u/CTRemy9085

Hey again everyone,

 

A lot has happened since the last time I posted. First off, I went back to Gold Hill. After seeing the tracks and the encampment there, I just needed more answers. I started back early in the morning on my long trek back out to the camp. After driving a while, I stopped at my usual spot and started to walk back towards where I had gone the day prior.

Unlike yesterday, I wasn’t just stumbling blindly through the husk of what used to be a town. I knew where I needed to go. As I got to the bend where the dirt road to the camp started, I could hear occasional rustling in the bushes and trees up the hillside. It came intermittently but would happen on both sides and from different areas both ahead of and behind me. As I came around one turn, I was startled when a man stepped out onto the trail ahead of me, then another stepped out behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to observe the man behind me. He wasn’t holding any type of weapon, neither was the man in front of me. Still, the way they stood made it clear, I wasn’t going anywhere unless they allowed it. While I could only see the two, I was now painfully aware that there were more people around I couldn’t see. The rustling continued and whispers from the trees filled my ears like a mosquito that just won’t go away.

“Are you looking for us?” the first man asked calmly.

I stood there completely still unaware of what was going to happen next. I didn’t feel threatened but…unwelcome. Before I could answer, a third stepped out onto the trail just in front of me. The man stood tall and stoic, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup.

“Well, well, well, I wasn’t sure you were going to come back.” He said with a slight smirk on his face. “Seemed like you were in an awful hurry when you left yesterday.”

“I’m looking for someone.” I replied sheepishly.

“Someone?” he replied with a questioning look on his face as he continued to walk towards me.

“Yeah…I’m looking for Tom Calder.” I stammered.

The man with the coffee cup just smiled. He stepped closer and placed one hand on my shoulder. “Well good news son, you found him.”

I just stood there dumbstruck. The man wasn’t threatening but you could just feel the authority in his presence. It was clear, he was running the show here.

“What’s your name son?” Calder asked.

“Sam.”

“Well Sam, I suppose you should probably come with us. It’s a long way back to your car and, I’m guessing you have a few more questions, to say the least.” He said as he removed the hand from my shoulder and gestured for me to follow them.

I followed them, though I wasn’t entirely sure I had a choice in the matter. As we started down the road, more people started to emerge from the trees that lined the pathway. One by one, they fell into step, following closely behind us. I counted at least 12 before I stopped counting.

As we arrived at the camp, a couple of small children came running out from one of the shelters that lined the camp. They jumped into the open arms of the man who had stepped out in front of me originally, whose name I now knew was Jake. As we continued into the camp, I could smell food cooking. I saw a fire beneath pots filled with what looked like stew and a kind looking woman tending to it. She looked at me and just smiled. There were a couple of people cutting wood, an older man working on an old truck. It felt...warm. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting when I started this but, it wasn’t this.

When we made our way into the center of the camp, the people who had been following spread out and seemed to just go about their day. Calder stood there next to me and took another sip from his cup. “Welcome to the Ever Seen, Sam.”

He asked me to come and talk with him in his office. It was a plain, modest shelter but comfortable enough given the situation. He sat down behind a desk and kicked his feet up. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you would like to know?” he said nonchalantly.

He sat there calmly as I gathered myself, trying to figure out where to even begin. Here I was thinking the worst had happened to this man and yet there he was, just calmly sitting across from me. A torrent of questions flew out of my mouth, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. The man just chuckled and put up his hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam. Calm down, one question at a time.” He said.

“Why are you out here? You just disappeared and no one knew what happened.” I asked.

“It’s a long story Sam. Many years ago, my granddad used to work these mines. He was a miner during the war and spent many days in the dark swinging a pick. Growing up, he would talk all about them, the heat, the hard work, how he’d spent his best days hunched over mining for the war effort. He always told the same stories over and over again, and every time I would sit there cross legged like it was the first. On my 18^(th) birthday though he told me a story I hadn’t heard yet.” Calder said. He continued, “See one day he swung his pick down and the rock gave way. A small hole dark as the night sat there in front of him, and when he shined his light into it, he realized it opened into a large room. He scrambled back up to tell the others and before he could get the word out, the foreman informed them all that the mine was closing. The war was over and they didn’t need them anymore. No one cared to hear what he claimed he had seen.”

“What did he see?” I asked.

He simply replied, “Salvation.”

Calder then went on to describe the large open room almost like a sanctum. Walls adorned with hundreds of pictographs depicting humans worshipping angels, beings with large wings, their heads wrapped in halos and light shone down on the people worshipping them. Some of the walls contained depictions of practices from many different religions and beliefs. “My granddaddy had found the answer, he just didn’t know it yet. See all of those depictions, they aren’t of different Gods, they’re depictions interpreted through different cultures.” He added.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“After years of studying and research we realized that some of the panels on the walls were instructions. Ways to call the angels back. All of the different religions, they all claim their beliefs are the answer. What they don’t understand is they are only one piece of many. The splitting of faiths and wars over time is what caused the angels to leave.” Calder said.

“You can’t be serious.” I stated, flatly.

He replied, “Look at the state of the world we live in, son. War, violence, diseases, man kind’s heart full of indifference. Hatred of their fellow man over things that don’t mean a damn thing at the end of the day. We’ve lost our ability for empathy, for understanding. People do evil things for the love of money and power. They’re completely indifferent to the struggles of other human beings. We’re more divided than we have ever been.” He sat up in his chair and continued, “Think about it Sam. I mean, you didn’t come all this way out here looking for me because you thought I was happy. You thought the worst had happened, didn’t you? You weren’t looking to save me; you were looking for a story. You came out here looking for some grizzly scene, some horror story you could write for clicks. I don’t hold it against you, but don’t act like you wanted some happy go lucky tale out of this.”

He had me dead to rights. I didn’t know what to say. I had indeed come out here to look for the remains of missing people. I wanted to write a story about the loss of life of multiple people in hopes that someone would enjoy my words over a coffee in the morning. It would have been a passing moment in their lives, nothing more than a ‘I’m glad it wasn’t me’.

Before I could say anything else, Calder just sighed, brushed his hair back and said “Sam, it’s about dinner time. I’m sure you have more questions, but we can talk more tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to come back. You’re welcome to stay for dinner tonight as well. We all eat together and there’s always plenty to go around.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but dinner was also a good way for me to get a feeling for the rest of them, so I accepted. He wasn’t lying when he said they all ate together. The whole camp, at least 20 people, gathered around tables arranged in lines to share food. Stew, homemade bread, and vegetables grown right here in camp covered the table and were passed around. People laughed and joked. One woman offered seconds to Calder and said, “I know you never turn them down.” The man just smiled and politely nodded. They all seemed so happy, content with what they have.

They all just sat there talking and enjoying each other’s company. After dinner a group started to clear the table. One older woman looked at me and said, “It was a pleasure to have you here tonight. I sure hope you come back soon.” I politely smiled and thanked the woman. After everyone had cleared out, the only remaining people were Calder and I.

