giamatti. The director had already found a Son of Sam connection with his 2009 documentary Cropsey, about missing kids on Staten Island, and had contact with the author during research. The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness opens with the director receiving boxes of files, including interviews, and correspondences with Berkowitz from Terry’s personal investigation. Among them is a letter the journalist received from the convicted killer in 1981, postmarked Attica Correctional Facility. “I am guilty of these crimes,” Berkowitz wrote, “But I didn’t do it all.”

The documentary shows how, while some authorities hinted claims about ritual murders might be credible, a thin blue line forms behind the “my dog told me to do it” story to stifle the fear, rushing the case to a close. New York Mayor Abraham Beame was up for reelection and the story was fast-tracked, almost in advance. This speedy wrap-up never fooled Neysa and Jerry Moskowitz, the parents of the victim Stacy. Queens District Attorney John Santucci, whose jurisdiction included five of the Son of Sam attacks, was mocked by cops like Joe Coffey for even reading Terry’s book. Carl Denaro, a surviving victim, was so enraged he joined Terry’s investigative team. Though he would later have to remind the journalist he got shot in the head for the case.

Maury Terry is more relatable than the documentary seems to realize. Friends and colleagues bring up how he goes from a drinking buddy to a drinking baddie, but every personal revelation ultimately gets tied to his descent into obsession. Terry really is the ultimate representation of a New Yorker who lived through the Summer of Sam. He has good instincts, but he’s stuck at the wrong job. Who wants to write about the newest laser printer when his gut tells him there’s more to another story in his own neighborhood?

The press claimed Berkowitz got the name “Son of Sam” because he was acting on orders of his neighbor’s dog. He reportedly believed the dog was possessed by the soul of a 6,000-year-old man named Sam. In 1979, The New York Times reported Berkowitz made it up, but Terry, breaks the code which led to the codified .44 caliber myth. There is a real Sam, he’s got real kids, they got real problems and he’s along for the ride. Sam Carr and his sons lived in the house behind Berkowitz. The Carr family owned the Labrador retriever Berkowitz hailed as the high demon.

The high point of the series is the interview at the Sullivan Correctional Facility recorded for Inside Edition. The co-producer of the installment, Wayne Darwen, succinctly sums up the emotion by describing the meeting as Sherlock Holmes meeting Moriarty and Ahab harpooning the great whale. Berkowitz says it doesn’t matter how involved he was in the crimes, he should be imprisoned for the rest of his life just for being there.

The documentary excerpts Berkowitz’s story. He joined the cult in 1975, after meeting Michael Carr at a party on Barnes Avenue in the Bronx. Berkowitz says he “was intrigued by the occult,” which was presented in a harmless way, “just witchcraft and seances. I never dreamed I’d eventually become a murderer.” Berkowitz describes late-night meetings in the woods of Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx, and Untermyer Park in his own backyard, which was Pine Street in Yonkers. This inspires the name of Terry’s investigative team, The Pine Street Irregulars. Another tip of the hat to Sherlock Holmes. The description matched the “Twenty-Two Disciples of Hell” taunts in letters to Jimmy Breslin.

The convicted killer also describes his initiation at Untermyer Park. “I recited a prayer to Lucifer and then pricked my finger to draw a little blood. I also gave information about my family.” He names John “Wheaties” Carr. This points back to the letters “Son of Sam” wrote to Breslin.

Berkowitz admits he was present at each of the eight murder scenes. But wasn’t the triggerman at all of them. In the book, Ultimate Evil, Berkowitz says one of three women in the group shot Carl Denaro. Berkowitz also said “a Yonkers police officer who belonged to the group.” On camera for Inside Edition, he admits to shooting Donna Lauria and her girlfriend Jody Valente. He says there were three other accomplices at the scene, two men “in a tan car,” and Michael Carr, whom Berkowitz claims is the shooter in the Queens disco shooting. He says John Carr killed Joanne Lomino and Donna DeMasi. Earlier in the documentary, Terry says he thinks John Carr looks more like a likeness in a police sketch than Berkowitz.

