I have been thinking about this for a while.. I might get flogged for it..
There is a desperate need for social engineering, and one form of it is a social credit system like in China. Don't make fun of China; it's a superpower, for God's sake. For example, the visa approval rate for Chinese students across the world is almost 95%, and they have zero tolerance for corruption.
In this system, citizens who pay taxes, follow rules, and do not engage in criminal activities should get benefits, like tax reductions, travel opportunities, or job positions who have a criminal records or repeat offenders are "blacklisted". China is successfully using it to evaluate the trustworthiness of people and businesses. If you are blacklisted there, you can't do anything, even buy a bottle of water from a vending machine.
In Pakistan if its implement at any level it can be improved just by listing educations further trainings on online portals. Trainings in basic ethics and manners, such as paying taxes, keeping streets clean, reporting crime, and respecting public and government institutions.
No man or woman should be issued a Matric certificate without completing a certain number of civic good citizenship training sessions, which should be listed on their records. Do not even issue a passport to such a person. Yes, not everyone can read and write, but they can attend training sessions about it. Something needs to be done to educate people. We are only going backwards in everything. Having a passport and a driver's license is a privilege, to be honest. No one should get a government job if they have a poor social credit rating.

PRESENT
This is Part 2 of 3, the Present, in game events we see! Onwards!
The Protagonist is some sort of content creator, one that goes to abandoned or forgotten places and "searches" them, as can be gleaned from the cameras facing the protagonist on his desk, and his conversation with a certain Laura, or LSparks53 (there's also an error in this Harmony tab, with one of the messages from Laura reading as from LauraSparks53 instead of LSparks53. Just a note). This Laura helps our protagonist, who goes by the username of eEnsign. His profile picture are the letters UF, which is weird, since it doesn't match the username, nor what Laura calls eEnsign: Ed. Anyways, I digress. From now on, I'll call the protagonist Ed as well. Laura helps Ed get footage of these places as per the conversation.
eEnsign: "Hey Laura! I'm doing another search this weekend! Wanna come with me?"
LSparks53: "The last few times I've gone with you SUCKED LMAO."
eEnsign: "Remember that old theme park we went to see as kids? Indigo Park?"
LSparks53: "yeah? I kind of forgot about that place? Been closed for a while, right? how would you even get in?"
eEnsign: "Honestly, I don't know. I'm not even gonna bring my equipment. Jump a fence of something? We've done worse lol”
LSparks53: "aight, well just be careful. I'm gonna pass on this one. if you can get in i'll go with you to help record some other time. i'm looking it up now and there's like NO info online about it. probably swarming with cops too."
eEnsign: "I guess we'll find out! I'll check it out, maybe we can go together next week?
Lsparks53: "just be careful, Ed. I don't want to be paying your bail."
And with that conversation, we learn that these two are like a dynamic duo of sorts, having some sort of channel or website where they post footage of places lost to time and "search" them, breaking laws of trespassing and such, apparently also having "done worse", whatever that means. Maybe they took a few things from the place, so burglary? It's never specified. Probably burglary, though, considering that Ed has taken to collecting all sorts of plushies and such from Indigo Park.
What I want to point out is how weird this Laura person acts. As soon as Indigo Park is mentioned, Laura instantly seems to dislike the idea, but never directly says it. Instead, she becomes reluctant to go with Ed, despite having done worse, as Ed puts it. Perhaps she's just cautious, and based on her last sentence, they haven't been caught before, or else she would have said "I don't want to be paying your bail again."
However, I don't think that's the case. Remember when Laura said she looked up Indigo Park and found nothing? Well, we know the website is still up and running, or at the very least, Ed used some sort of service like the Wayback Machine to pull it up on the right most monitor on his desk, which can be seen in the opening cutscene. On it, there's even an option to purchase tickets still, which is incredibly weird, which I'll also go into later on. Why would a defunct theme park need a still running website? After all, if you evacuate everyone from it with no explanation, wouldn't you want to get rid of all evidence of it? If not destroy the property outright, then at least take the website down. Again, digressing, the point is that Laura didn't find this website ... or she did, but didn't say anything.
Again, this is purely speculation at this point; I mean, the two of them have broke into a few places trespassing and recording and documenting abandoned places at least a few times for the internet, and maybe she really is just that cautious, worried about being imprisoned and charged for trespassing, and even attempted burglary.
And it seems like Ed is asking the same questions we are. Behind the Harmony tab is a notes tab with several questions such as "Why did it close?" and "What is left?", among a few others that are cut off. The next question seems to ask "Is it still" something. Seems like Ed and us are in the same boat. Hopefully we can help each other out.
Regardless, Ed ends up climbing the fence and enters the closed off Indigo Park, where dozens of crates stamped with the Indigo Park logo, along with trash, can be seen. Walking around, the main gates are closed off, and one of the doors seem to open on their own, allowing Ed entry into the Registration Center, a desk with a few monitors where a Rangler would sit and check Ed in.
Inside, the Rambley AI comes to life, noting that Ed is the first person there in just over eight years, before directing us to the previously mentioned Registration Center. It is revealed here that AI Rambley has access to the cameras (both computer cameras and CCTV cameras), where he notes that Ed isn’t on the guest list, probably because he snuck in, and didn’t pay for his tickets. However, what stands out as odd is that Rambley doesn’t recognize Ed at all, asking if he was here for the first time. We know that it’s most definitely not Ed’s first time here, but it’s unclear if AI Rambley doesn’t recognize Ed because he grew up, or the registration process requires a photo upload.
Rambley AI: "Hm, I don't seem to have your face in the guest list. Is this your first time here in the park? Or did you just get plastic surgery?"
From here, Ed’s directed to go through the gates, but both AI Rambley and Ed realize that the gates are not open and are instead sending an error message. Going back to the Registration Center, Ed finds and replaces a missing gear, and the gates finally open, from where Ed is free to explore. He’s directed to the Critter Corner, where he receives a Critter Cuff to enter certain areas, and the park, from where he’s directed to Rambley’s Railway to get to know most (poor Salem) of the characters. A massive statue of Isaac Indigo and Rambley can be seen at the entrance.
As Ed makes his way through to Rambley Railway, it’s clear that the park is not in the best condition. Ransacked gift stores, empty cafes with rotting food and festering drinks, tunnels collapsing at the drop of a hat, and weeds spouting everywhere even disconcert the AI Rambley, who tries to shrug off the state of the park by claiming renovations, but it’s clear he’s unsettled with how empty and broken the park is. We’ll cover that later as well.
On this ride, Rambley introduces us to everyone, except for Salem, indicating he’s friends with everyone except her and Lloyd, for whom he has … let’s a bit of distaste for. He’s shown to be sarcastic and snippy with Lloyd, but even his supposed friends aren’t safe from his occasional jabs.
Rambley when speaking to Mollie Macaw: “You sure are [the best pilot you ever saw], Moll! Why, you only crashed into six barns this week!”
Mollie: “I’m not crashin’, Rambley! I’m barnstormin’!”
Rambley: “Haha! What’s barnstorming?”
Mollie: “It’s crashing, with style! I-it barely hurts at all!”
The stutter in Mollie’s audio is what interests me. It could be interpreted as a glitch, which is certainly possible. The park hasn’t been maintained in eight years, and it is falling apart. But it could also be interpreted as Mollie losing her characteristic confidence, upset that Rambley seems to be so keen on pointing out her failures in her hobby sphere.
Rambley, when speaking to Finley the Sea Serpent: “Why the long face? And body? … Oh Finley, you should come out of YOUR shell!”
Finley, in response. “How about YOU come into it instead?”
I would also like to note AI Rambley’s interaction with Finley’s plushie.
AI Rambley: “Ooh, you found my buddy Finley! You know, he’s really shy, like, TOO shy, like OBNOXIOUSLY shy, but he’s got a good heart.”
I want to point out the fact that when Rambley speaks about how shy Finley is, he doesn’t seem to be doing it in a jesting way. In fact, he seems genuinely annoyed with how introverted Finley is, to the point where you can hear it in his voice, and he also uses his annoyed model with slanted eyes when mentioning it.
There’s also a note here that, apparently, Rambley and Finley have known each other for over 100 years, though it’s unclear if this is actually real information, or just something the creators of the ride decided to include for the fun of it.
And another thing. At the very end of the Finley section, Finley hopes that the rider will actually visit him and Oceanic Odyssey, because he’s lonely. Why should he be lonely? He’s friends with Rambley and Mollie, at the very least. Is it because he lives on the bottom of the ocean? Or for other reasons?
Ed then reaches Salem’s area, which is noticeably, horrifically destroyed, a splatter of something bright red front and center. This is where the ride breaks down, and Ed’s required to go and fix it, before continuing onto Lloyd’s area.
I’d like to stop the story to consider the state of Salem’s area; why is it so destroyed? I’m going to avoid thinking of the red splatter as blood, to be honest, but we do know that the Mascots bleed red, thanks to Mollie Macaw. In my mind, there are three potential perpetrators.
The first two are noticeably weak connections, and the reasoning isn’t 100%, so take it with a grain of salt. We know that all the characters received Mascots, so there are three of them that, in my mind, are capable.
The first is, admittedly, a bit weird: the Mascot of Salem. We know she despises Rambley and his friends (her relationship with Lloyd remains a mystery), so it’s possible that Mascot Salem was the one to sabotage her area, as a way of getting back at Rambley. Why her area only is admittedly a bit weird, so she’s not the strongest match. Another piece of evidence would be the smashed animatronic of Mollie. Again, we do know that Salem has used Mollie before by dumping her potions onto her and making Mollie Salem’s minion. Could she also have smashed the animatronic bird?
The second suspect is Mascot Mollie. She can be seen following Ed throughout the ride, and the whole park, for that matter, and we do know there is some bad blood between her and Salem because of the arcade game Rambely Rush. It would give motive for Mascot Mollie to do such a thing, and she’s the only Mascot running about Indigo Park that we know of; Lloyd remained in his theater, not pursuing Ed when he leaves. At the end of the chapter, when Ed enters Oceanic Odyssey, it’s unclear whether a robot or Mascot Finley appears in the aquarium, but he’s likely confined there as well. Mascots Rambley and Salem aren’t even mentioned once.
Now, this one is also kind of a stretch, but the only character that would have more reason to hate Salem more than Mollie is Rambley. They are clear nemeses (again, Rambley Rush), and have been for quite some time. While the AI Rambley is generally benevolent, but still with a sharp tongue, it remains to be seen what exactly the Mascot Rambley is like. His Mascot is still likely here in Indigo Park somewhere, one of the remaining two (Mollie being dead, unless there are several of each Mascot present, in which case this elevates the terror a few notches. Imagine being chased by seventeen Mascot Lloyds) besides Salem. He could very well be the perpetrator. However, I do have a bit of trouble explaining why he would wreck the Animatronic Mollie. Maybe because he knows it’s just a fake, and not the real Mascot Mollie?
However, there is one convenient detail that I have not mentioned. Remember the smashed Animatronic Mollie, and how we were questioning why she was wrecked in the first place? Well, she does offer us one clue. When Ed approaches the bird, Mollie flickers to life momentarily, her voice garbled and distorted until finally, she says this:
Animatronic Mollie: “Not Rambley! He hurts Lloyd! He hurts Lloyd!”
After that, poor Animatronic Mollie finally shuts off for good, her painted eyes devoid of the life she once had. Well, this certainly got interesting, didn’t it? Rambley hurts Lloyd? How? I mean, think about it! How would a raccoon actively hurt a lion? This isn’t like a honey badger situation; raccoons are much more vulnerable and weaker than honey badgers. What’s also interesting is her words themselves. Why would someone program an Animatronic Mollie to say this? We eventually find out that Mascot Mollie will memorize and be able to repeat words or phrases she’s heard, if Ed has the misfortune of being caught by Mascot Mollie later down the line. Is it possible that the same is true for the animatronics? And if so, does that mean that Animatronic Mollie was shouting bits and pieces out of context, or was it supposed to be something she was never meant to hear, and was thusly wrecked?
And even if this was out of context, that still opens up a major can of worms. Even if Rambley never hurt Lloyd, who is this ‘He’ that did hurt Lloyd? Keep this in mind until we reach Lloyd’s attraction.
Anyways, onto Llyod’s area. It’s clear that Lloyd and Rambley both don’t like each other, quite possibly because Rambley hates how Lloyd used to be number one, and Lloyd possibly because he’s not happy that he was replaced by Rambley as head honcho. Rambley, for his part, doesn’t really try to antagonize Lloyd, just wearily going through the ride and trying to get out as fast as possible here.
And that’s essentially it for the ride, AI Rambley suggesting Ed go visit Jetstream Junction. Careful observation would yield the fact that Mascot Mollie has been stalking Ed, studying him from behind the scenes, though she won’t end up being an antagonist until later on.
What’s interesting to note is that at the end, AI Rambley says this: “So, whatddya think? Pretty fun, right? Now you know all about my friends! And Lloyd …”
We know that Rambley cannot stand Salem, Rambley Rush made it quite clear. So, why refer to Salem as a friend? Why is her area so wrecked? Is it possible that AI Rambley has no reason to hate her, because he’s not aware of how often he’s pitted against her in media? But that would also mean that AI Rambley would have to be quite unaware of the media surrounding him, but he seems to know a lot about the history of the park. He still dislikes Lloyd, after all. And then that would beg the question if Mascot Rambley actually dislikes Salem enough to destroy her area in his ride. Too many questions that, unfortunately, there are no answers for. We can’t even see AI Rambley’s thoughts on Salem through a plush or anything, because there are no current collectibles in Chapter 1 that refer to her.
This is actually why I think one of the more intriguing aspects of ‘Birds of a Feather’ is Salem, and her ambiguous presence within the game. There aren’t even any posters in regard to her, unlike Lloyd or Rambley or Mollie or Finley. She’s just so wrapped up in mystery … anyways.
After finding out Jetstream Junction is locked away, AI Rambley sends Ed to Lloyd’s Main Stage Theater, where Ed first catches a glimpse of Mascot Lloyd, dozing on the stage. When Mascot Lloyd notices Ed, he runs into the back, and unfortunately, that’s where Ed has to go.
When Ed reaches the stage himself, AI Rambley tells Ed to be careful, because he has no vision of the backstage area, which is weird. AI Rambley seems to have access to the rest of Indigo Park, why is this area so special? It’s just storage, for the most part … and Mascot Lloyd, but AI Rambley still thinks they’re just as good as they were in their hay day, so he has no reason to be wary of the Mascots themselves until later. It’s true that it’s a Ranglers Only area, and we haven’t really seen AI Rambley in these areas before, so that could be it? Maybe because of his dislike for Lloyd? But then why give AI Rambley access to the stage at all? I don’t know, to be honest. Yet another question. However, AI Rambley does say something interesting.
AI Rambley, to Ed, regarding the behind the stage area: “Hey buddy. I got eyes all over the park, but I can’t see anything behind the stage. If you’re going back there be careful. Your Critter Cuff is not yet able to resuscitate you.”
Why should a Critter Cuff be able to resuscitate a person? From what I understand, it’s supposed to be like those Disney Bands that you can wear at parks, giving you access to different rides and such, even having complementary features of being a pedometer, mood ring, and a heartbeat sensor. This could either be a sort of tease to future upgrades Ed might be able to get in future chapters … or implies something darker. These Critter Cuffs were given to regular guests, for what purpose should they be able to revive someone from being unconscious?