He just looked at me and said, “I know what you’re probably thinking Sam, but I promise you we want nothing more than people to be happy. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, and I can show you around some more. It’s getting late and that route ain’t fun to drive at night.” I told him that I would come back, I had so many more questions and I needed to know more. At that point, he stood up and walked over to shake my hand. Jake walked me back to my car, and I headed back to my hotel. The conversation playing in my mind the entire drive back.

Just yesterday, that camp seemed like a complete mystery.

After spending a whole day with them, I still don’t know what to think.

Hey again everyone,

 

A lot has happened since the last time I posted. First off, I went back to Gold Hill. After seeing the tracks and the encampment there, I just needed more answers. I started back early in the morning on my long trek back out to the camp. After driving a while, I stopped at my usual spot and started to walk back towards where I had gone the day prior.

Unlike yesterday, I wasn’t just stumbling blindly through the husk of what used to be a town. I knew where I needed to go. As I got to the bend where the dirt road to the camp started, I could hear occasional rustling in the bushes and trees up the hillside. It came intermittently but would happen on both sides and from different areas both ahead of and behind me. As I came around one turn, I was startled when a man stepped out onto the trail ahead of me, then another stepped out behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to observe the man behind me. He wasn’t holding any type of weapon, neither was the man in front of me. Still, the way they stood made it clear, I wasn’t going anywhere unless they allowed it. While I could only see the two, I was now painfully aware that there were more people around I couldn’t see. The rustling continued and whispers from the trees filled my ears like a mosquito that just won’t go away.

“Are you looking for us?” the first man asked calmly.

I stood there completely still unaware of what was going to happen next. I didn’t feel threatened but…unwelcome. Before I could answer, a third stepped out onto the trail just in front of me. The man stood tall and stoic, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup.

“Well, well, well, I wasn’t sure you were going to come back.” He said with a slight smirk on his face. “Seemed like you were in an awful hurry when you left yesterday.”

“I’m looking for someone.” I replied sheepishly.

“Someone?” he replied with a questioning look on his face as he continued to walk towards me.

“Yeah…I’m looking for Tom Calder.” I stammered.

The man with the coffee cup just smiled. He stepped closer and placed one hand on my shoulder. “Well good news son, you found him.”

I just stood there dumbstruck. The man wasn’t threatening but you could just feel the authority in his presence. It was clear, he was running the show here.

“What’s your name son?” Calder asked.

“Sam.”

“Well Sam, I suppose you should probably come with us. It’s a long way back to your car and, I’m guessing you have a few more questions, to say the least.” He said as he removed the hand from my shoulder and gestured for me to follow them.

I followed them, though I wasn’t entirely sure I had a choice in the matter. As we started down the road, more people started to emerge from the trees that lined the pathway. One by one, they fell into step, following closely behind us. I counted at least 12 before I stopped counting.

As we arrived at the camp, a couple of small children came running out from one of the shelters that lined the camp. They jumped into the open arms of the man who had stepped out in front of me originally, whose name I now knew was Jake. As we continued into the camp, I could smell food cooking. I saw a fire beneath pots filled with what looked like stew and a kind looking woman tending to it. She looked at me and just smiled. There were a couple of people cutting wood, an older man working on an old truck. It felt...warm. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting when I started this but, it wasn’t this.

When we made our way into the center of the camp, the people who had been following spread out and seemed to just go about their day. Calder stood there next to me and took another sip from his cup. “Welcome to the Ever Seen, Sam.”

He asked me to come and talk with him in his office. It was a plain, modest shelter but comfortable enough given the situation. He sat down behind a desk and kicked his feet up. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you would like to know?” he said nonchalantly.

He sat there calmly as I gathered myself, trying to figure out where to even begin. Here I was thinking the worst had happened to this man and yet there he was, just calmly sitting across from me. A torrent of questions flew out of my mouth, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. The man just chuckled and put up his hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam. Calm down, one question at a time.” He said.

“Why are you out here? You just disappeared and no one knew what happened.” I asked.

“It’s a long story Sam. Many years ago, my granddad used to work these mines. He was a miner during the war and spent many days in the dark swinging a pick. Growing up, he would talk all about them, the heat, the hard work, how he’d spent his best days hunched over mining for the war effort. He always told the same stories over and over again, and every time I would sit there cross legged like it was the first. On my 18^(th) birthday though he told me a story I hadn’t heard yet.” Calder said. He continued, “See one day he swung his pick down and the rock gave way. A small hole dark as the night sat there in front of him, and when he shined his light into it, he realized it opened into a large room. He scrambled back up to tell the others and before he could get the word out, the foreman informed them all that the mine was closing. The war was over and they didn’t need them anymore. No one cared to hear what he claimed he had seen.”

“What did he see?” I asked.

He simply replied, “Salvation.”

Calder then went on to describe the large open room almost like a sanctum. Walls adorned with hundreds of pictographs depicting humans worshipping angels, beings with large wings, their heads wrapped in halos and light shone down on the people worshipping them. Some of the walls contained depictions of practices from many different religions and beliefs. “My granddaddy had found the answer, he just didn’t know it yet. See all of those depictions, they aren’t of different Gods, they’re depictions interpreted through different cultures.” He added.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“After years of studying and research we realized that some of the panels on the walls were instructions. Ways to call the angels back. All of the different religions, they all claim their beliefs are the answer. What they don’t understand is they are only one piece of many. The splitting of faiths and wars over time is what caused the angels to leave.” Calder said.

“You can’t be serious.” I stated, flatly.

He replied, “Look at the state of the world we live in, son. War, violence, diseases, man kind’s heart full of indifference. Hatred of their fellow man over things that don’t mean a damn thing at the end of the day. We’ve lost our ability for empathy, for understanding. People do evil things for the love of money and power. They’re completely indifferent to the struggles of other human beings. We’re more divided than we have ever been.” He sat up in his chair and continued, “Think about it Sam. I mean, you didn’t come all this way out here looking for me because you thought I was happy. You thought the worst had happened, didn’t you? You weren’t looking to save me; you were looking for a story. You came out here looking for some grizzly scene, some horror story you could write for clicks. I don’t hold it against you, but don’t act like you wanted some happy go lucky tale out of this.”

He had me dead to rights. I didn’t know what to say. I had indeed come out here to look for the remains of missing people. I wanted to write a story about the loss of life of multiple people in hopes that someone would enjoy my words over a coffee in the morning. It would have been a passing moment in their lives, nothing more than a ‘I’m glad it wasn’t me’.

Before I could say anything else, Calder just sighed, brushed his hair back and said “Sam, it’s about dinner time. I’m sure you have more questions, but we can talk more tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to come back. You’re welcome to stay for dinner tonight as well. We all eat together and there’s always plenty to go around.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but dinner was also a good way for me to get a feeling for the rest of them, so I accepted. He wasn’t lying when he said they all ate together. The whole camp, at least 20 people, gathered around tables arranged in lines to share food. Stew, homemade bread, and vegetables grown right here in camp covered the table and were passed around. People laughed and joked. One woman offered seconds to Calder and said, “I know you never turn them down.” The man just smiled and politely nodded. They all seemed so happy, content with what they have.