The documentary sets up the segment brilliantly. We believe we have seen Terry’s vindication. Berkowitz confirms and expands on every aspect of the story he has laid out. The highlights were broadcast nationally on Inside Edition. The documentary then puts Terry’s questions about Arlis Perry, a 19-year-old student who had been murdered at Stanford University on October 12, 1974 under a magnifying glass. Was Terry leading? His follow-up interview is sad to watch, almost as infuriating for the viewer as it must have been for everyone in the room at the time.

The documentary shows how Terry chased some dubious leads to bad conclusions, from desolate small towns to the heart of Hollywood. Roy Radin was a producer on the 1984 movie The Cotton Club. His body was found on Friday, May 13, 1983, at a deserted site in northern Los Angeles County. He had been shot in the head 13 times. After the police scoured the crime scene, Terry, along with private investigators, found a Bible in a tree near the murder scene, opened to a passage which can be interpreted as pointing to a Satanic connection.

Terry lumps too much satanic activity together. He sees satanic symbols everywhere. He sees codes in everything. He hits on the Process Church of the Final Judgement in the book The Family by Ed Sanders. Terry speculates the murders could be connected to Charles Manson, but the Process Church has always downplayed anything having to do with the man who killed the sixties. He published an article in their magazine, probably got high with them, but the Process Church had a history of suing anyone who suggests a connection. The four-part documentary series skirts this by avoiding some of the more problematic claims of Terry’s book, which also describes a mysterious figure called Manson 2, who was apparently being groomed for mystical mayhem.

The other story being told in The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness is the rabbit hole Maury Terry gets lost in. The arc of someone ignoring family, relationships, health, and ultimately life. The theories never move into QAnon ridiculousness. Terry’s initial investigation is well-researched and investigated. The evidence strongly suggests Berkowitz did not act alone. The segments where Terry puts together all the pieces could have been longer, because so many esoteric clues fly by so fast, the audience doesn’t get the chance to luxuriate in the spidery webs which connect everything. It is fun to go down this rabbit hole and make all these connections. It fills a similar need to crossword puzzles. True crime obsession is a fascinating topic.

The focus of the series is as much Terry as it is the Son of Sam killings. Terry is also his ultimate victim, dying in 2015, and still yelling orders on who to call to follow up a lead. It is a cautionary tale about the dangers of true-crime obsession. Terry is a fascinating character. His obsessions with Satanism, snuff films, and cash are compulsively watchable. But the coincidences which frustrate him are as damnably indictable as they are effectively inadmissible. John Carr was killed in February of 1978 in a shooting in Minot, North Dakota. Michael Carr was killed in a suspicious traffic accident in October 1979. His car was apparently run off the road on the West Side Highway.

The intrepid journalist isn’t even the smartest guy in the room. It’s the serial killer. If Berkowitz acted alone, he’s got defenders fighting the police narrative, the press narrative and the public’s fear. If Berkowitz did act on orders, he’s managed to keep himself alive while even his superiors wound up dead. Ultimately, Maury Terry only has two goals. He wants the police to apologize, and he wants to make sure the victims knew who shot them. Berkowitz knew far in advance he’d never get either.

“Maury, the public will never, ever truly believe you, no matter how well your evidence is presented,” Berkowitz tells Terry at the end of their first meeting. No matter how much evidence Terry compiled, no one was prepared to take him seriously.

The Berkowitz case is responsible for creating the Son of Sam law, which says no criminal can profit from the publicity of their crimes. The state can take any money earned and donate it to the victim’s families. New York should have jumped on it, milking Berkowitz dry, and paying for an investigation. The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness is compelling, exquisitely inconclusive, and long overdue.

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The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post The Sons of Sam: A Descent into Darkness Review – Exhaustive Look Is Long Overdue appeared first on Den of Geek.

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cobracommanderofficial · 7 years ago

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The Fall of Mt. Spring

Hey guys! Here’s a story I worked on during my flight to California last night! It has a pseudo-Lovecraft tone (It could best be compared to the Thing on the Doorstep) I hope you guys like it!

I know it seems like I have committed a most horrible deed, and in most other circumstances I would agree with you. However, with this note or story or whatever label you want to apply to it, I only wish to clear some things up. More specifically, I'd like to openly testify my participation in the incident that is now commonly known to the public as "The Fall of Mt. Spring", and how I acted in the just, at least from the perspective I held at the time.