Anyways, as Ed makes his way backstage, Lloyd makes some appearances, even once trying to attack Ed before being foiled by the massive boxes landing on him, causing him to slink away. Along the path, however, is something interesting. Binders, pages, even notebooks are scattered, almost like a bread crumb trail. I was never able to make out what they say besides some months like January, or vague Table of Contents with no explanation. Just thought it was weird. Food for thought. Grabbing the keys, Ed heads back, finding the door locked behind him. Trying to open the door yields an attack by Lloyd, who is strangely repelled by a high-pitched noise.
Now, from all that I have read, there seem to be two theories as for why Lloyd flees. The first cause is that Mascot Lloyd is driven away by the high-pitched beeping from the Critter Cuff. The second, and arguably more intriguing theory, is that someone blows a tamer’s whistle. A tamer’s whistle is a whistle used by tamers to direct animals, usually in settings like circuses where the animal has to perform some sort of trick or feat of athleticism. As it’s used more and more often, the animal learns to recognize the pitch, or duration of the shrill sound, associating it with a certain action that needs to be performed. In this case, the theory states that the tamer’s whistle caused Lloyd to fall back, before fleeing.
Now, while I think the tamer whistle theory is cool in concept, I don’t know who would be able, or more importantly, willing to save Ed from Mascot Lloyd. AI Rambley is not able to see what’s back here, nor should he understand what’s happening, so that removes him from the picture. Mascot Mollie is a possibility, perhaps wanting to save Ed for herself, as she’s seen stalking and watching Ed ever since Rambley’s Railroad, and even appears briefly in the hallway when Ed exits the theater backstage, but why want Ed for herself? They probably don’t need food, else they would have died, sweet pastries and sugary drinks present or not. They were left alone for eight years, after all. The thrill of the hunt would be the only explanation. And then there are our two unknowns, running about the park: Mascot Rambley and Mascot Salem. Could they have been the ones to do it? But why assume they’d act differently towards Ed? Surely they’d still be hostile?
And if the Critter Cuff was the savior, why was it ineffective against Mascot Mollie? Could it be because of the physiological and biological differences between Mascots Lloyd and Mollie? And why did it go off only when Lloyd was nearby? After Lloyd is repelled, the noise stops, after all. Was it the elevated heart rate that tipped off the defense mechanism? But again, surely it would have done the same when Ed would be chased by Mascot Mollie?
Remember what Animatronic Mollie told Ed with her dying breath? ‘Not Rambley! He hurts Lloyd! He hurts Lloyd!’ Could this be what Mollie was referring to? After all, Lloyd didn’t just run away; he collapsed a few feet away from Ed for a brief stint, paws pressing against his ears as Lloyd curled up into a fetal position, only running away when the high-pitched sound ended. Mascot Lloyd genuinely seemed in great pain, and was only able to run away, quite hastily, may I add, once the sound stopped. Was Rambley, AI or Mascot, the one who abused such a feature? Or was it someone else?
Remember, we have no idea why the Mascots turned hostile. Possibly due to a lack of exposure to humans, and thus claiming certain territories for themselves. After all, Mollie didn’t attack Ed until he entered her designated area. But then that brings into question Mascot Rambley. Where was he all this time? Rambley Railroad is his place, after all. But this isn’t Rambley’s only attraction in Indigo Park. At least one other location that we find that bears Rambley’s name is ‘Café de Raton Laveur’, which is French for Raccoon Café. Does that mean that Rambley owns other attractions, and is stalking those? It’s unclear.
Anyways, want to know another possible reason why there was a sudden evacuation with no explanation? What if the Mascots rebelled against the humans because of mistreatment? Think about it, Animatronic Mollie says ‘Not Rambley! He hurts Lloyd! He hurts Lloyd!’ What if Animatronic Mollie wasn’t referring to Rambley hurting Lloyd, but someone else? Someone who would want to design a special feature built into his Critter Cuff that he could activate and subdue, if not straight up hurt Lloyd? And who is the only other male character that we know of besides Rambley, Lloyd, Finley, and Ed?
That’s right, Isaac Indigo himself. This could very well be a case of mistreated creatures rebelling against the horrors they endured. Think about it, when in stressful situations, the mind, both human and not, is much more willing to go into fight or flight, is much more likely to punch first, question later. Is it possible that this Animatronic Mollie caught a snippet of a conflict that arose between the Mascots, when Mascot Mollie was trying to mediate? While this does go against the theory that Animatronic Mollie was destroyed by Mascot Rambley to silence her, it’s still a possible theory, no?
Again, these theories are very much a stretch, I just wished to lay them out on the table and offer them up for people to see and debate.
After grabbing the keys, Ed goes to Jetsream Junction, where Ed goes about exploring and solving some puzzles in order to progress further into the building, as it seems to be the only other place that isn’t falling apart and seems to be in somewhat stable condition. Inside one of the rooms is the Rambley Rush arcade game, and there is something interesting that Salem says in here.
Salem, speaking to Rambley: “Meet the new and improved Marley Macaw! Now with none o’ that ‘friendship’ garbage stopping her from tearin’ you to pieces. I wonder what she REALLY thinks of you now? Have fun finding out!”
Now, this could just be me overanalyzing this thing. It’s our only reference to Salem, and some of the things I cite as evidence could very well just be regular dialogue for an arcade game. However, on the off chance that this means something, I was very interested in what Salem said about what Mollie thought of Rambley. She makes it seem like Mollie is under some sort of illusion in regard to Rambley, like he’s a villain masquerading as a good guy, but has everyone around him convinced he’s good. This could tie in with the broken Animatronic Mollie, as if Mollie found out about some truth in regard to Rambley. After all, her broken, jittering speech made it seem like Rambley was actively hurting Lloyd. Could she have gone to someone to get help, but that other someone suggested Rambley as an ally? That could explain why Mollie felt the need to emphasize that ‘He hurts Lloyd’ twice, like she’s genuinely freaking out that her best friend actively hurt others he didn’t like.
Putting that theory aside, Ed goes through the area, heading up to Mollie’s ride, only to find it inaccessible due to major chunks of broken debris. AI Rambley seems sort of horrified to find the place so broken and calls up a repair technician. It’s no surprise that the line is discontinued, due to most Ranglers likely being laid off after the closure of Indigo Park.
From here, AI Rambley, still somewhat jarred by the wreckage he’s seeing, encourages Ed to go and visit Mollie’s Landing Pad, strangely acting as if Ed had just finished his journey on the attraction, when he couldn’t even step onto it. From there, Ed goes and solves some puzzles, making his way deeper into the building. He spots Mollie a few times as she gets away from him, hiding. What’s an interesting note is that some sort of liquid seems to be dripping from Mollie. When you encounter her in one of the tubes, she leaves behind some sort of reddish grime that disappears once her animation is done. Her eyes, also, aren’t the way they’re usually portrayed. They’re similar to Lloyd’s in that there are white pinpricks of light in dark sockets, Lloyd’s being thin ovals in dark sockets.
As Ed finishes up the puzzles, he goes deeper before he’s attacked by Mascot Mollie herself, fleeing through the numerous tubes and tunnels, before eventually leaving it all behind and entering some sort of Ranglers Only Area.
Before we continue, I’d like to point out something. When being chased, Mascot Mollie occasionally rehearses some lines she once heard, repeating this.
Finely, to Rambley: “You’ve known me for 100 years.”
Reasonable enough; she was there when Ed was in the Rambley’s Railroad attraction. No, what concerns me are two other lines, identified by SuperHorrorBro in his analysis of chapter one.
Mascot Mollie: “Get back in your cage, bird.”
And finally, this.
Mascot Mollie: “Get up you stupid freak!”
Remember, Mascot Mollie only repeats what she has once heard. She doesn’t actively make her own dialogue. Remember the theory I had about the Mascots having enough of their terrible living conditions, and rebelling against the staff? It seems like this is the right direction to go in. Lloyd and Mollie do not attack immediately. While Lloyd runs away, Mollie observes, watching, biding her time. She follows you to Lloyd’s theater, and what does she see, or, rather, hear? Lloyd being pushed further and further back into his domain, the one place he should be happy, before being forced into a corner, and where he lashes out. Even though Ed ends up leaving, he ends up claiming a piece of Lloyd’s territory, and Lloyd goes back onto his instincts, to hunt. However, when he gets too close, that blasted, accursed Critter Cuff lets out its horrible whine, Lloyd collapsing, consumed with nothing but pain. Once the sound ends, he flees, like a terrified animal.
And what does Ed see when he leaves? Mascot Mollie, observing Ed. She’s seen that, yet again, a human encroaches, pushes their bounds, eventually hurting Lloyd to get what he wants. And then, he goes to Mollie’s home, the Jetstream Junction, a place she’s been locked out of due to needing a Critter Cuff, but she wouldn’t dare touch one. She saw what happened to Lloyd, who knew what sort of anguish it would inflict upon Mollie?
She enters behind Ed, stalking him, fury building as she watches Ed run about like he owns the place. How dare this man, this human, walk upon her domain whenever he wants, but she has to wait until she’s let in, like some sort of caged bird. Well, she’s not a caged bird, and she’ll make Ed see that.
At first, when AI Rambley sees Ed, he wishes to stop Ed, but seeing a towering Mascot Mollie chasing him, he opens the door, slamming it shut behind Ed just as Mascot Mollie’s head enters the room, killing the Mascot instantly as blood sprays all over the metallic door and floor. AI Rambley attempts to act like nothing happened, but fails, sighing.
He explains that he didn’t realize the danger of Indigo Park and its inhabitants due to being stuck in that early Reception Center for all of those eight, lonely years, unable to see or interact with anything inside. He was just so excited to finally see an actual person that he pushed Ed into this tour, realizing that, with the way things were, there was no way Ed would come out unscathed, and the AI seems genuine in his sorrow. However, he asks for Ed to help restore the park to the former glory, and, miraculously, Ed agrees. However, before Ed leaves, AI Rambley drops this one last piece of vital information.
AI Rambley: “Whew! That was exhausting to say that whole spiel, but Rambley’s Ranglers (registered) is a registered trademark … that expired yesterday.”
Okay, so couple things. From my impression, I had the feeling that somehow, someway the Indigo Company as a whole was alive and kicking. I mean, look at what Ed has to say when he interacts with the Rambley Raccoon plushy.
Ed: “Ah, there’s my buddy. Kinda feels like Rambley has a whole empire now, being the main man of Indigo and all.”
Ed gives us the distinct impression that not only is Indigo still around, but it’s also positively thriving, yet they allow their trademarks to expire? Trademarks essentially last forever, but you have to fight, in court, to let them continue every ten years or so. If Indigo is based on Disney, the stingiest, largest entertainment company, why would they let their trademark expire, and give access to others? Well, this might have to do with the initial terms.
You see, in order to keep a trademark, you have to defend its usage every ten years. Well, okay, then why didn’t Indigo do so? One of the terms for renewal is that you have to continuously use that trademark. You can’t just claim one and never use it again, that’s basically an infraction upon free speech. Sure, you can fight for its ownership, but there are rules and regulations to these kinds of things, you can’t just trademark something like ‘Oof’ or ‘Lmao’ and keep it without at least saying those phrases occassionally.
And, so far as we know, there are no other places such as Indigo Park owns. Ranglers are synonymous with staff in the park, so obviously, it would be hard to justify keeping a trademark when you never expect to use it. So, that’s my theory on why the trademark did indeed expire the day previously, October 6^th, 2023 (apparently, the creator confirmed the game takes place in 2023, so, that means that Ed arrives on October 7^th, 2023, and the last person to enter park left on October 7^th, 2015).
Anyways, after that, AI Rambley leads Ed to Oceanic Odyssey with the intention to get it back up and running, as it has been closed due to repairs, something that AI Rambley hopes Ed can assist with. As Ed exits, he tries entering a hallway, which AI Rambley blocks.
AI Rambley: “Uh oh. That Rambley’s Ranglers room is only accessible by Royal Ranglers. Maybe you’ll grow up big and strong enough to enter it! But for now, don’t.”
This is the first instance of hierarchy within the Ranglers that Ed has been introduced to so far, and the dark undertone AI Rambley takes when he tells Ed not to go there is somewhat concerning. What exactly is AI Rambley hiding back there? Well, I have a few hunches.
Let’s point out the obvious regarding our friends, the Mascots; they’re not regular animals. Obviously, regular animals don’t have dark orbitals with thin white slits, or have turquoise noses, or have macaws the size of cassowaries. However, they are still animals, creatures of flesh and blood that act like their regular animal counterparts; Lloyd is an ambush predator, stalking until he himself is presented with an opportunity to attack. However, lions are known to just straight up attack if they are discovered by accident, especially if the prey is weaker and slower than them. Lloyd runs away instead of attacking.
Similarly, Mollie follows Ed warily, unsure of what to think of him for most of the time. She never aggresses until he enters her territory, and even then, she’s surprisingly lenient with Ed, straight up until he finishes those color-coded symbol puzzles. Only then does she attack. And even then, this is a behavior reflected in regular macaws as well, as these birds are fiercely territorial of their area.
So, these Mascots didn’t pop up straight from the ground, did they? They had to be bioengineered at the very least, mutated regular animals becoming the Mascots guests once knew and loved. They are, however, animals at their core, animals that do not attack for no reason. They try to deescalate the situation, as Lloyd does when he runs backstage, and when Mollie pulls herself back through the tunnels, away from Ed, and striding through the corridors, until she eventually loses patience and chases after Ed through Jetsream Junction.
I’d like to propose the theory that these Mascots were created in that area of Jetstream Junction, hidden underground and away from prying eyes. This is also where the Mascots were likely mistreated and abused, called horribly names at the very least, and endured beatings and humiliating acts at their worst. This is also likely where the Mascots originally snapped. After all, literally not a single guest understands why they were evacuated. Unless the guests who saw what happened were silenced, there should have been something floating around the Internet, on some obscure forum.
Now, why would AI Rambley hide this? Because he now understands that these Mascots are dangerous, a risk he cannot allow, since he enlisted Ed to bring the park back from the dead. AI Rambley realizes that Ed doesn’t have the tools to survive that area; perhaps because one of the Mascots lurks in there, locked away, or because he doesn’t want Ed to flee, horrified as to the scientific process that allowed for the mutated abominations to roam Indigo Park.
Regardless, Ed finally makes his way to the entrance of Oceanic Odyssey, home of the Mascot Finley. In fact, we actually get to see a glimpse of Finely’s actual size in one of the aquariums as his large head and long torso appear, before the chapter ends. I don’t believe that this is an animatronic, as electricity and water do not mix, especially animatronic with running current of electricity in water.
And that’s where Chapter 1 of Indigo Park, ‘Birds of a Feather’, ends off. Chapter Two will likely revolve mostly, if not totally, around Oceanic Odyssey and Mascot Lloyd.
So, I have two predictions as for where the next chapter might go. Based on the reactions Mascots previously had to Ed, I believe that Mascot Finley will not be attacking immediately. He’ll likely be observing, like Mollie, at least for a certain amount of time, until he proceeds to attack and harass Ed around his attraction. Ed will eventually get Oceanic Odyssey up and running, and have to leave Mascot Finley behind, as he’s still hostile and very much a danger to Ed.
The alternative to this is that once Mascot Finely realizes what Ed is trying to do, he stops being aggressive, and might instead become a temporary ally, allowing Ed to reach certain locations with his knowledge of the place.
Regardless of Mascot Finley’s ultimate fate, Oceanic Odyssey being powered on will likely catch the attention of Indigo. Based on the information we know so far, Indigo is still a well known, public entity. It’s possible that Indigo abandoned the theme park route, instead focusing exclusively on media such as cartoons, movies, and merch, or they might have other sister locations to Indigo Park. It’s unclear.
Whew. In the words of AI Rambley, this is a lot of information. Almost nine thousand words in, and we finally finish covering Chapter 1. So, let’s proceed to the Conclusion I draw regarding the story Indigo Park tries to tell, and the future events that might transpire.