They all just sat there talking and enjoying each other’s company. After dinner a group started to clear the table. One older woman looked at me and said, “It was a pleasure to have you here tonight. I sure hope you come back soon.” I politely smiled and thanked the woman. After everyone had cleared out, the only remaining people were Calder and I.

He just looked at me and said, “I know what you’re probably thinking Sam, but I promise you we want nothing more than people to be happy. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, and I can show you around some more. It’s getting late and that route ain’t fun to drive at night.” I told him that I would come back, I had so many more questions and I needed to know more. At that point, he stood up and walked over to shake my hand. Jake walked me back to my car, and I headed back to my hotel. The conversation playing in my mind the entire drive back.

Just yesterday, that camp seemed like a complete mystery.

After spending a whole day with them, I still don’t know what to think.

Hello again,

 

Okay, so where to begin. After I found that article at the library, I spent all night researching the Calder family. Luckily, I was able to go through some records and finally found the connection. T Calder (the missing person) is the grandson of the Calder in the picture. I had no idea if he was taken against his will or if he decided to go away but I figured, if there were answers to be found, they’d be at Gold Hill. So I went.

After picking up my car from the service station, I asked Jim how to get out there. Reluctantly, he gave me directions but also informed me that my car wasn’t exactly the best option for the trip. He explained the roads are rough and that my best bet was a truck. I don’t have that as an option, so I took my car anyways. I stopped by the gas station to fill up and get some snacks before I left and started heading out around noon.

For a place only 50 miles away, it took much longer than I thought it would to get there and the roads were worse than Jim described. They were a mix of concrete and gravel, with occasional washouts that claimed parts of the road. It felt like no one had been out there for decades. I started to see what used to be houses that were now no more than ruins of what used to be. Houses burned to nothing more than rocks and ash, foundations with rotten and collapsed walls jutting out in the air like a skeleton's rib cage. The sun shone down into the valley casting strange shadows through the hollow bones of houses that now stand completely empty.

The road continued to get worse, and I knew there wasn’t much of a point in trying to take it any further. Rather than turn around, I parked the car on what was left of the road, grabbed my bag and started on foot. I figured it was better to have to walk than risk getting stuck and hearing Jim’s inevitable “I told you so” when he had to pull me out. The town snaked and twisted back and forth between the low points of the mountains and hills that dotted this area. The further I made it into town, the stranger it felt. There is something incredibly eerie about walking through a place that hasn’t been populated in almost 80 years. I found what looked like an old general store that was partially reclaimed by juniper trees and bushes. Next to the store was a house still standing with a porch. The windows were all broken and the porch had smashed rocking chairs still sitting on it. At one point I found a child’s shoe half buried in the dirt. As I continued down the road, I found tire tracks on a dirt road that split off and went further back into the valley.

I tried to think back to my conversation with Jim to remember when he said it had last stormed out here. I thought surely, those tracks couldn’t have lasted through that right? I decided to follow the tracks down the path. Walking down the road I couldn’t help but feel watched. I knew it was just my mind playing with me but something about the angle of the sun and trees just makes it feel strange. The shadows danced and more than once made me think I had seen something moving on one side or the other, but every time I looked, I saw nothing. After about 15 minutes of walking, I started to smell smoke. Smoke? Was something burning out here? Then a few minutes later, to my right I heard a low, mechanical humming coming from just over the hill side. I started up the hill towards the top, pushing my way through trees and bushes so thick, you can hardly see in front of you. When I finally made it to the top I stopped.

Wedged in the valley, right there in the middle of nowhere Gold Hill, was a small camp.

Several small structures arranged in semicircles on the sides of the makeshift road. I could hear a generator running.  Several trucks parked nearby, none of them looked like they were particularly old. One of them even looked like the one that Mr. Johnson had described seeing leaving town with supplies. I just stood there trying to process what I was seeing.

Someone was living here…more than just one person, multiple people were living here.

“Hello?” I called out.

No one answered.

“Is anyone here?”

Still nothing.

I stood there in disbelief, staring at this camp. Tables sat in the middle of the structures, with what looked like boxes and canned food sitting on one. Propane tanks lined one side of a structure, children’s toys in front of another. A small fire burned with folding chairs arranged around it. At one point I could have sworn I heard music playing quietly.

I wanted to keep looking around but I knew that I didn’t have long before it would start to get dark and I didn’t want to be out here at night.  With that in mind, getting back to my car became priority number one and my curiosity would just have to wait. I got back to the dirt road and started walking back the way I came. After a few feet I noticed something on the road. Footprints….walking just off to the side of mine as if they were following me.

Hello again,

 

Okay, so where to begin. After I found that article at the library, I spent all night researching the Calder family. Luckily, I was able to go through some records and finally found the connection. T Calder (the missing person) is the grandson of the Calder in the picture. I had no idea if he was taken against his will or if he decided to go away but I figured, if there were answers to be found, they’d be at Gold Hill. So I went.

After picking up my car from the service station, I asked Jim how to get out there. Reluctantly, he gave me directions but also informed me that my car wasn’t exactly the best option for the trip. He explained the roads are rough and that my best bet was a truck. I don’t have that as an option, so I took my car anyways. I stopped by the gas station to fill up and get some snacks before I left and started heading out around noon.

For a place only 50 miles away, it took much longer than I thought it would to get there and the roads were worse than Jim described. They were a mix of concrete and gravel, with occasional washouts that claimed parts of the road. It felt like no one had been out there for decades. I started to see what used to be houses that were now no more than ruins of what used to be. Houses burned to nothing more than rocks and ash, foundations with rotten and collapsed walls jutting out in the air like a skeleton's rib cage. The sun shone down into the valley casting strange shadows through the hollow bones of houses that now stand completely empty.

The road continued to get worse, and I knew there wasn’t much of a point in trying to take it any further. Rather than turn around, I parked the car on what was left of the road, grabbed my bag and started on foot. I figured it was better to have to walk than risk getting stuck and hearing Jim’s inevitable “I told you so” when he had to pull me out. The town snaked and twisted back and forth between the low points of the mountains and hills that dotted this area. The further I made it into town, the stranger it felt. There is something incredibly eerie about walking through a place that hasn’t been populated in almost 80 years. I found what looked like an old general store that was partially reclaimed by juniper trees and bushes. Next to the store was a house still standing with a porch. The windows were all broken and the porch had smashed rocking chairs still sitting on it. At one point I found a child’s shoe half buried in the dirt. As I continued down the road, I found tire tracks on a dirt road that split off and went further back into the valley.