Now, I suppose I should give some background information on the whole affair, as it should signal why I was in Mt. Spring during the semi-apocalyptic week that shall forever scar our history. Now, I suppose I should start at the very beginning of this whole affair. Back when I was still in university (I've long since dropped out to pursue independent archaeology), I made the acquaintance of a fellow by the name of Edward Wallace. Now, Edward was a most peculiar fellow in several regards. For one, he was in no way ugly or unkempt, but he always exuded an aura of repulsion. Thus, he was never the most popular fellow. Second, his interests and hobbies were unique, to say the least. He spent nearly all of his free time working some sort of internship at the nuclear power station on the edge of the city. Besides that, all he really did was sleep and make others uncomfortable. Finally, his taste in music was absolutely terrible. I cannot put into words how much I despised it. One can only listen to the Spice Girls so many times before madness begins set in. However, in spite of all these overwhelmingly terrible aspects, I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with him. How could a man sustain a lifestyle such as his and not fall into a despair so inescapable that suicide is seemingly the only escape? I became the only thing that resembled a friend in his life, so presumably he spent more time with me than with any other human being. I never did develop an emotional attachment, but over time I slowly began to realize that Edward's entire perception of reality was some kind of twisted satire. He majored primarily in accounting, but wished to become an engineer full time at an atomic research center. He said both subjects took into account his worldview of total nihilism. I wondered what kind of upbringing could produce an individual as....special as Edward. So, I probed him for months about it. Alas, he remained mostly tight lipped. All that I was able to ascertain was that he was born and raised in a town called Mt. Spring, in Vermont, and that he hated it there more than anything. That was the only aspect of his childhood he would willingly talk about. How much he despised that town. How it's very existence was a threat to Edward's sanity. It was seemingly his life goal to destroy it, either physically or economically. I suppose that would explain his career choices. Now, one Saturday afternoon, I received a phone call from Edward.

"T-Tommy. It's finally time. I'm going back to Mt. Spring. My mother has called me, and she's fallen deathly ill. The doctors think it's some kind of cancer. I want to be there for her. So, I must abandon my studies. In a couple days, you should get a package through the mail. It contains all the knowledge I have collected on possible methods via which to neutralize the threat of Mt. Spring. Guard them with your life. I'm sorry it had to end so suddenly. Perhaps one day we'll meet again. Perhaps not."

Then, a click. He had hung up. When the package arrived, I looked through the contents with some curiosity. Inside there were three books. One was some sort of explanation of the possible weaknesses and faults in a nuclear power plant. The other was a collection of ramblings on covert government operations located in and around Mt. Spring, some of which seemed downright ludicrous in scale and purpose. Finally, a journal with a brilliant purple cover and a shining gold top. Stuck to the front of this was a Post-it note. It read 'ONLY FOR DESPERATE MEASURES. YOU'LL KNOW WHEN." These three pieces of information led me to draw one conclusion: That Edward was absolutely insane. So, I tucked the package under my bed and went on with my life. Soon enough afterwards, I dropped out of university to pursue my passion of archaeology.

Work was slow at first, but that changed one stormy September evening. The one incident that secured my path to Mt. Spring that fateful day was also the most important day of my life: I had just discovered a fully intact ruin buried deep within the Rocky Mountains. It seemed to be some kind of holy burial site, filled with coffins and offerings. Realizing that no good would come of me sticking around, I made note of the coordinates and went to the press with my discovery. It was hailed as incredibly important, and shed light on some of the more obscure rites of one offspring of the Sioux tribe. How they got that far north, and how they survived in such harsh conditions (Most of the ruins, including the burial site, were located at some of the highest altitudes in the Rockies.) are still a mystery to us. However, my discovery helped expose at least one fragment of their seemingly expansive culture. Approximately a month after the burial site hit the news, I heard the telephone ring. I assumed it was a journalist asking for an interview, so I ignored it at first. It kept going and going and going. Eventually, more than slightly irritated, I picked up the phone.