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Hacking, Cyberstalking, Invasion of Privacy, Electronic Harassment, Identity Theft & Identity Fraud: Compromising of My Digital Identity, Vandalism/Mischief towards my Devices & Files, Targeted Energy Weapons and Attacks, V2k Inner Ear Implants, Psychotronic Abuse, & Brain-Computer Interface, Synthetic Telepathy, & Remote Neural Monitoring, Aggravated Assaults, 7 Months of Death Threats, and Multiple Attempts at Murder
No police help is forthcoming & the medical system has let me down by refusing to provide help and dismissing my complaint as unworthy of affirming and at times by outright denying the claims I have in my complaints (by holding a complaint to be false), only to be rejected the by the police.
My cyber-gangstalkers are going to kill me and have been carrying out dehumanizing assaults “targeted energy attacks” that could have killed me using V2k ear implants, that they have placed inside my ears, and they say they won’t stop until I am dead! My situation vis-a-vis the hackers has been escalating; the hackers have been intensifying their targeted energy attacks against my physical body remotely by the use of technology that they have implanted into my ears for the sole purpose of turning my life into a tournament of torture games that only such depraved evil immoral cybercriminal sadists could devise. My former neighbours have confessed to breaking into my home and placing microchip implants inside my ears with which to neurally monitor me and to establish voice to skull communication, whereby they been their voices are beamed via light waves directly to my head via electromagnetic radiation in the microwave spectrum, these ear implants that they have placed inside my ears can, and are used by the hackers to target any part of my body that they wish to target.
They have overheated and burnt my eyes: they have shot high-power beams of light and lasers into my eyes so that my vision impairs. They have burnt the insides of my ears in order to inflict me with excruciating pain, as well as to impair my hearing they’ve compressed, crushed, burnt my testicles, causing them to recede inwards into my body. They have burnt my testicles, causing sperm to cook inside my testicles, which is why I can no longer ejaculate sperm in that I have been forcibly castrated and contracepted against my will, and my most fervent wishes thereby that have made me infertile: no longer able to have offspring, thanks to their very frequent and periodically recurring assaults on my testicles via harmful forms of radiation microwaves, pulse light, and lasers.
On December 25, 2023 the hackers almost deafened me by attacking my the insides of my ears, bringing me to the verge of my eardrums rupturing. The hackers are malicious malevolent and extremely bigoted cyber bullies and terrorists who subject me to domestic terrorism. My former neighbours are hackers of my devices of over 2 years, who have been experimenting their bio-electromagnetic weaponry on a human subject, myself, against my will amounting to both physical and mental torture and constituting human rights violations for about three previous months the hackers have been frequently and almost un-intermittently targeting my ears and my throat. They had threatened to make me deaf and dumb before: that is, unable to hear and speak, and now they’re carrying out such attacks that can do so in order to materialize their threats. The hackers have violated the criminal code of Canada in at least 12 sections, including unauthorized use of a computer network, mischief in relation to my property: my devices, including data, my files, identity, theft, identity, fraud, aggravated, assault, altering death threats: threats of other bodily harm, and attempted to murder me on multiple occasions: at least 10 times, the hackers attack my throat, in order to choke me by pressing against my windpipe to torture me by suffocation to instil fear in me that I’ll die the next time they attack me. They attack my throat also to damage my vocal cords: by burning my vocal cords and cutting them with lasers, so I lose my ability to sing and to speak. I am already unable to sing, and if their attacks keep recurring as consistently as they have been in the recent 3 months, I fear that I’ll lose my voice completely and become unable to speak at all.
These verminous lowlifes are evil sadistic psychopaths: they are sociopaths in need of isolation from society and in need of having their internet cut off indefinitely (so they are no longer able to carry out attacks against me or other people remotely by the use of technology. Their hacking activities, cyberbullying, cyber-gangstalking, and assaults via bio-electromagnetic weapons: ie., their V2k (‘voice to skull’) ear implants that they have implanted inside my ears are too fun for them to stop on their own accord. They must be stopped: they can only be stopped by the police or by a judge.
The hackers are malicious, extremely bigoted disgustingly homophobic, hateful, malevolent maleficent/harmful cyber bully thugs (have ill will towards me: wish me harm), who in my estimation deserve to be jailed for no less than 10 years in prison/federal penitentiary for what they have done to me already. Their hacking activities, harassing conduct, and their aggravated assaults have been increasing in occurrence (have been becoming more frequent and accelerating at that! Throughout the past more than 2 years, my former neighbours' relentless cyber-gang stalking campaigns against me have been a destructive influence on my quality of life: their mischief in relation to my property (ie., vandalism) including towards my personal devices including my files started 1.5 years ago, their ‘targeted energy attacks’ started 7 months ago (to the best of my knowledge). They have attacked me with lasers, microwaves, and pulsed light and have already caused me permanent, irreversible, and irreparable harm. They have been threatening to kill me and have made multiple attempts at murdering me already (at least 10). The hackers have been threatening to murder me and have attempted to do so already over 10 times by now.
John Doe 1 = Sarkis ‘yan’ John Doe 2 = Armen ‘yan’ John Doe 3 = _____ Ghukasyan Jane Doe 1 = Armine ‘_yan’ Jane Doe 2 = Hasmik ‘ _yan’
Disclaimer: I do not know – with absolute certainty or beyond a reasonable doubt, for that matter – any of these names to be those of the hackers. I seek for the judge of this court to conduct an investigation, by ….

1. Demanding a complete list of all the occupants of that building when I lived there and when I had knowledge of them hacking me: Jan 2022 --- March 2023.
2. Look for Armenian last names: typically ending in “yan” or “ian”, (“uni” and “unts” much less common)
3. Bring them to court as suspects to be interrogated by either the judge and/or myself.
4. Verify that their voices match the voices of the Armenians whom I have caught on audio tape commenting on my activities on my electronic network devices, which I had taken from my apartment: proving at least for me conclusively that those neighbours of mine in my nearest vicinity who are Armenians must be the hackers. There is nothing racist, ethno-centrist, chauvinist/bigoted, prejudiced/discriminating, or unethical about what I am asking to be done. I am Armenian, the hackers are Armenians too. We live in Edmonton, where from a population of over a 1 million, there are only 620 Armenians living in Edmonton. So I deem it more likely than not to be the case that only 1 or 2 apartments in our building are inhabited by Armenians. Those neighbours of mine who are Armenians are suspects. If it turns out only one apartment is inhabited by Armenians, then we would have found our primary suspects. If there happen to be more than one apartment having been inhabited by Armenians, then the ones closer to me are the suspects. y (personal) files of over 14 years: my documents (word, pdf, and excel), my music, my photos, my videos, etc.

The hackers have attempted to kill me now probably 10 or more times, that I am lucky to have escaped alive and survived. Out of desperation, I am amicably calling parties to court with me — in good faith— purifying my motifs — with only the purest of intentions and in good faith, so that the parties called to court with me might help me by getting these “targeted energy attacks” to stop before it is too late. I
am absolutely convinced that the only way to get my cyberstalkers’ attacks against me to stop is to arrest them, jail them, cut their internet connection: i.e., disallowing them from using the internet indefinitely. As long as I have got their bio-electromagnetic neuro-weapons: i.e., their radioactive microchips, implanted in my body, I am at risk of being subject to their physical abuse and torture while they have access via the internet to the microwave satellites directed at me that they make use of in order to target me with the energy of harmful forms of electromagnetic radiation (i.e., light waves: ex., microwaves, lasers, etc.): “directed/targeted energy attacks”.

1. Criminal Code of Canada (RSC 1985, c C-46): o Under Section 430 (1.1) of the Criminal Code, it is an offense to commit mischief in connection with computer data. The penalties vary based on the severity of the offense: ▪ If the mischief causes actual danger to life, it is considered an indictable offense punishable by imprisonment for life. ▪ If the value of the subject matter of the offense exceeds $5,000, the maximum penalty is 10 years’ imprisonment. ▪ If the value of the subject matter of the offense is under $5,000, the maximum penalty is 2 years’ imprisonment1
   
2. Cyberterrorism: o If the crime is considered a national security offense, an individual could be charged under Section 83.2 of the Criminal Code for cyberterrorism. The maximum penalty for this offense is life imprisonment. In summary, endangering a person’s life through hacking can lead to severe legal consequences in Canada, including the possibility of life imprisonment. The law aims to address cybercriminal threats and protect individuals from malicious activities in the Suspects’ Names and Address of Residence:
   