I tried to think back to my conversation with Jim to remember when he said it had last stormed out here. I thought surely, those tracks couldn’t have lasted through that right? I decided to follow the tracks down the path. Walking down the road I couldn’t help but feel watched. I knew it was just my mind playing with me but something about the angle of the sun and trees just makes it feel strange. The shadows danced and more than once made me think I had seen something moving on one side or the other, but every time I looked, I saw nothing. After about 15 minutes of walking, I started to smell smoke. Smoke? Was something burning out here? Then a few minutes later, to my right I heard a low, mechanical humming coming from just over the hill side. I started up the hill towards the top, pushing my way through trees and bushes so thick, you can hardly see in front of you. When I finally made it to the top I stopped.

Wedged in the valley, right there in the middle of nowhere Gold Hill, was a small camp.

Several small structures arranged in semicircles on the sides of the makeshift road. I could hear a generator running.  Several trucks parked nearby, none of them looked like they were particularly old. One of them even looked like the one that Mr. Johnson had described seeing leaving town with supplies. I just stood there trying to process what I was seeing.

Someone was living here…more than just one person, multiple people were living here.

“Hello?” I called out.

No one answered.

“Is anyone here?”

Still nothing.

I stood there in disbelief, staring at this camp. Tables sat in the middle of the structures, with what looked like boxes and canned food sitting on one. Propane tanks lined one side of a structure, children’s toys in front of another. A small fire burned with folding chairs arranged around it. At one point I could have sworn I heard music playing quietly.

I wanted to keep looking around but I knew that I didn’t have long before it would start to get dark and I didn’t want to be out here at night.  With that in mind, getting back to my car became priority number one and my curiosity would just have to wait. I got back to the dirt road and started walking back the way I came. After a few feet I noticed something on the road. Footprints….walking just off to the side of mine as if they were following me.

Hello everyone,

Since my car isn’t supposed to be fixed until tomorrow, today was filled with walking around town and talking to some of the locals. I started with Bonnie, the front desk clerk.

She’s a nice enough woman, older maybe mid sixties? She’s petite with thick glasses and a warm presence almost like a grandmother. When asked about the missing people she didn’t have much to add, just the same things we’ve all heard. When I asked about Gold Hill though, it was a different story.

Bonnie mentioned an older man named Mr. Johnson who claimed he’d seen people hauling large amounts of supplies into the mountains in that direction. Immediately, my interest was piqued and I asked where I could find him. Bonnie told me that Mr. Johnson is always sitting in the diner down the street, so I headed that way. The diner was a textbook version out of a lifetime movie. Red cushioned stools along a counter, booths lining the walls on both sides with the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee filling the air. Mr. Johnson was right where Bonnie said he would be. He sat in a booth in the corner, large plate of eggs and a coffee in front of him. I walked over and asked if I could sit down.

I introduced myself and explained what I was doing here. I asked him to tell me about himself. He explained that after serving in Vietnam, he got a job as a truck driver and settled out here because he liked how far away it was from big cities. After warming up to each other a bit, I started asking him about Gold Hill and what he saw.

He said about 2 months back, two men loaded a truck up at the hardware store with as much as it could hold. Tools, a couple generators, some building materials and other basic supplies. When he tried talking to them about it, they were polite but vague. Then they took off towards the mountains and that was that. He said:

\*“I’d seen them a couple times after that. It’s always the same thing, load up supplies and head off. I can’t figure anywhere else they’d be going heading in that direction.”\*

It was about this time that a friend of his, Mr. Randall, sat down next to him. According to him, the two men had been friends for years. Mr. Johnson continued:

\*“Place ain’t been used in over 70 years. Don’t know what those fellas are looking for but I doubt they’ll have any luck.”\*

\*“Why do you say that?”\* I responded.

Mr. Randall spoke up:

\*“Supposedly there was a lower shaft somewhere in the mine that got sealed up long ago. Every couple of years somebody gets a wild hair and claim they’re going to go find it. No one ever finds anything though.”\*

I asked if the mine was dangerous to which Mr. Johnson just replied:

\*“Hell son, everything in a mine is dangerous. You’re in a tunnel hundreds of feet below the rock. Ain’t enough money in the world to convince me to do that.”\*

I continued to sit and talk with the two men for about an hour or so more. Everything just seemed so bizarre. Why would anyone care about an old mine? But they were adamant that every few years, someone gets almost obsessed about it and then that’s it, nothing ever comes of it. Still, if people are going back out there now, I’m definitely interested in why they’re doing it.

They said if I had any more questions about Gold Hill, I should swing by the library. So that was my next stop. I figured why not, I’m stuck here until the morning anyways, worst case I find something to read in the meantime.

When I arrived at the library I was greeted (and I use that term incredibly loosely) by an intimidatingly quiet librarian. Likely in her mid 50s, the woman sat maybe five foot tall, had straight, gray hair pulled into a tight bun. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or what. She wasn’t exactly unfriendly but seemed like any conversation was an unnecessary interruption of whatever she was doing before I arrived.

When asked where I might find information about the mines she didn’t say a word, she just pointed to a back corner of the library where the archive terminals were located. I thanked her and went to the back.

For the most part, it was just more of the same. I went through document after document. Following articles talking about the operations picking back up in 1892 when the first mills started seeing productive gold and copper extraction, just to close in 1895. There was a “Major Boom” with the arrival of the Deep Creek Railroad in 1917 followed by closure in 1925. A “Resurgence” in 1943 to supply the war department during World War 2, just to come to a halt shortly after.

I found one article with the headline:

\*“MINERS STRIKE NEW VEIN IN GOLD HILL”\*
Dated: May 2nd, 1942.

Beneath the headline was a picture of six men standing in front of the newly opened mine. Below the picture were the names of the six men from left to right:

\*M. Voss\*
\*T. Williams\*
\*J. Calder\*
\*W. Holiday\*
\*H. Elliot\*
\*L. Kessler\*

After reading that I paused. Calder? Why did that name sound familiar? I pulled out my notes and looked through the names that Sheriff Deacon gave me.

There it was…

T. Calder.

I figured I would post this as a running log, like a journal to arrange my thoughts as I work through this. I work as an investigative journalist for a paper in Utah and have recently been given the assignment of investigating a rash of disappearances along the I-80 corridor.

A little bit about me, my name is Sam. I grew up in a small town in Texas. When people who aren’t from there hear that, more times than not, they think of your stereotypical version you’d see in media. Everyone knows everyone, people to church on Sundays, high school sports are the most entertaining thing you can find to do and no one typically leaves, and in my case you would be right. I had no interest in working blue collar jobs and living my whole life 15 minutes from my childhood home. In high school I enjoyed writing and did good enough to get accepted to college, and focused on a degree in investigative journalism. I figured since everyone in a small town grew up knowing everyone else’s business anyways, might as well turn that into a job.