"Hello, this is Thomas Frost. What business do you have?" I seethed into the receiver. A familiar voice replied.

"Thomas, it's me. Edward. I was just watching the news when I saw your name pop up. I was so surprised you abandoned theater. Say, would you like to take a visit to my place, for old time's sake? I'm not too far from Philadelphia, if that sweetens the bargain." Edward replied. Something seemed off about his voice. It seemed restrained and concerned, almost like someone was pointing a gun to his head as he said it. Moreover, I was concerned as to how he got my home phone number. Brushing it off as him having a contact or two in the journalistic industry, I spoke into the phone again.

"Depends where and when. I would like to see you again. It has been ages." I had calmed down at this point, but I was unable to keep concern from reaching my face.

"Oh, it's fine. I'm located at 457 East Roosevelt Drive, in Mount Spring. Also, any time works for me. I'm settled here. Not busy at all" his raspy voice replied. I almost dropped the phone in shock. He had willingly moved back into that town which so many years ago he had despised with the entirety of his being? I was most concerned. However, I agreed to his offer. I had to investigate why he had suddenly made himself comfortable in a metaphorical den of wolves. It was almost as if Ahab were to suddenly join Greenpeace and preach about whale conservation. The math didn't add up. So, the date was set. When I was packing my stuff for my week-long stay at Mt. Spring, I noticed a box sticking out from underneath my bed. It was that package from so many years before. I figured it would be a decent topic for conversation, so I added it to my luggage. After I had finished packing and locking up the house, I jumped into my used convertible and began the hour and a half ride to a place that would alter my perspective of reality forever.

I drove past the city limits of Mt. Spring at approximately 5 pm. From the second I entered the town, I felt something was off. The architecture of every house seemed copied and pasted. When I hit what could be referred to as 'downtown', I was utterly appalled. It was entirely chain stores, without a single unique business or service offered within the whole town. I immediately understood why Edward had hated this place so much. Thus, I was even more confused as to why he willingly moved back here. After about half an hour of driving, I arrived in front of a clean cut suburban lawn. Several gnomes and flamingos had been erected around a patch of dirt, creating a defensive barrier between the petunias and whatever Nature could throw at the pitiful excuse for a garden. Otherwise, the lawn was featureless and was so vibrantly green that I nearly threw up. I walked up the cement pathway to the front door and knocked three times.

No response. I rang the doorbell. After about twenty seconds, the door opened. A woman in her mid thirties stood before me. Her brown hair was held in a tight bun, and her piercing blue eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. On her right hand was a diamond ring, and she wore a long blue shirt with denim jeans. She took a moment, seemingly sizing me up.

"And who might you be", she asked in a most demanding tone. I was almost too shocked to reply.

"M-my name is Thomas Frost. I'm an old friend of Edward." I managed to sputter out. This woman's demeanor was almost terrifying. She turned back into the house and shouted,

"Eddy, Tom is here to see you!." Slowly, a familiar gaunt figure shuffled towards the doorway. He wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder, and I had to hold in a gasp. Standing before me was none other than Edward Wallace. However, something had changed about him. The aura of repulsion he had once carried about him had vanished. All that was left was a smiling blonde man with unusually tan skin.

"Aaaaaaaah, Thomas. So glad you could make it. How have you been?", he asked me as we walked inside.

"I've been fine, Ed. But I'm sure you know enough about what's happened to me recently. I haven't heard from you in almost a decade. How've you been?" I replied.

"Ohohoh, right. You have no idea what's happened in the past 8 years. Well, I suppose I should enlighten you. But first I shall show you to the living room and prepare for us some coffee." He led me down a couple hallways, eventually opening up into a fairly luxurious den. There were three couches, a flat screen TV, and a real fireplace. How exotic. However, what caught my attention the most were the bookshelves that lined the walls. After my host excused himself to grab us some refreshments, I began to peruse the library. I figured, knowing Edward, that the books would be interesting if not totally incomprehensible. I slowly began to realize, however, as I moved from shelf to shelf, that this was maybe the most boring library I had ever seen. Nothing of any literary challenge had presented itself. It was all either bland romance novels, books on taxes and accounting and whatnot, or fiction that even a public library would be ashamed to put on display. I was so wrapped up in my judgments that I hadn't heard another figure enter the room. A shrill voice pierced the air.