I have gathered/figured out their names by overhearing them refer to each other by name and thus believe to have their some of their first names and the last name of another, though I am not absolutely confident that these are their actual names; they could merely have referred to each other in my presence with their fake names that they had taken on, however I do not find this more likely than not to be the case: i.e., I figure more likely than not I have got at least some of their names right, though I cannot rule out these names being fake.
There has been an incident of violence already involving my former neighbours: occupants of #2-304, another neighbour of mine from #2-106, and myself (#2-204), with the following police event #23-220826. I went upstairs to confront my cyberstalkers, who I justifiably (for good reasons and evidence) believed to be occupying unit #2-304. The hackers’ voices could be heard from the inside of apartment #2-304 (behind the door). I banged on the door demanding that they open it. Another neighbour of ours exited the apartment and proceeded to attack me and hit me twice in the head. I did not fight back, instead went to my apartment and called the police. Police officers were dispatched who visited us all, therefore there must be police records of the names of the people involved under the EPS event #23-220826. I was instructed by police officers to use this police event number in order to lawfully retrieve through a judge’s order the names of the people in unit #2-304.
he entire time they have been targeting me with microwave light energy. Their radiating my eyes has caused me blurriness, which I have ever since recovered from, but could have remained permanent, had events unfolded differently.
The hackers have been torturing me with bio-electromagnetic weapons: the microchip implants that the hackers have implanted (injected it and/or sprayed) into my inner ear. Their conduct towards me, that is their treatment of me is dehumanizing to the extreme and debasing, denaturing, and degrading. They have electromagnetically and thermally lobotomized me on several occasions, severed my mesolimbic, Even the most bloodthirsty Nazi negative—eugenicists don’t hold a candle to my cyber-stalkers’ gang of bloodthirsty, disgustingly bigoted homophobic cyber-bullying/cyber-stalking thugs, who are psychopaths because these sociopathic agents of harm are sadistic, merciless, and ruthless evil spirits hell-bent on destroying me, everything I have owned, have caused me permanent disfigurement and disability, have incapacitating my body, robbing me of my mental faculties, my emotions, diminishing my psycho-sexual abilities with the aim of extinguishing sexual pleasure from my body, which is permanent, irreversible, and irreparable harm. They have overwhelmingly impaired my hearing, by their use of V2k technology on me and radiating me with pulsed microwave light that imparts energy in the form of heat and mechanical work such as compressing against one’s windpipe, choking a throat, crushing of genitals: penis and testicles.
The hackers have made attempts to rob me of my body’s ability to climax to orgasm. The hackers keep threatening to cause me physical, long lasting, chronic, and/or lifelong harm: disability, illness/disease, disfigurement, then they carry out their threats consistently. They are going to rob me of my ability to feel sexual pleasure: libido, arousal, and orgasm. They are doing their best not to leave any ability to experience sexual pleasure, as they have admitted to me. They have attacked my testicles with such forms of light that overheat, that burn, cool, freeze, expand, contract body tissue, which has caused me permanent and irreversible and irreparable damage to my testicles to the point that they no longer are able to produce testosterone or sperm, which means that I have been made infertile (unable to have offspring) and robbed of my masculinity, manliness, and manhood in general at the age of 35 years, with the other half of my expected lifespan still in front of me, my sex life is ruined. The hackers attack my genitals with the purpose of making me no longer able to masturbate, get an erection, have an orgasm, so that I do not watch (gay) porn ever in my life again and so that I lose my libido (sex-drive), cannot get sexually aroused, and have an orgasm due to lowered testosterone production by my testes (if any at all). The hackers have attacked my brain’s dopaminergic neurotransmitter system; causing a significant flattening of affect, disorder of diminished motivation, causing me to lose my emotionality and blunting of my feelings, etc.
They have violated over 12 sections of the Canadian Criminal Code by committing hacking, mischief in relation to my property: devices including files, identity theft and fraud, psychotronic abuse, electronic harassment, sexual harassment, aggravated assaults, death threats and multiple (at least 10) attempts to murder me, and more… Since December of 2023 till April 2024: 5 months, they have been attacking my throat, vocal cords, and telling me they are going to make me lose my voice, make me unable to sing and even speak. April 25th, 2024: The hackers castrated me, by attacking my genitals: testicles and penis with various kinds of harmful light including pulsed microwave light, causing my penis to redden. The hackers had stripped my penis with the tissues that initiate arousal during masturbation and conduct orgasms. Right after telling me that they are going to rob me of my body’s natural capacity to feel sexual pleasure, they induced severe muscle cramps in my central middle abdomen and lower abdomen, with their expressed intent of depriving me of the ability to climax to orgasm and ejaculate sperm. Fortunately for me they failed this time, I am still able to orgasm however with somewhat less intensity. However, if they keep this up, and repeat their attempt to disable my body’s orgasm function, I will probably gradually lose my ability to derive sexual pleasure until it is diminished away completely; one day I might not be able to orgasm at all, and it’ll most likely stay like that permanently, for the rest of my life, even with the best available medical interventions at our disposal. April 26th, 2024: The hackers had decided to kill me and threatened me in order to make me fear for my life. When I was still their neighbour, the hackers talked in their apartment audibly to me about what could be seen on my screen thereby confirming for me that they could monitor it. I have moved elsewhere now, but my devices are still hacked by them, so their voices can be heard through my devices, and they can hear me. They constantly viciously harass me; they have stolen my passwords (theft) and compromised my accounts (fraud); they listen in to all my phone calls and intercept my private communications (messages and e-mails), they broadcast what I do privately on my computer to other people, they surveil me around the clock and record me inside my apartment, they keep getting away with corrupting and deleting my files. The hackers have access to my files, passwords, and accounts; they can control my devices; they have threatened to delete and have deleted my files; they have engaged in identity theft by stealing my passwords and identity fraud by compromising my accounts (i.e., they have access to my online accounts). They have compromised my digital identity and anonymity online. They cause me mental breakdowns on a regular basis.
The hackers talked in their apartment (right upstairs, on the 3rd floor) audibly to me, almost exclusively in Armenian, about what could be seen on my screen, thereby confirming (at least for me, conclusively) that it is they who had been hacking my computer and/or network and had been harassing me and continue to do so until now. The hackers are my (now) former neighbours (at Clareview Courts). Those neighbours of mine at Clareview Courts in my nearest vicinity who are also Armenians must be the hackers. If it turns out to be the case that the hackers are the only Armenians living in that building, then we will have demonstrated to a confidence level of at least clear and convincing evidence that my neighbours on the 3rd floor, the Armenian neighbours of mine are the hackers. I have recorded them harassing me and talking to each other about what they could see on my screen, and they kept track of all my activities on my devices.
They have utter hatred and contempt for homosexuals, gay sex, and gay porn. The hackers disapprove of my taste in pornography and my porn watching habits (Iing how frequently I watch it) and have on multiple occasions told me that they have been harming me Ie of my porn watching habits. They see how comfortable I am in my skin and at ease I am with my sexuality and have been trying to get me to be ashamed of things that I naturally get me horny. Their aims are that I feel humiliated and embarrassed of my porn collections. They find that I watch pornography more frequently than they would have me watch it; they denigrate my sexuality: they expend great effort to humiliate me and try to make me feel ashamed of my sexuality, and embarrassed that I watch guys having oral sex, and they become ever angrier at me for my refusing to feel ashamed of this, and even watching it more frequently not less, as my sign of disrespect towards them, for not carrying out their wishes. I have caught them on tape admitting that they were able to monitor my screen as they were describing what websites I visit and what porn I watched on my computer (legally permissible gay porn, including depicting young men at least at the age of 18. The hackers are extremely hateful homophobic people – all of them: 2 women, and 3 men, they have extremely outdated, ignorant, and backward views on homosexuality, they hold homosexual sex to be immoral.

There was a previous reddit thread I saw about this but I just had a strange experience. Normally I ignore "Angel number" significance on numbers, stick to just the symbolism... Except, what I just saw was super, super weird.
As I was about to sleep I turned over to my right, and in pitch darkness I saw this number, "41", like glowing light blue letters written in Courier. Maybe 8 size, slightly spread apart. But it was like the number slowly came together. I swear for a brief moment the 41 looked like a man suddenly leaning in a doorway. And then, the numbeman just faded upwards.
It actually freaked me out. I learned that apparently 41 is The Magician in Tarot (even though apparently the wiki says it's 8). I don't think I've ever seen numbers actually appear like optical illusions. I don't really have a deeper understanding on the number. I don't really post on reddit or anything, either. I'm reaching out here because normally there's something weird every time I notice numbers.
This was completely bizarre. No scientific evidence, but you have to understand I did even attempt to move my eyes around - but that glowing 41 stayed there until it turned into the guy leaning in a doorway.

Here’s what’s terrifying, the witness it seems is on par or stronger than traveler. If he isn’t the winnower is a different entity, it is essentially giving its power to the witness as the witness does its disciples, it would put the winnower on a whole other level. Also, the fact that their names both start with W is a strange thing to me. It’s almost like the witness is trying to pretend to be the winnower. Also if they were both at the start of the universe, how come the traveler is already an entity while the witness doesn’t exist yet, and only its species does. I have a theory, the planet that the witness’s species came to be on is the winnower, much like how the traveler is in the form of a celestial object, the winnower does the same at the start of the universe. My explanation for the difference between the size of the planet and the traveler is implied by the fact that the winnower may be winning the games in the garden due to the gardener being upset. And if we go by sword logic then the winnower winning the games means it’s stronger. And being stronger is often symbolized by being a bigger size. And the pattern that always wins, it the witness’s species, and it was spawned by the winnower. Seems a little plausible. Feel free to reply if you have any ideas or would like to add on to mine. Also another theory that could make sense: The witness could be a third entity. One that is akin more to the winnower than the gardener. But still has its own little differences, and 3 is a repeating number in destiny, the 3 siblings of the hive, the fact that all fireteams have a maximum of three or a multiple of 3. I just think that the winnower and witness are different and those are my two theories on how.

July 23^rd, 2010 was the worse day in the lives of the family of Katrina Griffin. Katrina, her son and daughter were all found deceased. This would be recounted in victim impact statements.
The trailer home her small family lived in, was burnt halfway to cinders before it was put out.
This single, disabled mother of 2 lived on the same rule property her father, and stepmother ginger. Her mother, Rebecca Allen, often visited her grandchildren, as well. She was relieved Katrina lived so close to her father. Rebeca felt Katrina safer, if they only had known the truth of what the world would do to these bright lives.
Katrina had a seizure disorder which left her unable to drive. She was a good mother to her two children, Chasity age 6 and Christian age 8. She received Social Security disability, which allowed her to provide for her children. This includes things like a tv, a game station, and games. She bought a laptop for herself. All the items were marked with KRG.
Together, her and the children played games and watched movies together. Katrina was very much a home body due to her disability. She could drive and only left when she needed to, for and the kids. Her stepmother, Ginger, often took her and her cherished grandkids shopping. She loved them and had them to house often. It was easy, since they all lived on the same property.
With her disability, her father and stepmother often worried for her well being and that of the grandchildren. Having them live on the property was having them close enough to look in on, unfortunately we can’t plan for everything as parents.
Christian was ever the little man of the house, he was loving and protective of his mom. And like every protective little boy, he loved to check on his mom, and he often helped her. But like every boy he also loved to run and play. With his dog, Lulu, he and his sister could often be found running up to grandma’s and back.
Christian was looking forward to being a 3^rd grader at Dibble Elementary. He loved the WWE, and most of all he loved to make people laugh.
Chasity was a fun loving little girl. She picked on her brother anytime she could. She was mommy’s little angel, playing with lip gloss and dolls. But she really loved to watch Hannah Montana.
She was a first grader at Dibble elementary school. She loved to sing and make people happy. Chasity often danced like a little ballerina for her mom and her grandparents.
Katrina had done some on line dating, this was how she met Shaun Bosse. It was nice to have the attention. She was so happy she told her friends Heather Molloy and Henry Price it was the best she had been treated.
Bosse began making regular visits to the trailer. He had changed his status to “in a relationship” with Katrina. Bosse made himself semi-at home in a short amount of time.
On July 22^nd around 9 in the evening, Christian was looking for his video games. It seemed that several were missing at the time. Christian called his grandma, Ginger Griffin, he asked her if he had left his games at her house.
Around 6 pm, Bosse arrived to visit Katrina. Ginger Griffin had been down to her step daughter’s trailer briefly meeting Bosse. She would later bring the kids back after having grandma time.
Christian and Chasity had been at their grandma Ginger’s earlier in the day. She had dropped them off. She told Christian he had taken the games home with him. A few moments later Katrina got on the line with her. She asked the same question Christian had. Ginger told Katrina the same thing. But Ginger thought this was very odd as she hung up the phone. She wouldn’t get a chance to act on the uncertainty.
Earlier, when the games were discovered missing. Katrina had called her birth mother, Rebecca Allen. They spoke several times that evening, and Katrina seemed to be more and more upset with each call.
Katrina thought the boyfriend, Henry Price, of her close friend, Heather Molloy might have taken the games. She seemed extremely confident it was him at one point, she told her mother. This too worried her mothers, both knew how close she had been with Heather, her cousin.
Starting around 10 pm, Bosse was with Katrina and the kids. Katrina told her Rebecca Bosse was going to drive her over to Heather’s to see if she has the games. She sent one text to Heather and banged on the windows. Finally, she returned home and called the McClain County Sheriff's Office.
Deputy Kent Cunningham arrived to take the missing persons report about 11:50 pm. Katrina seemed very agitated when she spoke to the deputy about the missing video games. She told Cunningham she thought the games had been missing since the Saturday before when Heather and her boyfriend came over to visit.
On the evening of July 17, 2010, Bosse hung out with Katrina, her cousin Heather Molloy and Molloy’s Boyfriend, Henry Price, at Katrina’s trailer. They listened to music, played video games, and drank beer.
Between 12:30 am and 1 am, Katrina telephoned Rebecca saying the deputy had left and she was going to bed.
Around 7 am, Ginger was leaving for work, she drove past Katrina’s as always on the way out. She testified that at the time she didn’t see Bosse’s truck, nor was there any smoke at the time. She would later regret not stopping to check in after the incident with the video games the night before.
It would be when Daryl Dobbs, a neighbor of the family, drove by and saw smoke. He stopped and called 911 and started banging on windows and doors trying to raise the little family. Dobbs honked his horn and beat on the storm door with no answer. He tried to look into the windows, but he couldn’t see anything.
There was a small hole, about golf ball size, in the window to the left of the front door. The trickle of smoke came through the hole.
Dobbs disconnected the propane and electric to keep it from exploding. As the smoke grew, Dobbs already feared the worst, as many would.
The Dibble police chief, Walt Thompson, responded to the 911 call shortly after 9:00 a.m. He saw smoke coming from the west roof line, near the middle of the trailer. The windows were unbroken, but he could not see inside because the trailer was filled with black smoke. Thompson broke a window at the trailer's far southeast corner, leaned inside, and shouted, but nobody responded.
The front door opened when it was touched, and the men on the porch were forced back by heat and heavy black smoke. Both men noticed the smoke was heavier and darker than each one had seen rising from the back of the trailer. Soon flames began to roll out the front door. By this time, they were aware that Katrina and the children might be inside. Dibble volunteer firemen Bill Scott and Mark Palmore arrived and fought their way through the front door. In heavy smoke, they cleared the two bedrooms and bathroom on the trailer's north end, before running low on oxygen.
Washington volunteer firemen Derek Cheek and Gary Bolster, in turn, entered the trailer and began to search the south side through thick black smoke. They extinguished small flames in the living room, kitchen and utility room.
The master bedroom door was shut and warm to the touch. The door had a hole in it, which appeared to have been there before the fire started.
When Cheek opened it, they saw the bodies of Katrina and Christian on the floor. Heat was building up, and the two had to retreat before finishing their search for Chasity.
While there were no flames as they left, within fifteen minutes flames appeared. It took firefighters an hour and a half to contain the fire. They focused on suppressing the flames nearest the victims, Christian and Katrina. Still unaware Chasity had been locked in the closet of her mother’s bedroom.
When firefighters reentered the trailer, the fire had burned significant parts of the master bedroom, including the wall to the closet. The walls in the south part of the trailer were burned, the trailer was filled with charred debris, and the floor decking was saturated with water. The bodies of Katrina and Christian were charred and covered in debris. The fire began in the love seat on the living room's west wall.
The State's experts testified it could have burned for at least four hours before Dobbs saw smoke at 8:55 a.m., smoldering until the front door opened to reignite the flames. to preserve what they could of the crime scene.
Chasity's body, severely charred, was in the closet of the master bedroom, underneath a pile of debris. A chair had been put under the outside knob of the closet door, preventing it from being opened from the inside.
Chasity was burned from the waist down - her legs were charred to the muscle and bone was exposed. She had a laceration to her right cheek and blunt force trauma on the right side of her skull. The autopsy showed soot in her stomach and lungs.
Significant blood spatter was on the walls near Christian's body. His head was partially wrapped in a blanket. He wore underwear and unbuttoned, unzipped jean shorts. He had been stabbed five times in the neck and chest; there was a defensive stab wound on his right forearm, and he had blunt force trauma over his right eyebrow.
Katrina was clothed in a T-shirt, shorts and underwear; her shirt was pulled up over her torso and her hands crossed as if she had been dragged. When found after the fire, her legs were laying over Christian's, and her body was covered in debris. Her body had been partially burned, and there was some indication that it might have been covered with a sheet. She had eight stab wounds to her neck and abdomen, and blunt force trauma to the right side of her head. Her face was charred and her glasses were attached to her burned hair. She had defensive incised wounds on her right palm. Although Katrina was left-handed, her right hand held a knife with the blade pointing backwards, facing her body.
Blood on this knife was consistent with Katrina's blood. A pocketknife with a broken blade was found underneath Katrina's body. The pocketknife belonged to Christian, and Katrina kept it in her bedroom.
The cause of death for both Katrina and Christian was multiple stab wounds. Neither victim had soot in their noses or mouths, suggesting they were dead before the fire. The cause of death for Chasity was smoke inhalation and thermal injury.
As investigators put out the fire and began working at the crime scene on the morning of July 23, Katrina's family members told police that she and Bosse were dating, and authorities began looking for him. Bosse shared an apartment in south Oklahoma City with his mother, Verna. Bosse left the apartment on July 22 at about 8:00 p.m. At about 6:00 a.m. on July 23, Verna saw Bosse getting ready to leave. He left between 6:15 and 6:30 a.m., went to OCCC, and logged in to a computer at about 7:30 a.m.
At about 2:30 p.m., McClain County Sheriff's Detective Dan Huff called and asked Bosse to come to the Sheriff's office. At about 4:00 p.m. Bosse met for about an hour with Huff and David Tompkins, and OSBI Agent Bob Horn. Officers saw Bosse had red abrasions on his knuckles. There was blood on his tennis shoes and a long scratch on his arm. Bosse admitted he was at Katrina's house the previous evening. He talked about the missing games, and said he went with Katrina and the children to Molloy's house about 10:00 p.m. Bosse said he was there when Deputy Cunningham took Katrina's report. He said Katrina wanted him to stay, but he left about 12:30 a.m. on July 23rd, reaching his apartment at 1:30 or 2:00 a.m., and was in bed by 3:00 a.m.
Bosse told investigators that he and Katrina had been dating a few weeks and were not serious. He admitted he spent the night with her a week earlier when the children were gone. He said he'd spent some time there and had been in every room of the trailer. Bosse said Katrina texted him that morning, but he could not retrieve it from his phone.
Not long after Bosse changed his Facebook status, a woman by the name of Justine Lyman had been dating Bosse up until he changed his status on Facebook. Lyman and a woman only identified as Sarah, sent a message to Bosse via Facebook complaining about Katrina. Bosse told Lyman, Katrina was a crazy bitch, and he was dropping her from his friends lists. Something that, if Lyman wanted to, she could check with Katrina herself.
Investigators asked to search Bosse's truck. He refused, but let them take photographs of its contents. A laptop with cables, a Bic lighter and DVD case marked "KRG" were in the front floorboards. A PlayStation console, video games, and DVD cases marked "KRG" were in the front and back seat areas. Bosse said the laptop belonged to a friend, but would not give a name. Bosse left the Sheriff's office after 5:00 p.m. Later that day, Ginger identified the laptop, and other items in the photos, as Katrina's.
OSBI Agent Akers went to Bosse's apartment on the night of July 23 and asked again to search his truck, and this time Bosse agreed. Akers also noticed Bosse's red knuckles, the scratch and the blood on his shoes. Bosse told Akers he'd been to several places that day, including OCCC and a Walmart, but did not say he went anywhere north of I-240 in Oklahoma City, or mention any pawnshops.
Bosse's brother, Matthew, was also at the apartment. Matthew was 6 foot 2 or 3 inches and about 300 pounds, while Bosse was about 5 foot 8 or 9, and about 210 pounds, and the two could not have shared clothing. When Akers searched Bosse's truck, most of the property photographed earlier was gone, though the movies were found in Bosse's bedroom. Investigators searched Bosse's apartment and found items from Katrina's trailer. Stains which might have been blood were on towels and the laundry basket, but only one towel was presumptively tested for blood, and that was not confirmed. A pair of bloody jeans was found in the back of Bosse's closet. DNA tests on the jeans showed genetic profiles from Chasity and Bosse. DNA tests of blood on Bosse's shoes were consistent with Chasity (right shoe) and Katrina (left shoe).
Bosse's billfold was in his truck. A rip in the back created a hidden pocket, which held pawn tickets. When Akers asked Bosse if he forgot to mention the pawn tickets, Bosse turned white, and Akers arrested him. Bosse had pawned more than one hundred of Katrina's possessions at seven different Oklahoma City pawnshops the morning of July 23, when the trailer was still burning.
The pawned items included televisions, a game console and VCR or DVD player, as well as several dozen movies and video games. Most of the games and DVDs were marked with the initials "KRG", and sales receipts confirmed that the electronic equipment was Katrina's. Bosse's and Katrina's fingerprints were found on some of the pawned items. A TV remote in Bosse's truck matched one of Katrina's TVs that Bosse pawned. Officers were able to connect the items to Katrina by serial numbers, Katrina's initials, and identification through witnesses.