After graduation I got an offer to write for a small local paper near Salt Lake City, Utah and I took it. As the newest one there, I spent a few years with nothing too spectacular to write. There was the occasional accident to cover, changes to local municipal staff, and other boring things like that but nothing ground breaking or exciting. That is until a couple of days ago when my boss, Mr. Gregory, came to my desk and gave me this assignment and it may just be my first chance at something important.

My first stop was yesterday in Tooele. I arrived at the Tooele County Sheriff’s Department, where I met with Sheriff Deacon. Four missing people had been reported from the outskirts of the county and he was happy to answer any questions I had. After the normal pleasantries and generic questions, I asked if he had any leads about what was happening and he said:

*“Unfortunately no and to be honest we don’t have a ton to go on. None of the four individuals had any family in the area and none of their cars have been located. All but one of them were only reported missing when they stopped showing up for work. We still aren’t 100% sure what happened. They could have just decided to leave and start over somewhere else. It’s a beautiful town but there isn’t always a ton of growth around here for restless people.”*

I told him it didn’t make much sense. When I asked why they wouldn’t have told someone they wouldn’t be coming back at least, he just replied:

*“I don’t know Sam. We’re still treating these as missing persons cases but, so far we have come up with anything. Everyone we have talked to never offered much to go on.”*

He was able to give me the place of employment for each person thankfully and I spent the rest of the day going from one place to the next. Unfortunately, each stop was the same as the previous, fruitless.

This morning I woke up and started back on the road. The I-80 corridor from Tooele to Elko is a 215 mile stretch between west Utah and eastern Nevada with mostly nothing but desert beside the interstate with mountains off in the distance. As miles rolled by, I couldn’t help think about what the sheriff said. They didn’t find any of the cars? No sign of them at all? I mean it’s flat desert for miles in all directions. You would be able to see if they had pulled off or got stuck somewhere. Where could they have gone?

As I arrived on the outskirts of Wendover, my cars radiator decided it had had enough and my engine started to overheat. Luckily, I was able to limp my car into the first service station I saw. A tall portly man with a balding head and a beard that would make members of ZZ Top jealous named Jim, came walking out as I pulled in with a cloud of smoke pouring out from under my hood. As I parked he said:

*“Lord have mercy son, how longs it been doing that?”*

I explained to him I had only limped it along for maybe 10 minutes and popped the hood for him to check it out.
He took a few minutes to check out the engine compartment, muttering and humming as he looked and then said:

*“Son, you’re lucky you pulled in when you did. Judging by the look of it you’d have done a lot hell of a lot more damage had you gone much further. I ain’t got this specific radiator in the back but should be able to get one in tomorrow morning, shouldn’t take more than four or five hours to get it swapped out. I’d say safe bet you’re back on the road the day after tomorrow.”*

I told him that definitely beats having it towed all the way back home and having to start this process all over. He offered to take me to a hotel that was maybe 10 minutes down the road. I told him thank you and grabbed my bag out of the back of my car. I climbed into the passenger seat of Jim’s truck as we started down the road.

He asked what brought me out and I explained what I was working on. Being my first time out this way, I asked him if he had seen or heard anything about it. He said:

*“Well hell, it’s a big desert out here. Many a people come out here and drop life savings into a casino then crawl in a bottle a drink away what little they have left. Plus, there’s plenty of places to go if a person don’t want to be found.”*

I asked him if he had seen anything suspicious lately.

*“Suspicious? No. I did have to tow a fella who broke down maybe 25 miles north of Gold Hill. That’s honestly about it.”*

When I asked him about Gold Hill he explained that it was an old ghost town out between Wendover and the Goshute Reservation. He said the town had gone away and popped back up on and off since the 1850s. The gold rush, the arsenic boom, tungsten mining, reason after reason of the town to open and close. He also said that since the mining in the 1940s ended, there hasn’t been a reason for anyone to go back out there and in his own words:

*“and I never had any reason to go check it out.”*

When I asked him if the guy had said why he was out there, Jim just replied:

*“No. I figured he got lost and turned around. Cell signal isn’t exactly a guarantee out there. It’s out tucked in the mountains and to call the paths out there roads is generous. I doubt much maintenance is done out there and there’s been some real rough storms in that area the past few months. Luckily the storms don’t ever make it up this far.”*

It was about that time that we made it to the hotel and I was dropped off. Since I’ve got a couple of days until my car is back up and running, I might as well ask around here and see what I can find out. I haven’t ever heard of, much less been to Gold Hill. Maybe someone around here can give me some more information and I can check things out.

Well, now I’m going to go take a shower and get into bed.
I’ll write more soon.

Hello everyone,

Since my car isn’t supposed to be fixed until tomorrow, today was filled with walking around town and talking to some of the locals. I started with Bonnie, the front desk clerk.

She’s a nice enough woman, older maybe mid sixties? She’s petite with thick glasses and a warm presence almost like a grandmother. When asked about the missing people she didn’t have much to add, just the same things we’ve all heard. When I asked about Gold Hill though, it was a different story.

Bonnie mentioned an older man named Mr. Johnson who claimed he’d seen people hauling large amounts of supplies into the mountains in that direction. Immediately, my interest was piqued and I asked where I could find him. Bonnie told me that Mr. Johnson is always sitting in the diner down the street, so I headed that way. The diner was a textbook version out of a lifetime movie. Red cushioned stools along a counter, booths lining the walls on both sides with the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee filling the air. Mr. Johnson was right where Bonnie said he would be. He sat in a booth in the corner, large plate of eggs and a coffee in front of him. I walked over and asked if I could sit down.

I introduced myself and explained what I was doing here. I asked him to tell me about himself. He explained that after serving in Vietnam, he got a job as a truck driver and settled out here because he liked how far away it was from big cities. After warming up to each other a bit, I started asking him about Gold Hill and what he saw.

He said about 2 months back, two men loaded a truck up at the hardware store with as much as it could hold. Tools, a couple generators, some building materials and other basic supplies. When he tried talking to them about it, they were polite but vague. Then they took off towards the mountains and that was that. He said:

*“I’d seen them a couple times after that. It’s always the same thing, load up supplies and head off. I can’t figure anywhere else they’d be going heading in that direction.”*

It was about this time that a friend of his, Mr. Randall, sat down next to him. According to him, the two men had been friends for years. Mr. Johnson continued:

*“Place ain’t been used in over 70 years. Don’t know what those fellas are looking for but I doubt they’ll have any luck.”*

*“Why do you say that?”* I responded.

Mr. Randall spoke up:

*“Supposedly there was a lower shaft somewhere in the mine that got sealed up long ago. Every couple of years somebody gets a wild hair and claim they’re going to go find it. No one ever finds anything though.”*

I asked if the mine was dangerous to which Mr. Johnson just replied:

*“Hell son, everything in a mine is dangerous. You’re in a tunnel hundreds of feet below the rock. Ain’t enough money in the world to convince me to do that.”*

I continued to sit and talk with the two men for about an hour or so more. Everything just seemed so bizarre. Why would anyone care about an old mine? But they were adamant that every few years, someone gets almost obsessed about it and then that’s it, nothing ever comes of it. Still, if people are going back out there now, I’m definitely interested in why they’re doing it.