"There's an intruder! An intruder! An intruder in our house. Mama!!!" I turned around to see a girl that couldn't have been older than 7 standing in the doorway, crying. The woman from the front door quickly entered the room and began to soothe the child, promptly bringing her back to wherever she had appeared from. Almost as soon as those two had departed, Edward appeared. In his hands he clenched a silver coffee tray. We both took our seats on the couch, and he began his story.

"Ah, well, it all began right after I arrived here. At first, I was as mortified as I had been when I was younger. I had truly hated this town back then, and now I just can't understand why. Anyways. I came to see my sick mother in the house she had bought with retirement funds. She had a brain tumor, Tommy. She wasn't going to live past November. I stayed there to comfort her. Slowly, she descended into lunacy. She began to say things about ants in her brain and how I had been right about hating this town. I simply ignored it as the ramblings of a madwoman. On November 3rd, she passed on to the next life. I was there at her funeral. It was Dios de los Muertos on that day, if you'd believe it. I went back to the house and began to pack my things when I heard a knocking at my door. A freak snowstorm had hit, and had blocked all the roads leading in and out of town. I was forced to stay there another night. Simply mortified, I couldn't sleep that night. The next day I decided to venture into town. Alas, there was nothing of interest there. Just the same chains you see everywhere. So, I began to head home. It was then that I was stopped by a simply beautiful young woman. We began to talk, and she decided to give me a gift due to the troubles the weather had caused me. It was a piece of cake. I decided there was no harm in accepting such a present, so I took it home and ate it. The very next day, I came down with a terrible fever. The young woman and her family took me into their care. They gave me medicine and clothes and made sure I didn't do anything dangerous. I had lost my sanity during those days, they said. I wrote odd things and put them in odd places. Notes addressed to my future self or something along those lines. Anyways, it seems they made sure to take most of the letters down. They feared that seeing any of them would reduce me back into the state of shock that had left me bedridden so long. I was sick for three months, Tommy, and over the course of those three months I fell in love with that young woman. Her name is Katherine, by the way. I stayed in town, in my mother's old house. We dated, fell in love, and married. I got a job doing tax returns at the local H&R Block, and Katherine worked as a painter. Soon, we bought this house. Not long after, Katherine became pregnant with Samantha. She quit full time painting to look after the kid, but she still does it in her free time. That brings us to the present. Here I am, living a happy life."

The speech had knocked the wind out of me, to say the least. It was an absurd amount of information to process at one time. I slowly began to connect the dots while sipping my coffee. Ed went on about how I could save more money with his damn tax firm, and how he could snag me a special discount. But I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was more thinking of what had happened to Ed's mother. It reminded me of something I had read ages ago. One of the ramblings in the books Ed sent me. How they keep you in by forcing you to stay, whether through debt or through manipulating the weather or anything. They would do anything to get their hands on new test subjects. I had no idea as to who 'they' were, but I began to have frightful notions about the town around me. The rest of the day passed without event. Ed had prepared accommodations for me in the attic, so I headed up there to unpack. My lodgings had an almost frightening aura to them. Dingy, poorly lit, and wooden. Definitely not the kind of place you would want to sleep. However, I found them almost comforting. Something that wasn't a complete carbon copy. At least, I didn't think it was.

My dreams that night were plagued with night terrors and images of demons emerging from fiery brimstone cracks. The next morning, the entire family (Me included) sat down to breakfast. Katherine had made pancakes. However, I didn't eat much. I had lost my appetite the night before. So, I made polite conversation with Edward as the fruits of the housewife's labors slowly went cold. We had decided the night before that today Ed would give me a tour of the town. So, we hopped in the silver Prius and began to explore the town. He slowly drove past the various strip malls, explaining in detail the services offered by each niche of capitalist hubris. Oddly enough, he sped by things that were far more interesting. At least to me. For one, he totally ignored a ruined house that showed signs of habitation. He sped past an unmarked cement building that emitted a bad aura. The straw that broke the camel's back, however, and the sight that made me force Ed to stop the car, was the nuclear power plant on the edge of town.