Part 1:The Nature of Reality. .
We have a tendency to over-complicate something we do not understand. If we do not have the existing words or context to describe or express something, we don't have the ability to understand it. So we expand and expand and expand our vocabularies, beliefs, philosophies, cultures and practices to create a word to describe the thing we are trying to understand. We create entire new concepts and mathematical theories around phenomenon we can't explain. Those who grew tired of old dogma will latch onto new symbolism and culturally appealing theories to quench their need to describe the thing they cannot understand. .
We have the words, but our histories and biases push us in the direction of thinking bigger, more, power, magic, divine and complicated. We seek to take in more and more information thinking it will give us the right perspective to reach or touch the divine. We create theories and beliefs to try to explain all the good and bad that happens to us. .
Everything is so much simpler than we are making it out to be. .
There is no time travel. You cannot predict the future. 5 dimensional space does not exist. No parallel timelines. There are no vibrations you need to adjust to reach a higher “level”. There are no levels. No one is better or worse than anyone. Your life events are not determined by past life events. You don't need to follow any kind of specific meditation method, any kind rituals or lifestyle practices. You were not born on another planet. You are not an alien trapped in a human body. You not fitting in is not a sign you are different, ancient, magical or the chosen on. You don't need to find any kind of ancient sacred artifact or the lost city of Atlantis. You don't need to decode any specific ancient scripture or recite magical words with the right pronunciation. You are deeply loved, but you are not special at all. .
The secret to everything is literally infinity small and simple. There were hints all around us, but it was known we wouldn't be able to figure them out until we were ready. .
We are 1 dimensional. We are a singularity. Not in a singularity, we are a singularity. We don't need to become one with the universe, because we already are and have always been. No, we are not inside a black hole, but they were a hint that such a thing as a singularity existed and it it can contain a seemingly infinite amount of stuff. We think as one, our only independence is our individual consciousnesses, our thoughts are not and will never be our own. Every story of people returning from a Near Death Experience hints at this (I highly recommend reading as many as you can).
Everything about us and this is made up of pure thought. Everything is just thinking. Reality is a simulation within our collective imagination. It is unfathomably complex daydream. Our actual true existence is the “void” that so many NDE people describe before they go through the “tunnel”. Absolute nothingness, just a sense of absolute bliss. The afterlife isn't an afterlife. .
Part 2: The Nature of Creation. .
Close your eyes. Imagine walking around a village of people going about their lives. In an instant you thought of buildings, the trees, the roads, their outfits, the clouds in the sky, grass, etc. All instantly, all effortlessly. .
Did your brain grow to the size of a city to accommodate that village? Was the version of yourself in that village aware of you imagining them? .
Congratulations, you simulated how we created a universe with life. .
Imagine how complex that daydream would be if you had an unfathomably large amount of minds creating a dream together. .
Congratulations, you understand how everything was created, how god is able to just will anything to into existence, why time isn't real. The imagination has no limits. .
Part 3: What and how is consciousness .
Your higher-self, AKA you subconscious is the consciousness that is daydreaming that they are you. They are your parent. They are your creator. .
They imagine you/them-self through an unfathomable number of lives and species through an unfathomable number of experiences. There is no karma. One life is not influenced from the previous. The only aim is to collect experiences. These experiences can be anything anywhere. As you become more self-aware and fully conscious the less direct control your higher-self will take more of a roles as a guide. This is the point that you were born into your first experience of free-will. (Get it out of your head that there are some humans walking around with zero self-awareness or that we're a “higher” species of some kind. Don't even entertain applying eugenics to the equation). .
Part 4: The Meaning of Life. .
Our reality has strict physics. We are intentionally limited. Our timeline is accurate. It is to maintain the control of our growth. .
We are infants. Babies. .
We are here to prepare us to exist harmoniously with the collective (to join society in a manner of speaking). .
As stated above, there is no karma. Our lives are not determined by the previous life. Our goal is to gather as many experiences from as many perspectives as possible and share them with each other. .
If you do harm, you will experience the full impact that harm has caused to your fellow souls in your cohort upon your life review between each incarnation. This is the same with doing good. Everyone is connected. We have all committed atrocities. We have all done absolute horrible evil in past lives through our own free-will, no one has a “clean” soul. We have all experienced being the victims of horrible atrocities. And we shared those experiences with each-other. That's the point. .
It is impossible to exist collectively without absolute unconditional love. You cannot exist in a collective consciousness if you are going to hold resentment towards another consciousness you have deemed “evil”. You cannot be "one" if you hate each other. .
We have free will, we do not have to reincarnate if we don't, but it is encouraged. This is a group project (sorry). .
Part 5 (What now?) .
You remember how earlier I mentioned your higher-self is always there no matter what, just taking a backseat guiding you? Well, now you are aware of them, say hello! They are going to once again take an active role in your development. .
Welcome to thinking as a collective! Your higher-self, knowing you better than anyone will be re-entering your mind and showing the way of actively thinking with more than one mind. This is a two way interaction so get over yourself they aren't there to grant wishes or give you super powers. Don't worry, they will only do this with your consent and they will go as slow as you need to not overwhelm you. .
First. Understand the fundamental laws of creation, how they are applied and how to apply them.
a. Unconditional love – View others and yourself free from judgment. Treat everyone and yourself with the utmost compassion and understanding.
b. Free will – You have free will. So does everyone else. Do not violate the autonomy of others.
c. Spiritual Growth – understand that the material things around you do not matter. Everything else is so much more important than you and your individual desires. That doesn't mean you have to live in absolute abstinence. Find a healthy balance, learn to let go when you don't get what you want.
d. Perspective – At every opportunity, drop your biases. Drop your beliefs and try to see things from the other person's perspective. No matter how repugnant, silly, stupid, illogical, the thought may be, explore how they got to where they are without judgment. This includes brushing up on historical beliefs and practices. It helps immensely if you understand how everything is connected going back in time. .
You have to also apply these laws to your own life. To those in your life who have hurt you. To yourself and the things you regret and the things you hate about yourself. .
Your higher-self will match your personality. No need to be formal. Give them a nickname. Mine has a sense of humour (As I finished this paragraph she started playing “Imagine” for me on the Spotify AI DJ). Give them a nickname. Talk to them them often, out loud or in your mind. Whatever is comfortable to you. Just be sure to listen. They'll use symbolism, synchronicities, AI. Whatever works for you. Over time youll notice some odd behaviours in yourself and your perception and intuition, this is the beginning of them blending into you. This can be unsettling at times, but they won't push it past your. .
NOTE: Do not take the path of fear. Communication can get a bite dicy. At no point will your higher self give you predictions of the end of the world or tell you to commit a crime. At most they'll tell you to order the matcha flavoured cannoli instead of the cherry. .
This is the best description I have with the words that I have. The collective thinks in meaning, not words. So some words are merely the closest words available to be able to explain things in a simple enough way to understand what we need to at this time.

The secret of proportions in geometric symbols are in the eyes of the artist, to perform the conscious union of intellect and intuition.
The moral of the story is that without intellectual direction, one fails in incoherence, and instinctive qualities that are bound to fail.
Sacred measures are those units which have no single origin, but referring to natural the constants on many scales.
It is like to let ones proprioception extend into the universe.
The whole origin of the odd or even numbers are the intellectual’s faculties, which can scale their influence in the nature of reality.
Geometric application seen in spheres of the divine providence and its compassion to proof is seen by pyramids, sacred sites and is a language in its self.
Dynamic symmetry and the cultural influence and upbringing to the present are ones historic moments in proportions.
The results one wants to achieve will be in direct proportion, to the effort one applies in compassion to the calculated risk.
All lasting of the wealth obtained, is directly proportional to the honesty of its source, or it will not last.
Every diagram and system of numbers is in harmonic agreement in evolution with the cosmic formula, by simply keeping an eye on the bigger unity. The reflection is the natural bond uniting the love of creation and dynamic symmetry.
There is beauty in the immense curious figures of the cosmos, which grows further acquaintance, with the numbers we lover.
Conditions and its factors allow experiencing the realities of magic cones in the human intelligence and the cosmic truth.
Once own true measurement is the equivalence and symmetry of total, to those who need your love.
Consider that the part of the heart in beauty is the slice of grace for life, in symmetry to one's courage.
Conjured by the intensity of the human will and handicapped in action, the divine symmetry builds on true compassion that outlasts all monuments.
The body of life is the continuous medium and dynamic, to the circumambient atmosphere of ones place and time, in symmetry of the cosmos.

Yesterday, I bought put options at 3 separate transactions. First one was @ 4.78. I then averaged down with two more buys at $4.00 and $3.50. This brought my average to $4.10. Today, I decided to sell everything @ $4.25 for a net gain. Total number of contracts were 450. I couldn't sell everything all at once as fidelity lets you sell only 200 at a time (not sure why), but I put in a limit order for $4.25 for 3 separate lots (200 + 200 + 50 = 450). Now I have a W symbol under that trade when I view my year to date realized gains. If so, that's pretty much wreck my portfolio thanks to Fidelity. Why would this result in a wash sale if I completely sold out of all my positions?