They said if I had any more questions about Gold Hill, I should swing by the library. So that was my next stop. I figured why not, I’m stuck here until the morning anyways, worst case I find something to read in the meantime.

When I arrived at the library I was greeted (and I use that term incredibly loosely) by an intimidatingly quiet librarian. Likely in her mid 50s, the woman sat maybe five foot tall, had straight, gray hair pulled into a tight bun. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or what. She wasn’t exactly unfriendly but seemed like any conversation was an unnecessary interruption of whatever she was doing before I arrived.

When asked where I might find information about the mines she didn’t say a word, she just pointed to a back corner of the library where the archive terminals were located. I thanked her and went to the back.

For the most part, it was just more of the same. I went through document after document. Following articles talking about the operations picking back up in 1892 when the first mills started seeing productive gold and copper extraction, just to close in 1895. There was a “Major Boom” with the arrival of the Deep Creek Railroad in 1917 followed by closure in 1925. A “Resurgence” in 1943 to supply the war department during World War 2, just to come to a halt shortly after.

I found one article with the headline:

*“MINERS STRIKE NEW VEIN IN GOLD HILL”*
Dated: May 2nd, 1942.

Beneath the headline was a picture of six men standing in front of the newly opened mine. Below the picture were the names of the six men from left to right:

*M. Voss*
*T. Williams*
*J. Calder*
*W. Holiday*
*H. Elliot*
*L. Kessler*

After reading that I paused. Calder? Why did that name sound familiar? I pulled out my notes and looked through the names that Sheriff Deacon gave me.

There it was…

T. Calder.

I figured I would post this as a running log, like a journal to arrange my thoughts as I work through this. I work as an investigative journalist for a paper in Utah and have recently been given the assignment of investigating a rash of disappearances along the I-80 corridor.

A little bit about me, my name is Sam. I grew up in a small town in Texas. When people who aren’t from there hear that, more times than not, they think of your stereotypical version you’d see in media. Everyone knows everyone, people to church on Sundays, high school sports are the most entertaining thing you can find to do and no one typically leaves, and in my case you would be right. I had no interest in working blue collar jobs and living my whole life 15 minutes from my childhood home. In high school I enjoyed writing and did good enough to get accepted to college, and focused on a degree in investigative journalism. I figured since everyone in a small town grew up knowing everyone else’s business anyways, might as well turn that into a job.

After graduation I got an offer to write for a small local paper near Salt Lake City, Utah and I took it. As the newest one there, I spent a few years with nothing too spectacular to write. There was the occasional accident to cover, changes to local municipal staff, and other boring things like that but nothing ground breaking or exciting. That is until a couple of days ago when my boss, Mr. Gregory, came to my desk and gave me this assignment and it may just be my first chance at something important.

My first stop was yesterday in Tooele. I arrived at the Tooele County Sheriff’s Department, where I met with Sheriff Deacon. Four missing people had been reported from the outskirts of the county and he was happy to answer any questions I had. After the normal pleasantries and generic questions, I asked if he had any leads about what was happening and he said:

*“Unfortunately no and to be honest we don’t have a ton to go on. None of the four individuals had any family in the area and none of their cars have been located. All but one of them were only reported missing when they stopped showing up for work. We still aren’t 100% sure what happened. They could have just decided to leave and start over somewhere else. It’s a beautiful town but there isn’t always a ton of growth around here for restless people.”*

I told him it didn’t make much sense. When I asked why they wouldn’t have told someone they wouldn’t be coming back at least, he just replied:

*“I don’t know Sam. We’re still treating these as missing persons cases but, so far we have come up with anything. Everyone we have talked to never offered much to go on.”*

He was able to give me the place of employment for each person thankfully and I spent the rest of the day going from one place to the next. Unfortunately, each stop was the same as the previous, fruitless.

This morning I woke up and started back on the road. The I-80 corridor from Tooele to Elko is a 215 mile stretch between west Utah and eastern Nevada with mostly nothing but desert beside the interstate with mountains off in the distance. As miles rolled by, I couldn’t help think about what the sheriff said. They didn’t find any of the cars? No sign of them at all? I mean it’s flat desert for miles in all directions. You would be able to see if they had pulled off or got stuck somewhere. Where could they have gone?

As I arrived on the outskirts of Wendover, my cars radiator decided it had had enough and my engine started to overheat. Luckily, I was able to limp my car into the first service station I saw. A tall portly man with a balding head and a beard that would make members of ZZ Top jealous named Jim, came walking out as I pulled in with a cloud of smoke pouring out from under my hood. As I parked he said:

*“Lord have mercy son, how longs it been doing that?”*

I explained to him I had only limped it along for maybe 10 minutes and popped the hood for him to check it out.
He took a few minutes to check out the engine compartment, muttering and humming as he looked and then said:

*“Son, you’re lucky you pulled in when you did. Judging by the look of it you’d have done a lot hell of a lot more damage had you gone much further. I ain’t got this specific radiator in the back but should be able to get one in tomorrow morning, shouldn’t take more than four or five hours to get it swapped out. I’d say safe bet you’re back on the road the day after tomorrow.”*

I told him that definitely beats having it towed all the way back home and having to start this process all over. He offered to take me to a hotel that was maybe 10 minutes down the road. I told him thank you and grabbed my bag out of the back of my car. I climbed into the passenger seat of Jim’s truck as we started down the road.

He asked what brought me out and I explained what I was working on. Being my first time out this way, I asked him if he had seen or heard anything about it. He said:

*“Well hell, it’s a big desert out here. Many a people come out here and drop life savings into a casino then crawl in a bottle a drink away what little they have left. Plus, there’s plenty of places to go if a person don’t want to be found.”*

I asked him if he had seen anything suspicious lately.

*“Suspicious? No. I did have to tow a fella who broke down maybe 25 miles north of Gold Hill. That’s honestly about it.”*

When I asked him about Gold Hill he explained that it was an old ghost town out between Wendover and the Goshute Reservation. He said the town had gone away and popped back up on and off since the 1850s. The gold rush, the arsenic boom, tungsten mining, reason after reason of the town to open and close. He also said that since the mining in the 1940s ended, there hasn’t been a reason for anyone to go back out there and in his own words:

*“and I never had any reason to go check it out.”*

When I asked him if the guy had said why he was out there, Jim just replied:

*“No. I figured he got lost and turned around. Cell signal isn’t exactly a guarantee out there. It’s out tucked in the mountains and to call the paths out there roads is generous. I doubt much maintenance is done out there and there’s been some real rough storms in that area the past few months. Luckily the storms don’t ever make it up this far.”*

It was about that time that we made it to the hotel and I was dropped off. Since I’ve got a couple of days until my car is back up and running, I might as well ask around here and see what I can find out. I haven’t ever heard of, much less been to Gold Hill. Maybe someone around here can give me some more information and I can check things out.