"Hey, Ed, didn't you want to work at one of those places when you were younger?" I asked. I was genuinely curious as to why he had taken up a job distributing tax returns rather than engineering an atomic reactor.

"Hmm? Oh, that? I was just joking around about that.", he replied almost robotically. We spent the rest of the day driving around the outskirts of town, admiring the scenery. We stopped at the local Denny's for dinner before heading back to the house for some relaxation time. While I lounged on the couch, Ed spring an unexpected question onto me.

"Say, Tommy, you wouldn't happen to still have those books I sent you, would ya?" he said in a relaxed tone that seemed almost serious. I was filled with an immense feeling of dread. I felt like it would not be in my best interests to tell him yes.

"Ha, I had nearly forgotten about those. Yeah, I threw em out ages ago." I tried to not sound or look concerned. Either I am a very good actor, or Ed is a better actor than me.

"Oh, alright then." He sounded almost disappointed. I decided to head up to bed not long after. However, my sleep would not go uninterrupted. Around 2 in the morning, I awoke to loud noises coming from downstairs. I crept out of the attic, curious as to what was going on. Downstairs, I saw something most disturbing. Ed had been tied to a chair, and was struggling. Katherine was slowly injecting something into his jugular vein. I fled the scene before I could react. Something bad was going on here. I knew I had to get out of town ASAP so that I could tell the authorities. But I felt bad leaving Ed here, alone with whatever it is that's going on. I woke up early the next day. I decided first to explore the old wooden house that had raised my curiosity. I hopped into my Ferrari and drove down the winding roads until I reached the pile of wood that was at one point called a house. As I got out of my car and walked towards the ruins, I felt as if I was being watched. The hills have eyes and all that it implies. When I reached the main debris pile, I rummaged for a good hour. I had no idea as to why this place intrigued me so much. I suppose it was a guy feeling that led me there. After an hour of fruitless digging, I decided that the home was a lost cause.

As I walked towards my car, I tripped over a pile of wood I hadn't noticed in my exhausted state. When I got up and dusted myself off, I noticed something odd. Some gleaming metal in the mass of plant matter. I decided it wouldn't hurt to check it out, and began to unbury it. No sooner had I started moving logs a trio of figures emerged from the woods in front of me. All of them seemed very old. Their eyes were possibly the most curious part about them, as they seemed to glow a golden yellow. The one leading the trio stopped the other two and began to talk.

"Traveler, I recommend you leave this town soon. Nothing good will come of staying here. However, if you unbury that thing",he motioned towards the piece of metal,"there will be no turning back. They will not let you leave. What is it you choose?" Of course, I was immediately confused. Why was everything so dramatic and black or white? What had I done to deserve this warning? Just what the hell was going on in this town? The rational side of me reasoned the best thing to do would be to bail out of town ASAP. The archaeologist in me won over in the end, and I unburied what was now evidently a key. What it was doing here, I had no idea. I felt tired after that whole incident, and decided to head back to Ed's house. When I arrived, it was 10 am. The family had just sat down to brunch. I felt a sudden urge to ask Ed something.

"Say, Ed, whatever happened to your mother's place?", I inquired. His face turned sullen.

"Ah, yes. We drove by it yesterday. It was destroyed in a fire some years ago. Very sad." he returned to eating. I began to connect the dots. But now I had to be cautious. Things were getting deep. After a day of avoiding the family, I excused myself to the attic. While I was studying the key, I noticed something most peculiar about it. The material it was made out of bore a striking resemblance to the lock on the purple journal. I began to pace. What to do, what to do? Should I open it? I recalled the note. Was this a desperate measure? Ed seemed happy here. I didn't want to take that away from him. However, there was no ignoring what I saw last night. Maybe it was a kink thing? No, definitely not. I paced and paced and paced. At one point, however, I was so deep in thought I ran into a low set banister. I fell backwards, disturbing the few pieces of furniture in the attic. My impact had caused the bookshelf to fall down. I struggled to put it back up when I noticed something odd. Where it had once stood, there was a note surrounded by a rectangle free of debris.