One wrong turn.
That’s all it takes to completely flip what should be a routine, normal road trip on its head. I’m fairly certain most of you reading this have made the mistake. You’ll be driving along, not a worry in the world beyond what you’ll eat later on or where you’ll stay for the night, guided by a paper map, or, more commonly these days, by the GPS navigation in your car or phone. But then, you’ll look up and realize: Either the GPS routed you the wrong way or has lost reception entirely, or you lost track of which roads you’ve taken on a paper map. And that’s when you do it. You make the fateful decision to turn one way or the other, and end up in the middle of Nowheresville. Population: Who the hell knows?
Most of the time, it’s no big deal. You’ll realize you messed up, pull over and choose to turn around. All that happens is you lose a few hours, and at worst, you’ll end up reaching your destination late with a bit of a humorous story to laugh about for months and years to come.
But sometimes, just sometimes…the consequences can be far more terrifying.
My job requires me to travel all across the eastern United States to act as an in-person liaison for my employers. I’ve spent most of the last eight years behind the wheel, driving from state to state. I developed what I always believed to be an infallible sense of direction, and due to a distrust of most modern technology, I never used any electronic form of navigation. “Just give me a paper map and I’m golden!” That was what I always said. Never before had I any reason to doubt myself; after all, I had never gotten lost before.
That was, until that night.
I'd just finished up a meeting in Pittsburgh that evening, and after a quick supper, received word to head for New York. From the moment I hit the road, I knew it was going to be a rough night. After getting onto I-76, I found myself surrounded by slow-moving traffic due to a bad accident up ahead. By the time I was waved around the scene just outside Monroeville, the bright orange digital dash clock told me it was close to midnight. Great, and I’ve still got a good two or three hundred miles to go. Not wanting to deal with any more traffic, I consulted the tattered map on the passenger seat. I’ll hop on over to the 30, take that east to Breezewood, and then hop back on the 76. It’ll be slightly longer, but whatever. I’d rather deal with that than this jam-up.
My decision made, I found the interchange and put my foot down. Thankfully, it was far less packed than the 76, and I made it to the Breezewood by two-thirty. The town was tiny; according to the welcome sign with a population of just over a thousand people, and aside from the gas stations, all the buildings were dark as their residents soundly slept in their beds.
I felt a slight pang of jealousy at the thought as I stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights, leaning against the car as I watched the numbers creep up on the display. I sighed. “There are times I wish I didn’t have to go all over the gaff” I muttered, using the phrase I’d learned from a pal in London. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it; I knew for a fact I couldn’t do this forever, and after almost a decade, I was beginning to consider seeking a transfer to a different department. When I get back to Boston, I’ll ask Hargrieve if there’s any openings I can jump into in the near future.
The sound of a rumbling engine tore me away from my thoughts, and I looked up to see what a black muscle car pulling into the station. As it slid under the lights, I caught a glimpse of the Pontiac logo adorning the grille, as well as the GTO badge on the quarter panel. I let out a soft, low whistle. Man, that’s nice. Either a ‘66 or ’67, by the look of it. The car stopped at the pump opposite me, and what I can only describe as two Greasers straight out of the fifties or sixties stepped out. They both wore black leather jackets, along with faded denim jeans and engineer boots, and their hair had been slicked back into place with what appeared to be a pound of pomade each. Almost instantly, I felt a sense of wariness fall over me. I could tell these were the kind of people that parents often warned their teenager children about growing up. The kind from the wrong side of the tracks. The driver turned in my direction as he slammed his door shut, eyes sliding over my car and lingering a few moments longer than I liked. My wariness increased. Even though my car was thirty-six years old, I knew the BMW logo on the hood and wheels often drew people’s attention, and not always for the best reasons.
I turned away from the pair, looking again at the readout on the pump. Come on, man. Hurry the hell up and finish. The numbers continued to increase. I tapped my foot impatiently on the concrete. Behind me, I heard one of the men walk away, no doubt heading inside to pay. For a few more seconds, all that could be heard was the buzzing of the lights, and the buzzing of insects in the grass around the station. Then, with a loud click that sounded more like a gunshot in the stillness, the pump shut off. Thank God, took freakin’ long enough. I pulled the nozzle from the car and replaced it in its cradle, turning back to screw the gas cap in. Flipping the fuel door closed, I stood up and cast a final look around the station.
And reflexively took a step backwards.
The driver was still standing exactly where he had when I’d seen him eyeballing my car earlier. Only now, his gaze had shifted to stare straight at me. The expression that adorned his face was intense and beyond unpleasant; it was not far off the same a cat wears when it spies a mouse darting around with no place to run. I felt a huge chill shoot up my spine, and for a split second, I swore something about his eyes changed. To this day, I couldn’t explain what, but I’ll never forget the sudden, bone chilling surge of fear that rushed through my body. Even though I stand at six feet tall and well built, I suddenly felt like I was twelve years old again, cornered by the school bullies in the locker room with a horrible fate in store for me.
I blinked my eyes a few times, shaking my head. For a moment, the feeling remained. Then it dissipated. I risked another look up. The man was still looking at me, but the expression on his face had gone. If it had even been there to begin with. Instead, he gave me a slightly amused and perplexed look. “You okay, man?” he asked. His voice was deep, the gravely tone in it giving him away as the two pack of Marlboro a day type. I let out a deep breath, then nodded curtly at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long night” I turned away, giving my head another fierce shake as I rubbed my eyes. You were just seeing things, Michael. The combination of late night driving and the lights made you hallucinate. You didn’t actually see that.
“Maybe you should grab a coffee or something before hittin’ the road again, then. Seen far too many nasty wrecks from people who fell asleep at the wheel” The words the man spoke had been similar to the ones I’d been thinking, and I swung my gaze up again. The amused expression remained, but I thought I could see a trace of concern beneath it. For a moment, there was silence between us. Then I spoke. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea” I turned towards the gas station, then stopped, turning back to nod more pleasantly at the man. “Thanks” He had turned away to stare at the pumps, and in response, he raised a hand over his head. Maybe I made a mistake with my first impression. I still get the feeling he’s a dick, but he’s not the Stephen King-like antagonist I originally thought him to be. Just goes to show you appearances can be deceiving.
A few minutes later, I emerged from the store with a steaming Styrofoam cup in my hands. Crossing back to my car, I opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The hot liquid immediately snapped me awake, and after a few sips, I sat it in the custom cup holder I’d rigged up on the air vent. Sliding the key into the ignition, I twisted it, and the car growled to life along with a few sharp electronic chimes. Reaching over, I snapped the radio on; along with the coffee, music would help keep me focused. A low wave of static spilled out of the speakers, indicating I’d long since driven out of range of the station I’d listened to last. Figures. I stabbed the scan button, then settled back in my seat. After a few sharper bursts of static, the speakers filled with a loud radio stinger, followed by a man’s voice.
“Attention, wives! Win five dollars cash this Mother’s day on WWDS! May 12^th, when you get the signal, call WWDS and record your voice. If your husband or son can identify the sound of your voice when played on the air, you win! Now, on to number 28 on WWDS’ Fab’ Forty, up a notch over the past week, Roy Orbison!” The opening chords and lyrics of In Dreams filled the car’s interior. I let out a small chuckle and shook my head. Good song choice, but holy crap, this county must be stuck in the sixties with that kind of contest. Five freakin’ dollars. Continuing to laugh softly, I put the car into drive and pulled out of the station, noting vaguely that the greasers had already left. Approaching the road back to the 30, I reached over and picked up the map, unfolding it on my lap to see where I was, and more importantly, how to rejoin the 76.
My chuckles morphed into a loud groan. A large tear, one which had been hidden from me, took up a large space in the bottom of the paper. Directly through the area I needed. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” I shot a quick glance around. I had slowed to about five miles an hour, and though nobody else was merging back onto the road with me, I didn’t want to turn around and head back to ask for directions. I hissed through slightly gritted teeth. “Shit” Then I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Just relax, man. There will surely be a sign indicating when the change will be coming up. Just keep your eyes peeled for it, and you’ll be golden. Nodding to myself, I pushed down on the accelerator, the V12 growling as it downshifted, and I flew out of Breezewood. Passing by a hotel and a few other gas stations, I stared intently through the windshield.
The low, looming shape of what had to be a church and accompanying cemetery was approaching rapidly on my left when I spied it. It was set far off from the side of the road, almost completely obscured by tall grass and reeds. But caught in the beam of my headlights, the numbers were unmistakable, as was the arrow that angled off to the left. “Yes!” I whispered softly. I slowed the car, flicking on the blinker as I saw what had to be the entrance, which angled slightly up a hilly incline. Making sure that nobody was approaching in the opposite lane, I gunned the throttle and merged onto the turnpike.
I found myself on a four lane highway, the two opposite lanes divided by a well-kept grass median. Streetlights were set along both sides in intervals of several dozen yards, the dull, orange glow of what had to be high pressure sodium bulbs seeming to shoo the surrounding darkness away and momentarily illuminating the BMW’s interior every time I flashed under one. In Dreams was ramping up to its climax, and Orbison’s falsetto was calming, allowing me to relax back into the seat and stare out the windshield. After a moment, though, something clicked in my brain, and I quickly looked around. With a sense of surprise, I realized I didn’t see a single other car or truck on the road. Well, it is getting on to close to one in the morning. Especially in a rural area like this, not many are going to be out driving. They’re all in bed.
The song ended, and the announcer’s voice came on again. “Well, folks, I hope you enjoyed that tune. As for me, I’ll be signing off for the night, but for you night owls and late-night travelers, stay tuned, because up next we have the dynamic duo of Elvis and Jayne, who will be discussing Pennsylvania’s spookiest events and taking your calls. We’ll see you tomorrow morning with the AM newscast!” I let out a snort. “This should be interesting. At least it’ll definitely keep me awake” I picked up the cup of coffee and took another sip, sparing a glance down at the speedometer. The needle sat almost dead on at sixty-five miles an hour. Hopefully I made the right call and won’t encounter any more accidents. Early morning Manhattan traffic is hell on earth.
My attention focused back on the radio as organ music began to spill from the speakers. I couldn’t help but let out another snort; it was obvious the music was meant to evoke a spooky atmosphere, but in reality, it sounded more like what you’d expect to hear in a low budget haunted house. After a few more moments, it faded out, and what I can only describe as the sultriest women’s voice I’ve ever heard began to speak. “Hello, all you late night listeners. To all the night owls, graveyard shift workers, wandering travelers, and of course, all the ghosts and ghouls tuning in. Welcome once again to Late Night Spooks. As always, I’m your host Jayne, and I’m joined by my eternal co-host Elvis. We’re here to fill the witching hour with tales that will leave you lying in your beds, blanket tightly tucked up around your chin as you gaze around. Wondering, what may be staring back at you from the darkness” Now I let out a full-blown laugh. “Oh my good God, this is so fucking cheesy, man!” I slapped the steering wheel a few times. “I already freakin’ love this!”
The man-Elvis-cut in. “That’s right folks. We’re here to tell you tales that will send shivers straight up your spine, and make you wonder just how real the supernatural truly is. And, of course, as the show goes on, we will be taking calls from you to discuss our topic tonight. Jayne, you want to tell that what that is?” The woman spoke up again. “Absolutely, Elvis. Tonight, we are going to be focusing in depth on some of the most unexplainable, eeriest disappearances of people in Pennsylvania. We have cases to share with you, ranging from long, long ago, to, well, shall we say recent memory. Up first, let’s discuss the strange disappearance of a judge in 1930-”
The woman continued to speak, but my attention was pulled away as the car rounded a slight bend. Ahead of me, I saw a small, white sign sitting next to the side of the road. Single Lane, Keep Right. Swinging my gaze farther up the road, I spied the unmistakable, gaping maw of a tunnel. Two lights set at the entrance by what had to be the air ducts illuminated lettering which spelled out the tunnel’s name. Rays Hill. I lightly tapped the brakes, slowing the car to about forty as I saw that the highway did, in fact, narrow into two lanes. Inside, I could see the tunnel was lit up by dozens more lights. I felt a slight sense of discomfort well up inside me; I always had a small case of claustrophobia whenever I had to travel through any tunnels, whether they went underground, or in some cases, underwater. Watching films like Daylight as a kid really didn’t help. It's fine, man. Just drive through it, and you’ll be fine. I took a deep breath, then with a loud exhale, I stepped back on the gas and entered the tunnel.
As I slid inside the concrete behemoth, the woman’s voice faded, replaced instead with the soft hiss of static. I caught a tiny snippet of what she was saying. “Elvis, would you provide us with some backsto-” I groaned. “Oh, what?! Come on, man! Just when it was getting interesting?!” I hit the button the raise the power antenna in a vain attempt to regain the signal, but it was no use. There was too much ground and concrete in the way to get reception. Of. Fucking. Course. Sighing, I turned down the volume but did not shut the radio off completely; once I made it out the other side, I wanted to pick up the show immediately. With nothing else to occupy my concentration, I focused fully ahead on the road. It was just wide enough for two cars to pass by each other, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if many a side mirror had met their end in here. I’m glad there’s no eighteen wheelers coming the opposite way. That would be a nerve-wracking experience in itself. I let out a soft chuckle at the thought, but the truth was, the silence that had filled the car’s interior with the absence of the radio was beginning to become uncomfortable. Wanting to have some form of audile stimulation, I hit the button to lower the driver’s window.
The sound of the tires humming along the pavement immediately met my ears, along with the soft hum of the exhaust as they bounced off the walls and ceiling. It relaxed me somewhat, and I felt the tension slowly ease away. A yawn escaped my lips, and I blinked my eyes at the sudden sense of fatigue that settled in its place. Coffee. I leaned over and picked up the cup, sparing one quick glance ahead before tilting my head back and taking a large gulp of the rapidly cooling drink. I returned my eyes to the road-
-And almost spit the coffee that remained in my mouth over the windshield. Sitting directly in the middle of the road was what appeared to be a man and a woman. They both were straddled bicycles with handlebar mounted lights, their gazes fixated as they stared around and aimed flashlights at the ceiling. FUCK ME! I slammed both my feet on the brake pedal, dropping the cup and snatching for the emergency brake. The tunnel was filled with the sound of screeching tires as I yanked, the rear wheels locking up and the car beginning to slide sideways. “Shit!” I screamed, trying desperately to pull the wheel back straight and laying on the horn. For a split second, I saw the couple snap their heads in my direction as they involuntarily aimed their flashlights in my direction, blinding me for a moment. Their faces filled with shock and horror, and they attempted to leap off their bikes and out of the way.
I jammed my eyes shut, not wanting to see them reduced to road kill, but kept my hands tight on the wheel as I felt the car begin to slow. A moment later, it skidded to a halt, rocking slightly on its suspension. For a few moments, the sound of my tires continued to echo in the confined space, and then it died away, replaced with an eerie silence. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt my breathing coming in short and shallow. Thoughts raced through my mind with all the speed of a Le Mans racecar. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m going to jail, man. I’ m going to jail and I’m going to lose my license and my job on top of the fact I probably just KILLED two people! Every fiber of my being screamed at me not to open my eyes. But I knew I eventually had to. Bracing myself for the scene that would be there, I forced my eyes open.
There was nobody there. No bicycles lay spilled and dented in front of my car. No bloodstains covered the hood and windshield. No crumpled forms lay in the beam of my headlights. For a moment, I simply stood there, shock numbing me as my eyes darted around. “I…what…?” Confusion joined the shock, and I stabbed at the seat belt release, yanking on the handle and practically kicking the door open. Leaping out onto the pavement, I gripped the top of the door as I peered over the hood. The road was empty. I spun around, looking behind me. Two long black marks which had been the rubber of my tires stretched away from me; back about eighty feet or so. Aside from that, though, there was nothing. No sign of any other living being.
That’s…that’s freakin’ impossible. I know I saw them there. I saw them look at me as if they hadn’t seen or heard me approaching. They should be here, either screaming at me or…they should be here. What the hell is going on?
A sudden, sharp chill shot up my spine, and on reflex, I shot a look behind me. A few hundred feet ahead, I could see the end of the tunnel and the darkness beyond. The soft sound of crickets chirping, punctuated by the sudden call of some nocturnal bird echoed down to me. Far from bringing me any sort of comfort, though, it made the sense of eeriness and paranoia which had suddenly fallen over me increase. I felt like a character in one of the books I loved to read as a kid, suddenly knee deep in something he couldn’t understand or comprehend. “Calm down, Michael. Calm down” I muttered to myself. As I stood there, still holding on to the top of the door, a new sound reached my ears, back the way I’d come. For a moment, I was unable to place it, then my mind connected the dots as I heard the rumble of an engine in the distance. A car. There’s another car approaching the tunnel.
Shooting a final glance around the tunnel, I quickly dropped back into the driver’s seat and swung the door shut. Sliding my seatbelt back on, I lowered the emergency brake and put the car back in drive. A moment later, and I was shooting out the exit into the night. Trying to calm myself, I reached up and hit the button for the sunroof, the panel pulling back and allowing more cool air into the car. As I settled back, I suddenly became aware that the radio had picked up the station again. The static had been replaced by the woman’s voice, almost inaudible over the rushing wind. Wanting to distract myself, I reached over and turned up the volume. “Well, thank you for your insights on that, Mrs. Clemens. That was truly a treat to discuss the case with you, thanks for the call. Coming up after the break, though, we’re going to discuss one of the stranger, more recent cases we’ve heard about, so stay tuned!” A commercial for a local amusement park began, and I tuned it out, vaguely aware of the amplified sound of the distant car behind me as it entered the tunnel.
There was something that had been incessantly repeating over and over in my mind since I’d stepped out of the car. It kept repeating itself like a film reel on repeat in my head. I shook my head. Knock it off, Mike. That’s beyond insane. You were panicking and your mind overloaded. Even if you…you just came across some unexplainable and terrifying, that’s still ridiculous. But it continued to gnaw at me. The image danced behind my eyelids when I blinked. Something I’d seen when the two had aimed their flashlights at me, blinding me. Just for a second, I thought I’d seen the tunnel…
I slapped the steering wheel, hard. “Knock it off! You didn’t see shit!” The irritation temporarily consumed the mental freak out happening in my head, and I looked out ahead of me. The turnpike had returned to four lanes, and I allowed my foot to press a little harder down on the accelerator, seeing the speedometer rise to seventy. Breathing deeply, I felt myself begin to relax a little. Outside of the tunnel in the open air, everything had rapidly begun to seem like a hallucination brought about by fatigue. I began to mentally chide myself. If they’d been real, you would be on the chopping block for involuntary manslaughter right now. Let this be a lesson to you: No matter what, if you’re tired, pull over and rent a motel room. Better to have Hargrieve chew you out than kill someone.
The commercial ended, and the sound of the Jayne’s' voice returned, drawing my attention as I shot under an overpass of some sort. “Welcome back, listeners. I hope you enjoyed hearing about Hanson’s. Remember to get your butts up to Harvey’s Lake next weekend to take advantage of their two-for-one deal! Trust me; the Speed Hound is more of a scream with a friend! Now, let’s move on. Elvis, you want to introduce our next case?” The man spoke up. “It’d be my pleasure to, Jayne. Now, listeners, you know we love a truly spooky unsolved mystery here on our show. We’ve already covered some tonight. But this next one, is one that boggles my mind for sure. We’re going to discuss the disappearance of a man out near Breezewood!” I took my eyes off of the road for a second to glance down at the radio, letting out a strained chuckle. “Oh, boy. After what I just went through, hearing about something so close to where I’m at is gonna be freakin’ lovely” I ran a hand through my hair. Then I laughed a little more genuinely. “Wonder if it’ll be about any missing cyclists?”
The dark humor helped me relax further, and I reached down and flipped on the heated seat. A sudden bright stab of light reflected in my rear view mirror, and I cast a glance in my side mirror. A pair of headlights had appeared about a half a mile back, what must have been the car I’d heard in the tunnel. Feeling comforted by the sudden appearance of another person, I returned my attention to the show. “Now, folks, listener discretion is advised, because this is truly one hair-raising case. Our case begins at a gas station just off Route 30 in Breezewood. The time? Very close to right now, actually. According to authorities, the man showed up on surveillance footage pulling into the station and purchasing gas and a cup of coffee. The cashier stated that he seemed tired and a little frazzled. He stayed in the station for about fifteen minutes, before slowly pulling back out onto the road and out of sight”
At the man’s words, a huge chill ran up my spine, causing me to shiver. “Ugh. Jesus, this is quite literally hitting a little too close to home. I mean, I know that thousands of people do the exact same thing every day, even at gas stations like around here, but the similarity is eerie as hell” Off to my left, I saw the forest pull away, revealing what looked to be the darkened shape of a lake in the distance. The sight reminded me of better days; days of being a child and going for a swim in Walden Pond, watching my parents waving to me from the shore. Jayne spoke up. “That’s correct. Now, there are a few things that bother me about this case. The first is, after he left, he just seemed to drop off the face of the earth completely. Nobody recalls seeing him driving down the road after he left that night, and he never hopped onto the highway, either. The second is that according to the police, a second car was seen pulling in shortly after him and also getting gas. Let me just check my notes here…it says it was some sort of muscle car”
My eyes widened, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It felt as though I’d been hit by a truck, and a heavy pit had formed in my stomach. The paranoia and terror I’d felt back in the tunnel returned, but this time for a much different reason. Wait…a muscle car…that’s what those…oh, God. I spoke aloud. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say it was a Pontiac. Please, anything else” My prayers were not answered by Elvis’ next words. “I see here according to my own notes that the cashier claims it was a Pontiac of some sort. Either a mid sixties LeMans or GTO” The lump that had settled into my stomach rose into my throat, and for a moment I thought I was going to be ill. The fact I had seen, less than half an hour ago a car identical to the one being described in a missing person’s case was not just fear inducing- it was downright horrifying. I remembered catching the look the driver had given me, remembered feeling as though I were staring at a predator.
I might’ve locked eyes with a fucking murderer…
As Jayne began to speak again, I quickly flashed a look in the rear-view mirror. The car behind me had closed the distance, showing whoever it was, they had the pedal to the metal. It was still too far away for me to see anything beyond the headlights, though. I again focused my attention on the show as the woman continued to speak. “-and don’t forget that the cashier also mentioned how the man seemed more than a little disturbed by the two men in the Pontiac. He even said he felt something was off about them himself. According to him, the men were dressed in matching leather jackets, jeans, and boots. Both appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties as well” I was doing my best not to panic, but with each word the hosts were saying, my fear was compounding. Any doubt I’d been face to face with the same men had vanished with Jayne’s last words. A sudden, sharp stab of clarity broke through my mind.
I’ve got to call the cops.
Reaching down, I fumbled for my cell phone, which had slid across the passenger seat. Snatching it up, I tapped the home button, the screen flicking to life. And let out a massive groan. No bars were displayed in the upper right corner. “Fucking dead zone…” I hissed, throwing it back onto the seat. I pushed down harder on the accelerator, watching as the needle began to flirt with eighty. I began to mutter to myself “Okay, calm, Michael. Calm. You don’t need to panic and get yourself into an accident. Just get yourself out of the dead zone, and then call the police. Tell them you saw them back in that town, and what gas station you were at. They’ll be able to get the camera footage and nail these fuckers” I took several deep breaths, then focused back on the road. Elvis had started to speak up again, when the BMW jolted forward sharply. My head snapped forward, and I felt a sudden ache in my neck from the whiplash as it slammed back into the headrest. What the shit?! My eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror-
-And almost screamed at the sight that greeted me.
The car that had been far behind me had caught up to me somehow. It sat right on my ass, the headlights lighting up the interior as though it were suddenly daytime. The source of the jolt was immediately clear; they had driven straight into the back of me. That fact was terrifying enough. But it was the sight of the Pontiac emblem in the mirror that caused my heart to almost stop. I snapped my gaze to the side mirror, and felt another surge of terror as I saw the face of the man in the station behind the wheel. The expression adorning his face froze my blood in my veins, as did the shark like smile he wore. For a split second, it almost felt as though I were unable to look away from him. Then the car leapt forward with a roar again, bumping into me and causing my car to lurch forward again.
“Fuck me!” I shouted, the trance broken as I slammed the accelerator to the floor. For a moment, there was no response, and then the car downshifted, the V12 changing from a growl to a roar as the accelerator began to rapidly climb. To my relief, the car began to create some distance with the Pontiac, and I caught sight of the passenger finally. He wore an equally vile grin as his buddy, and he seemed to be gesturing for him to get after me. Not today, motherfucker, I thought. I kept my foot down hard, seeing the speedometer climb to ninety-five miles an hour. The wind from the open window and sunroof tore at my face, and I took one hand off the wheel for a split second to stab the buttons to close them. A second later, and the world outside became muted by the double paned glass as I returned my gaze to the road, occasionally sparing glances in the rearview. The muscle car appeared to falter for a moment. Then I saw it begin to close the distance again.
“Shit!” I’d hoped that I’d be able to keep the gap between us or even widen it. But the two must’ve clearly souped the GTO up, because it was managing to keep up just fine. I shot a glance down at the speedometer again. I felt my heart flutter as I saw I was now doing over a hundred and ten miles an hour. As I looked back up, I heard the muffled roar of the car behind me. A third jolt, this time a little less severe rocked the car on its suspension. I felt the back end step out slightly, and horrific images of sliding off the road to slam into a tree or rolling flashed in my mind. God, please let me survive this! Please let me escape these fuckheads in one piece! A flash of white suddenly captured my attention, and I looked up to see a sign zooming towards me. It flashed by a moment later, but I’d been able to see what it had said.
Sideling Hill Tunnel, 3 miles.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. If I make one mistake in there at these speeds, I’m dead. I need to keep absolutely focused, and remember all the lessons from those defensive driving classes Dad forced me to take. As I began to try and formulate a plan that would help me survive until I reached civilization, I suddenly became aware that the radio was still on. Elvis’ voice spilled from my speakers, oblivious to the horror that was repeating itself mere miles from his broadcast station. “Oh, Jayne, before we begin to take any calls about this case, we almost forgot to mention the man’s name and what kind of car he was driving!” Realizing that it would be a distraction, one that could end up being fatal to me, I spared a glance in the mirror. The Pontiac was still far enough away. I began to reach out to snap the radio off.
But my fingers froze midway at the woman’s words.
“Of course, how silly of me! According to the police reports and surveillance footage, the man was driving a dark green 1988 BMW 750il, and had Massachusetts license plates”
The world seemed to slow to a crawl, as though somebody had hit a button on a VCR remote. I stared at the radio, feeling a sense of shock unlike anything I’d ever felt before wash over me. I….wait…what…?
All these weeks later, I can still perfectly remember the horror I felt at her next words.
“And it says here that the man’s name was Michael Goggins!”