Well, now I’m going to go take a shower and get into bed.
I’ll write more soon.

I figured I would post this as a running log, like a journal to arrange my thoughts as I work through this. I work as an investigative journalist for a paper in Utah and have recently been given the assignment of investigating a rash of disappearances along the I-80 corridor.

A little bit about me, my name is Sam. I grew up in a small town in Texas. When people who aren’t from there hear that, more times than not, they think of your stereotypical version you’d see in media. Everyone knows everyone, people to church on Sundays, high school sports are the most entertaining thing you can find to do and no one typically leaves, and in my case you would be right. I had no interest in working blue collar jobs and living my whole life 15 minutes from my childhood home. In high school I enjoyed writing and did good enough to get accepted to college, and focused on a degree in investigative journalism. I figured since everyone in a small town grew up knowing everyone else’s business anyways, might as well turn that into a job.

After graduation I got an offer to write for a small local paper near Salt Lake City, Utah and I took it. As the newest one there, I spent a few years with nothing too spectacular to write. There was the occasional accident to cover, changes to local municipal staff, and other boring things like that but nothing ground breaking or exciting. That is until a couple of days ago when my boss, Mr. Gregory, came to my desk and gave me this assignment and it may just be my first chance at something important.

My first stop was yesterday in Tooele. I arrived at the Tooele County Sheriff’s Department, where I met with Sheriff Deacon. Four missing people had been reported from the outskirts of the county and he was happy to answer any questions I had. After the normal pleasantries and generic questions, I asked if he had any leads about what was happening and he said:

“Unfortunately no and to be honest we don’t have a ton to go on. None of the four individuals had any family in the area and none of their cars have been located. All but one of them were only reported missing when they stopped showing up for work. We still aren’t 100% sure what happened. They could have just decided to leave and start over somewhere else. It’s a beautiful town but there isn’t always a ton of growth around here for restless people.”

I told him it didn’t make much sense. When I asked why they wouldn’t have told someone they wouldn’t be coming back at least, he just replied:

“I don’t know Sam. We’re still treating these as missing persons cases but, so far we have come up with anything. Everyone we have talked to never offered much to go on.”

He was able to give me the place of employment for each person thankfully and I spent the rest of the day going from one place to the next. Unfortunately, each stop was the same as the previous, fruitless.

This morning I woke up and started back on the road. The I-80 corridor from Tooele to Elko is a 215 mile stretch between west Utah and eastern Nevada with mostly nothing but desert beside the interstate with mountains off in the distance. As miles rolled by, I couldn’t help think about what the sheriff said. They didn’t find any of the cars? No sign of them at all? I mean it’s flat desert for miles in all directions. You would be able to see if they had pulled off or got stuck somewhere. Where could they have gone?

As I arrived on the outskirts of Wendover, my cars radiator decided it had had enough and my engine started to overheat. Luckily, I was able to limp my car into the first service station I saw. A tall portly man with a balding head and a beard that would make members of ZZ Top jealous named Jim, came walking out as I pulled in with a cloud of smoke pouring out from under my hood. As I parked he said:

“Lord have mercy son, how longs it been doing that?”

I explained to him I had only limped it along for maybe 10 minutes and popped the hood for him to check it out.
He took a few minutes to check out the engine compartment, muttering and humming as he looked and then said:

“Son, you’re lucky you pulled in when you did. Judging by the look of it you’d have done a lot hell of a lot more damage had you gone much further. I ain’t got this specific radiator in the back but should be able to get one in tomorrow morning, shouldn’t take more than four or five hours to get it swapped out. I’d say safe bet you’re back on the road the day after tomorrow.”

I told him that definitely beats having it towed all the way back home and having to start this process all over. He offered to take me to a hotel that was maybe 10 minutes down the road. I told him thank you and grabbed my bag out of the back of my car. I climbed into the passenger seat of Jim’s truck as we started down the road.

He asked what brought me out and I explained what I was working on. Being my first time out this way, I asked him if he had seen or heard anything about it. He said:

“Well hell, it’s a big desert out here. Many a people come out here and drop life savings into a casino then crawl in a bottle a drink away what little they have left. Plus, there’s plenty of places to go if a person don’t want to be found.”

I asked him if he had seen anything suspicious lately.

“Suspicious? No. I did have to tow a fella who broke down maybe 25 miles north of Gold Hill. That’s honestly about it.”

When I asked him about Gold Hill he explained that it was an old ghost town out between Wendover and the Goshute Reservation. He said the town had gone away and popped back up on and off since the 1850s. The gold rush, the arsenic boom, tungsten mining, reason after reason of the town to open and close. He also said that since the mining in the 1940s ended, there hasn’t been a reason for anyone to go back out there and in his own words:

“and I never had any reason to go check it out.”

When I asked him if the guy had said why he was out there, Jim just replied:

“No. I figured he got lost and turned around. Cell signal isn’t exactly a guarantee out there. It’s out tucked in the mountains and to call the paths out there roads is generous. I doubt much maintenance is done out there and there’s been some real rough storms in that area the past few months. Luckily the storms don’t ever make it up this far.”

It was about that time that we made it to the hotel and I was dropped off. Since I’ve got a couple of days until my car is back up and running, I might as well ask around here and see what I can find out. I haven’t ever heard of, much less been to Gold Hill. Maybe someone around here can give me some more information and I can check things out.

Well, now I’m going to go take a shower and get into bed.
I’ll write more soon.

The following has been transcribed from the video log of Craig Thompson, Research Scientist, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration:

April 9th, 2026

My name is Dr. Craig Thompson. I’m currently on day 16 aboard the Research Vessel (RV) Guidance in the Pacific Ocean. I have decided to write down my notes as we continue forward on our journey. We have been tasked with continuing the research of the RV Endeavor. 6 months ago, the last communication from the Endeavor was received. For months following the last communications, an extensive search effort was underway, but no sign of wreckage or crew were located. That is until one month ago, when a small amount of wreckage washed ashore in Guam. The local NOAA field office was notified and the contents were sent to my office in San Diego for further examination.

The Endeavor and crew were on a two month research and survey mission around areas of the Mariana Trench following strange seismic activity and sounds captured by NOAA DART buoys. The buoys commonly use Bottom Pressure Recorders (BPRs) and hydrophones to monitor low-frequency tremors indicative of Tsunamis and seismic activity. The recorded activity detected prior to the launch of the RV Endeavor’s mission, was unlike any we had seen before. Our head office decided that the findings warranted further investigation and Dr. Adam Williams set off with a 50 man crew. The trip was supposed to take roughly 24 days to get to the survey area, which would allow up to roughly two weeks of surveying and measurement in the area of interest. The Endeavor was supposed to then start the voyage back to home base.