I decided my best option was to take it and right the bookshelf before anyone came to investigate. I waited an hour for all the noises and lights in the house to turn off. After 15 minutes of total silence, I took out the envelope. On the front, in Edward's familiar handwriting, was my name. My curiosity was piqued. Why was a letter that was evidently ancient due to it's location and state of yellowing addressed to me, when Ed claims to have forgotten about me until he saw the news report? I took out my Swiss army knife and cut it open. It read:

Tommy, Desperate times have come upon us. I have been poisoned? No. Something? Maybe. The ruling body of this town, Thomas, they're they're they're they're. They have a hold on me and I they gavem me a fever that cake was l;acd with ssomethng. Now they have an excuse to pump me full of drugs and convert me into a goddamn pod person. ogmdman pod people are everywhere.E it kills you eventuall. It's what happened to motherr. The radio waves ithey send out from that damnable tsotne building tommy. then riado waves influnece you on once ytheyve established a footold in you mind. Don't eat the food. theyre dkeoeododestroying all my letters.i OI HOpe you dindfind this before it's too late. I mad e ap lan just in cas this thing happen. I have harbored a susopicion bou this or mnay years an and its confirmed, tommy! im not insane. i was engineeered, like this, you know. to be a repulsive monster. some experiemn by th cia or whoever the hell is running this. the books tommy. dot let me see thiem dont dont dont dont. run if you can but if you cant then fight your way out of this hellscape. i can fee l them isnide my head tommy. i hope you can sav trshis damnntown

-the artist formerly known as edward wallace

This letter shocked me, and fueled the growing sense of paranoia I had about my surroundings. I began to realize that if some big organization really was running this than I had no choice but to somehow put an end to this. I had no idea how. I decided the best choice would be to hide these sensitive materials in my knapsack and head to sleep. The fourth day was when I decided to take action. I ate with the family and left for town hall. Maybe I could glean some information from the official source, however biased it may be. There was practically no wait for the mayor. If Ed's crackpot theories were right, that's because the theoretical 'they' decide the emotions of the townsfolk. No unhappiness. I entered the mayor's office and took a seat. The mayor was a short and fat man with a withering toupee and a voice like sandpaper. I started off the exchange. "Mr. Mayor, what can you tell me about the concrete building on the outskirts of town? I'm a journalist and I'd like to do a report on the local sights and attractions." "Ohohoho, you can't fool me Mr. Frost. I've seen you on the news! But, I suppose I'll let this little lie slide for the sake of our visiting celebrity. Yes, that building isn't open to the public. It's some kind of radio station. You see, it's the wave of the future. A radio station that doesn't need an antennae. How wonderful. Yes, it is government owned. I believe it exists solely to test the new technology, so don't expect to tune into it. It's on a private frequency. Ultraviolet or ultraviolent or whatever those scientists call it." The mayor's phrasing disturbed me just a bit, but I figured that was the most information I would be able to glean from him. I stepped out of the building and rode out to the concrete, bunker-like structure. I began to investigate it, as it didn't have an immediately apparent entrance. However, after searching the nearby woods for half an hour, I discovered a door embedded in the ground. I tried to pry it open with my bare hands, but that was a fruitless effort. Using some nearby stones and sticks, along with that ever-handy swiss army knife, I was able to construct a pulley that managed to open the door by just a crack. Surprisingly, after it opened a bit it was as light as a feather. Truly, technology is amazing. I descended into the bunker, ever cautious of where I tread.

This place had a bad aura about it. It was dimly lit, but I managed to make my way in the direction I believed the structure to be in. There seemed to be a series of tunnels beneath the town, leading anywhere and everywhere. It had disturbing implications that I had yet to witness. Eventually I reached directly below the structure. The mayor, it seems, had been lied to, to an extent. There was a working antennae, but it seemed to be buried underground. It was hooked up to all sorts of odd machines I couldn't possibly recognize, and I had a headache just from standing in the same room as it. That was when I noticed the security camera. I really didn't like that. I fled as soon as I saw it. Technically, what I had just done was illegal. The sun had set by the time I reached Ed's house. I noticed some black sedans parked out front, so I stopped my car several blocks away and snuck in through the back door. I saw Ed and Katherine talking to some men in black suits. I slowly ascended the stairs, checking on my belongings. The room was a mess. Everything had been turned upside down. Thankfully, I had what they wanted on me at the time. As I slowly looked around to assess the damage, I heard a shrill voice. "The intruder is back!" the little girl screamed. Great. I quickly went into panic mode. As the men in black and the rest of the Warren family began to ascend the stairs, I looked for an exit. I managed to budge the window open enough to climb out and descend the three story house. I fled my car and ran into the woods.