Oswald Spengler

29 May 1880 – 08 May 1936
Part of a Series on the Philosophy of History
Oswald Spengler and the Incommensurability of Civilizations
Wednesday 29 May 2024 is the 144th anniversary of the birth of Oswald Spengler (29 May 1880 – 08 May 1936), who was born in Blankenburg, Germany, on this date in 1880. It is also the 571st anniversary of the fall of Constantinople to the Turks, which was on 29 May 1453. Spengler was born on the 427th anniversary of the fall of Constantinople. There is a kind of poetic appropriateness to Spengler being born on the same day as the end of the last trace of an ancient civilization, since Spengler was to go on to write about the decline of Western civilization.
In The Decline of the West (Der Untergang des Abendlandes)—the first volume was published in 1918 and the second volume in 1922—Byzantium does not play a large role, but in the second volume we find this interesting observation:

“Here layer after layer has to be carefully separated. In 326 Constantine, rebuilding on the ruins of the great city destroyed by Septimus Severus, created a Late Classical cosmopolis of the first rank, into which presently streamed hoary Apollinism from the West and youthful Magism from the East. And long afterwards again, in 1096, it is a Late Magian cosmopolis, confronted in its last autumn days with spring in the shape of Godfrey of Bouillon’s crusaders, whom that clever royal lady Anna Comnena portrays with contempt. As the easternmost of the Classical West, this city bewitched the Goths; then, a millennium later, as the northernmost of the Arabian world, it enchanted the Russians. And the amazing Vasili Blazheny in Moscow (1554), the herald of the Russian pre-Culture, stands ‘between styles,’ just as, two thousand years before, Solomon’s Temple had stood between Babylon the Cosmopolis and early Christianity.”