The limited wreckage recovered was seemingly coated in a strange, slime like substance that our leadership, quickly dismissed as naturally occurring, like an algae. Among the small amount of debris recovered was a container belonging to Dr. Williams. Inside the container were recordings made by him and while the recorder was badly damaged the tapes seemingly survived. After days of desperately needed repair and drying, I’m finally able to listen to his recordings. I will be sure to report any significant findings.

April 11th, 2026

I have currently made it to day 19 of Dr. Williams’ notes and they have been incredibly detailed. He has taken multiple measurements each day along his path from water temperature, wind speeds, as well as multiple recordings from seismic and audio recording equipment. As of yet, he has been unable to locate any instance of the initial findings that brought him out here. He stated the condition of the team and crew as undeterred and in relatively high spirits. He did however, mention a small portion of the crew members seemingly under high amounts of anxiety and nausea. They were sent to med bay and later released with the medical staff’s clearance.

Nothing further significant to report.

April 12th, 2026

I am on day 20 of Dr. Williams’ recordings they are roughly 700 nautical miles from the survey area, and I can only describe them as….strange. He reported more of the crew with similar symptoms to those from days prior. While he places the blame on the crew just being sea sick, there’s a noticeable concern in his voice. Furthermore, he claims he has started picking up strange anomalies in his readings. He claimed that there would be spikes in activity. First, low rumbling similar to those initial recordings but then he claimed to hear a faint, high pitched……chittering? What could he have possibly heard? It doesn’t make any sense. The man has done this for so long and I’ve never seen or heard even the slightest sign of him being unnerved. That’s all for tonight, I’ll continue tomorrow.

April 13th, 2026

I have completed reviewing day 21 of Dr. Williams’ recordings. That’s the day he arrived at the edge of the survey area and well….you should hear his words yourself as I don’t know what to make of it.

-Dr. Thompson pushes play as Dr. Williams’ recording begins:

“The day is finally here, we have arrived at the edge of our survey area and moving further in now to begin.”

-A loud crash and the sound of falling equipment can be heard

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? God, just look at this mess! My equipment is everywhere!”

-The tape cuts out and then continues

“I just spoke to the Captain. It appears as if we have had engine failure, he claimed the boat just stopped as if it had run aground but….theres no way that could have happened this far out. At least while they’re sorting the engine out I can continue my research. I don’t want to lose any research time while they’re repairing the ship. I’ll have the team deploy some equipment to keep us busy and report back later.”

-Hours later

“This crew will be the death of me. They’ve been fumbling with that engine for over 4 hours and no one can seem to figure out why we’re not moving. The maintenance team claimed there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with it. They said the engine itself is seemingly responding to controls and yet we have not budged an inch in hours. They have no idea what part of the system is broken. To top it all off, our communications systems appear to have gone out as well. We have tried to reach out to anyone who will listen and have heard nothing but static for hours. We’re right where we should be for this project and can’t do a damned thing of any value.

Audio testing came back and there are things I cannot explain. I’ve gotten many recordings now of low rumbling but it isn’t right. It isn’t static or predictable. The times between are varying and it’s coming from different locations almost like it’s….moving. There has to be a logical explanation for this. Wind readings were just as confusing as the equipment showed no wind speed. It’s the open ocean for god’s sake we should be seeing at least a few knots. Weeks of travel and nothing to show for it other than inconclusive information.”

-End of audio recording as Dr. Thompson resumes

• What possibly could have stopped a ship dead in the
• water? What did he mean it’s moving? Is his equipment faulty? Did it break in the sudden stop? Nothing about this adds up but Dr. Williams has seldom been wrong before. I’m going to continue listening and I’ll report more tomorrow.

April 14th, 2026

• I finished the remainder of Dr. Williams’ logs and I feel any faint hope I had for
• my friend or the crew being found alive has been dashed.

-Dr. Thompson looks down and hits play as Dr. Williams’ voice begins

“Two days. For two days we’ve languished in the exact same location. The crew is unable to get us moving and has been unable to come up with any reason as to why. They’ve all but given up on any repair efforts for the engines. Furthermore our communications still remain just as useless. No response, no other traffic has come across any channel for days. Nothing but unrelenting static and silence. No other ships have come anywhere near us either, not so much as a damn plane in the sky to attempt to signal. It’s as if we’re completely cut off from the world around us. The crew has begun to get restless. Several of them have reported hearing the sounds of…something on the undersides of the ship when they’re below deck. Like something’s crawling or scratching at the sides. This morning a small fist sized hole opened below deck and water started to pour in. Luckily a crew member was there and got it under control before it got out of hand. Minutes later another opened and was eventually repaired, then a third. Each time a hole appeared, it was preceded by a low rumble followed by the same chittering sound I had documented earlier in the week… each time it seemed as if the sound was getting louder. The Captain has been trying to keep everyone calm but what is he to say? We don’t have the slightest prospect of getting ourselves out of our predicament. Our last hopes lie with a three man team the Captain picked to take a small emergency boat to hopefully make it to land somewhere around us but that’s an act of desperation. Even if they somehow made it the hundreds of miles, would they return while the ship is still afloat? Only time will tell. We are about to see them off now.”

-Dr. Williams’ recording resumes and it’s the following day. The doctor’s voice is noticeably shaken and he seems to have been recently sobbing

“It seems the end is now near. When we tried to launch the emergency boat, any hope we had was dashed out as fast as it came. The Captain picked three men, Matt Winters, Clay Sampson, and Josh Miller, to go on what would be our last chance at rescue. We lowered the men and boat into the ocean and as they got no more than 100 feet from the ship, a huge torrent of water and violence erupted beneath them. Within seconds the three men and the boat they were on seemingly vanished beneath the water. No sign of the men or the vessel resurfaced. The ocean was still as if nothing had happened. The only sign that there had been any life at all…was the red tinge of blood.”

-The final log of Dr Williams begins to play as an unnerving sense of calm can be heard in his voice interrupted only by slight sobs of crew members in the background

“This will be my final recording. The ship has begun sinking. It started to list to the port side not long ago, and rooms on ship have begun to fill with water. Then there are the sounds…..like teeth grinding against the hull. Most of the crew is gone, consumed, taken away by…something. Like masses moving across the ceiling, twisting and warping in unexplainable ways, rapidly filling the passageways. It moved so quickly.”

-Muffled screams can be heard in the background as loud bangs erupt in a deafening roar

“Oh god…”

-The tape abruptly ends. Dr. Thompson sits silently as he ponders the last words of Dr. Williams. The door in the back of the Dr. Thompson’s room opens and the Captain steps in and says:

“Dr. Thompson, we’ve arrived at the edge of the survey area”

-as the RV Guidance slams to a complete stop.

Note:

This is my first story in years. I’m by no means a professional nor do I claim to be. I’ve always enjoyed telling stories but never really sat down to write them. This community and Creepcast have gotten me back into it and convinced me to finally put my stories out there. Please feel free to comment suggestions, critiques, feedback etc. Thank you all!