The following 24 hours were a blur of adrenaline as I hid from the search parties and the spotlights and I recall being referred to as a threat to national security and labelled a terrorist and mother of god and I kept running and running. On the morning of the sixth day I awoke in a different place from where I fell asleep and immediately panicked. I was silenced by those same glowing eyed figures from before, who suddenly appeared before me. "So, I take it you've come to realize what's going on here?" the slender female asked. "Y..Yeah." "We realized that a long time ago. Before you were born. Before we were born. The experiments on Mt. Spring date back to the early days of the Cold War, if you didn't know. Besides general population manipulation, there were various experiments. Some were supposed to be psychological weapons, like your friend Edward. Some were born as laborers. Us? We were born as intelligence officers. Far too intelligent for our own good. Once we became self aware, they tried to get rid of us. It failed, of course. So here we are. In hiding. They've managed to accelerate the passage of time for us, so it shouldn't be too long before we pass on. But you. That purple goddamn notebook can put an end to all of this. Free this town, son." The leader said in an imperious tone before all 3 faded into darkness. I checked my knapsack. The key and journal were still there. I began to decipher...

Ed had apparently planned this a long time ago: the utter nuclear annihilation of Mt. Spring. I suppose it isn't surprising, as he was a psychological weapon, but still. He played his part far too well. Using some insanely obscure psychohistory techniques, he was able to guess the entire future of the power plant on the hill for 15 years after the journal was hidden. All that was left was for me to play my part. Over the course of the day, I planned my route and strategy; luckily, Ed had already done the most difficult parts of the planning. All that was left for me to do was pull it off. I decided I'd do it the very next day. I decided to get an early night in. When I awoke, I began my journey. Avoiding patrol patterns and various sheriff's deputies, I made my way to the plant. Avoiding the guard detail was difficult if not impossible, but Ed had planned ahead for this. I just needed to get my timing perfectly right. After three hours of dodging guards and infiltrating security (A majority of that time was made up of me waiting for patrols to pass me) I made it to the central control room. Pulling out the purple notebook, I began to follow the instructions Ed gave me. It took me a good half hour to get everything done. The strain of pulling off complicated system overrides and time sensitive power shutdowns all the while avoiding any and all living beings can really take a lot out of a guy. But, finally, all was done. The only thing left for me to do was press the confirmation button after this prompt appeared

[confirm basin destruction?] [Y / N]

As soon as I pressed yes, a great rumbling overtook the building. I realized I had to get out of there ASAP. I began sprinting through the hallways as I heard the nuclear reactor being ejected into the valley below. Soon, Mt. Spring and the horrors associated with it would be blown to smithereens. I reached the outside of the plant and began running through the woods in the opposite direction of the town. A program installed inside the reactor's command processor began the sequence that would lead to annihilation. The most frustrating part of the whole deal was managing to disable the firewalls put in place to prevent such actions. But, it worked out in the end. I must've been about 10 miles away from the site of impact when it went up. I was knocked prone by the explosion. When I woke up, I was in custody. I was asked to give a statement. I refused. I knew there was no way in hell they would believe me. I wouldn't believe me. Besides, they were owned by the same government perpetrating those awful crimes. I was put under house arrest while they put the trial together. I know what will happen to me. I'll inevitably be found guilty, and tortured or executed or even worse. They know that I did it. So, this is my adieu to the world at large. Death is preferable to whatever they might have in store for me, experiments or otherwise. I hope that this manifesto makes it to the light of day. I'm sorry to the families of those I killed. They're at my door now. The police. I have to end it now. Goodbye. Goodbye. I'm sorry, Ed.

#cobra text #cc's stories

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