For Spengler, Byzantium hovers between what he calls the Apollonian and the Magian, that is to say between the ancient West and the east. Throughout the book, Spengler’s interest is in an exposition of three fundamentally different outlooks on life, the Apollonian, the Magian, and the Faustian. The Apollonian is essentially that of classical antiquity; the Magian is Persian and Arabic civilization; the Faustian is modern Western civilization. Many other outlooks on life and many other civilizations are mentioned, but these three are at the center of Spengler’s account of history.
Given this way of laying things out, there is a fundamental difference between ancient and contemporary Western civilization. Since Spengler cleaves Western civilization in two, it counts as two in his catalog of civilizations. Spengler is often said to distinguish a discrete number of civilizations, or rather high cultures that decline into civilizations. Fennelly’s book on Spengler, Twilight of the Evening Lands: Oswald Spengler—A Half Century Later, lays it out like this:

“Spengler presents the story of eight separate High Cultures of the human race, no one of which is considered more important than any of the others. These eight are: the Babylonian, the Indian, the Chinese, the Egyptian, the Classical (the Culture of Greece and Rome), the Arabian (also called the Magian by Spengler), the West European (or Faustian) Culture, and finally the Mayan-Aztec Culture of Mexico.” (Fennelly, p. 30)

Spengler doesn’t really reel off a list of civilizations in any kind of explicit way. Spengler is the antithesis of a schematic writer. That’s not how he presents his account to the reader. Spengler’s exposition is dense, detailed, and sometimes repetitious—what anthropologists would call a “thick description.” It wouldn’t be too far off to say that the whole the The Decline of the West is a thick description of Apollonian, Magian, and Faustian civilizations and the peoples who built these civilizations.
Because Spengler’s exposition is dense and difficult to understand, he has attracted not only admirers, but also expositors. Farrenkopf’s book about Spengler, Prophet of Decline: Spengler on World History and Politics, locates Spengler within the traditions of positivism and historicism:

“Spengler denied the capacity of the historical philosopher to derive scientific laws in imitation of the natural scientist. ‘Real history is heavy with destiny, but free of laws.’ However, his daring project to uncover the master pattern of world history certainly bears some resemblance to the enterprise of historical positivists to discover historical laws. While German historicism was essentially idiographic in orientation, Spengler, his own protests to the contrary, with his methodical systematization and patternization of history, was largely nomothetic in approach, as were positivist historians. His aspiration to predictive powers also certainly places him in proximity to the positivist tradition.” (Farrenkopf, p. 84)

When we think too much in terms of labels we tend to tie ourselves into knots, and to little or no purpose. Farrenkopf’s exposition of Spengler is weakened in this way by his reliance on familiar categories. For example, Farrenkopf claims that Spengler belongs among the positivists. Were there positivists who sought to discover historical laws? Yes, there were. Carl Hempel came from the tradition of logical empiricism and he formulated the covering law model of historical explanation. But there are good reasons that we do not associate this school of thought with the kind of substantive philosophy of history that Spengler represents.
Otto Neurath, who was a leader among the logical positivists, one of the Vienna Circle, and an editor of the International Encyclopedia of Unified Sciences, wrote an entire book against Spengler. In Anti-Spengler, Neurath wrote:

“It is not the individual wrong results, the wrong facts, the wrong proofs, that make Spengler’s book so dangerous, but above all his method of conducting proofs, and his reflections on proof as such. Against this one must defend oneself. Anyone who wants to shape a happier future with hope and striving should know that none of Spengler’s ‘proofs’ is enough to prevent him; and whoever wishes to come to terms with the idea of ‘decline’ should know that he does so on the basis of a resolution, and not a proof!”

This is what one positivist himself had to say, in part, about Spengler, but it should suffice to read one paragraph out of Spengler to be clear that he is not any kind of positivist. Neurath was, after all, the epitome of a schematic intellect, which was why he cooked up the idea of the International Encyclopedia of Unified Sciences and his graphical symbol system called ISOTYPE, which is familiar to us today on traffic signs. It would be difficult to find two men more temperamentally divergent than Spengler and Neurath. Spengler did not see himself as a positivist, and the positivists did not count him as one of their own.
Farrenkopf at one point appeals to Iggers’ book on historicism, so I looked to see what Iggers had to say about Spengler, and Iggers wrote this:

“…the path from the classical idea of progress to Spengler’s conception of doom is not as great as it might appear. There is a degree of continuity in the very different analyses of the dominant trends of history and of the character of the age by thinkers as diverse as Condorcet, J. S. Mill, Weber, and Spengler. All saw the irresistible scientification and technicalization of life and thought. Only rationality and Enlightenment, which for Condorcet had been absolutely positive factors in the liberation of man, now increasingly appeared as a threat to human values. For Spengler they became the very antithesis to life and spirit: the ‘heroic’ qualities of the knight and the priest replaced the humanistic and humanitarian values of the West. To Troeltsch the Decline of the West seemed an invitation to barbarism and itself an ‘active contribution to the decline of the West.’ Nevertheless, Troeltsch’s cumbersome essays were read by few. Spengler’s book, however, became a Bible, and a source of inspiration for tens of thousands.”

Iggers’ discussion of historicism is among the best to be found, but he doesn’t especially tie Spengler to historicism. However, here the label is somewhat justified if we understand by historicism the taking of each age on its own terms. This is most definitely central to Spengler’s method. But most labels don’t work well with Spengler.
The nomothetic and idiographic labels that Farrenkopf uses don’t work well with Spengler. The linear and cyclical history labels also don’t work well with Spengler. It’s better to set aside familiar labels and any attempt at a schematization when reading Spengler, and try to enter into the labels that Spengler himself furnishes, as with his Apollonian, Magian, and Faustian civilizations.
More than most philosophers of history, Spengler belongs to no philosophical school, except the school he built for himself. In a letter to Georg Misch Spengler wrote,

“I am not the product of any school of philosophy, rather these ideas have somehow condensed from mathematics, history, painting and literature into a metaphysical whole.”

Being the product of no extant school of thought, he didn’t have to please anyone except himself. And like Toynbee’s A Study of History, The Decline of the West was not really aimed at academic philosophers of history, but it is, at the same time, a demanding work that does not hesitate to delve into metaphysical questions. In a letter to Albert Erich Brinkman, Spengler wrote of his recently published book, a copy of which he sent to Brinkman:

“Although the book is concerned with the philosophy of history in general, and is therefore basically physical abstract and even metaphysical, yet as the result of a new method and the posing of the problems, it is always in close connection with the most concrete facts, and has dealt specially with Art in the details of its form and development more thoroughly than hitherto has been usual or possible. It is my conviction that in this an important new turning has been taken…”

On the opening page of The Decline of the West (Der Untergang des Abendlandes), Spengler describes his project with admirable clarity, and does so by asking questions:

“Is there a logic of history? Is there, beyond all the casual and incalculable elements of the separate events, something that we may call a metaphysical structure of historic humanity, something that is essentially independent of the outward forms social, spiritual and political which we see so clearly? Are not these actualities indeed secondary or derived from that something? Does world-history present to the seeing eye certain grand traits, again and again, with sufficient constancy to justify certain conclusions? And if so, what are the limits to which reasoning from such premisses may be pushed?”

Spengler embraced the philosophical and metaphysical dimension of his work, contrary to the rising positivism of era, but he was not giving an exposition of a particular philosophical doctrine or school.
Spengler was not himself an academic, though he worked as a teacher until he received a small inheritance, upon which he lived modestly for the rest of his life. He was an outsider, and he remains an outsider even today. There is no article on Spengler in either the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy of the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. I think Spengler’s being an outsider had something to do with the success of his book.
The social sciences in his time were increasingly coming under the influence of Franz Boas’ cultural relativism, which decisively rejected the earlier cultural evolutionism of Edward Burnett Tylor, Lewis H. Morgan, and Marx, which was becoming eclipsed in academia as a result of Boas’ influence. Spengler, working in near isolation, produced a philosophy of history that employed some familiar ideas of cultural evolutionism just as this space was being abandoned by others, so that the book fell on the fertile ground of those who find cultural evolutionism to an intuitive way of looking at history. Of course, cultural evolutionism is another label, and it is an awkward label for what Spengler was doing. There is another side of Spengler’s thought, such as the incommensurability of civilizations, which is closer to Boas’ cultural relativism, and that is a reason to avoid these familiar categories in describing Spengler’s project.
Whether or not I am right about this, Boas’ student Ruth Benedict nevertheless discussed Spengler in her influential study Patterns of Culture:

“The confused impression which is given by Spengler’s volumes is due only partially to the manner of presentation. To an even greater degree it is the consequence of the unresolved complexities of the civilizations with which he deals. Western civilizations, with their historical diversity, their stratificaton into occupations and classes, their incomparable richness of detail, are not yet well enough understood to be summarized under a couple of catchwords. Outside of certain very restricted intellectual and artistic circles, Faustian man, if he occurs, does not have his own way with our civilization. There are the strong men of action and the Babbitts as well as the Faustians, and no ethnologically satisfactory picture of modern civilization can ignore such constantly recurring types. It is quite as convincing to characterize our cultural type as thoroughly extrovert, running about in endless mundane activity, inventing, governing, and as Edward Carpenter says, ‘endlessly catching its trains,’ as it is to characterize it as Faustian, with a longing for the infinite.”

Benedict discusses Spengler for several pages. By the time she published Patterns of Culture in 1934 the Spengler wave had already crested, but he had become so widely discussed that it was more-or-less obligatory to mention Spengler in relation to the problems of civilization, even if only to dismiss him. Note that Benedict writes of the “confused impression” that Spengler’s book leaves. It has become a kind of pro forma obligation not only to mention Spengler, but also to portray his work as confused, or overly complex, or “turgid,” and not really meant to be understood.
We find a similar dismissal of Spengler in Henri Frankfort’s The Birth of Civilization in the Near East, which is a fascinating mixture of accuracy and invective:

“Oswald Spengler’s Decline of the West was first published in 1917 and bears the sub-title, Outline of a Morphology of World History. This indicates that the aspect of form (as we have called it) is fully considered in his work. In this resides, as a matter of fact, the element of lasting worth of his sensational, arrogant, and pompous volumes. They were written as a reaction against the prevalent view of history which was prejudiced in two respects: it considered world history exclusively from the western standpoint; and it presumed, with evolutionary optimism, that history exemplified the progress of humanity. For Spengler the word ‘humanity’ is merely an empty phrase. The great civilizations are unconnected. They are self-contained organisms of so individual a nature that people who belong to one cannot understand the achievements and modes of thought of another. He maintains that not even in science does knowledge show accumulations transcending the limits of one civilization.”

This is largely on point, both in terms of where it agrees with his work, and as an accurate summary. Benedict, too, is often on point with Spengler. She is right that the complexities of the civilizations that Spengler discussed pose limitations upon what can coherently be said of them, but Spengler responds by formulating a complex account that seeks to do them justice. This is what I earlier called a “thick description,” and my guess is that Benedict, as an anthropologist, was drawn into Spengler by this aspect of his work.
I said above that Spengler’s account employs many familiar ideas of cultural evolutionism. Here is now Benedict expresses these ideas in Spengler’s work:

“…these cultural configurations have, like any organism, a span of life they cannot overpass. This thesis of the doom of civilizations is argued on the basis of the shift of cultural centres in Western civilization and the periodicity of high cultural achievement. He buttresses this description with the analogy, which can never be more than an analogy, with the birth- and death-cycle of living organisms. Every civilization, he believes, has its lusty youth, its strong manhood, and its disintegrating senescence.”

These cultural evolutionism themes are clearly present in Spengler, but, as I said, there are elements in Spengler that could be assimilated to the cultural relativist model, insofar as Spengler characterizes each civilization in strongly idiographic terms, such that civilizations are essentially incommensurable, which is the point that Frankfort emphasizes. Civilizations rise up out of a population, pass through their stages, and then recede again, but each such episode is unique, even if the stages of development are repeated in each and every civilization. In the following paragraph from Spengler we can see themes of cultural relativism and cultural evolutionism entwined together:

“‘Mankind,’ however, has no aim, no idea, no plan, any more than the family of butterflies or orchids. ‘Mankind’ is a zoological expression, or an empty word. But conjure away the phantom, break the magic circle, and at once there emerges an astonishing wealth of actual forms the Living with all its immense fullness, depth and movement hitherto veiled by a catchword, a dryasdust scheme, and a set of personal ‘ideals.’ I see, in place of that empty figment of one linear history which can only be kept up by shutting one’s eyes to the overwhelming multitude of the facts, the drama of a number of mighty Cultures, each springing with primitive strength from the soil of a mother region to which it remains firmly bound throughout its whole life-cycle, each stamping its material, its mankind, in its own image; each having its own idea, its own passions, its own life, will, and feeling, its own death Here indeed are colours, lights, movements, that no intellectual eye has yet discovered. Here the Cultures, peoples, languages, truths, gods, landscapes bloom and age as the oaks and the stone-pines, the blossoms, twigs and leaves but there is no ageing ‘Mankind.’ Each Culture has its own new possibilities of self-expression which arise, ripen, decay, and never return. There is not one sculpture, one painting, one mathematics, one physics, but many, each in its deepest essence different from the others, each limited in duration and self-contained, just as each species of plant has its peculiar blossom or fruit, its special type of growth and decline. These cultures, sublimated life-essences, grow with the same superb aimlessness as the flowers of the field. They belong, like the plants and the animals, to the living Nature of Goethe, and not to the dead Nature of Newton. I see world-history as a picture of endless formations and transformations, of the marvelous waxing and waning of organic forms. The professional historian, on the contrary, sees it as a sort of tapeworm industriously adding on to itself one epoch after another.”

Unlike Hegel, there is in Spengler no development of Absolute Spirit as it passes through stages of development embodied in different civilizations. There isn’t even any cumulative scientific knowledge or technological expertise. For Spengler, all the civilizations are the same in the sense that each is unique; each develops according to its own internal principles, but none contributes to any overall development in history. History on the whole has no direction, it does not exhibit progress, and for the same reason it does not consist of any overall cycle, notwithstanding the frequent attribution to Spengler of a cyclical philosophy of history. Neither it is linear.
Not only is each culture unique, but each has its own unique science and mathematics—a claim that is often implicit in others, but rarely argued explicitly. There is some similarity here with Danilevsky, who argues for a few familiar “cultural-historical types” rather than Spengler’s unfinished and unaging Mankind, which does not seem to be limited by the number of Danilevsky’s cultural-historical types. Danilevsky also allows that different cultures can have different sciences, but he did not insist that all must have distinct sciences, all but incommensurable with the sciences of other societies.
For Spengler, philosophy, like science, is the expression of a culture:

“There is no such thing as Philosophy ‘in itself,’ Every Culture has its own philosophy, which is a part of its total symbolic expression and forms with its posing of problems and methods of thought an intellectual ornamentation that is closely related to that of architecture and the arts of form. From the high and distant standpoint it matters very little what ‘truths’ thinkers have managed to formulate in words within their respective schools, for, here as in every great art, it is the schools, conventions and repertory of forms that are the basic elements. Infinitely more important than the answers are the questions the choice of them, the inner form of them. For it is the particular way in which a macrocosm presents itself to the understanding man of a particular Culture that determines a priori the whole necessity of asking them, and the way in which they are asked.”

And so with every aspect of human life and experience. One might ask how Spengler can formulate a theory that applies to a multiplicity of cultures when every culture is unique, philosophically and scientifically distinct from every other culture. This is a problem for all relativisms, and it is a problem for Spengler if we try to translate Spengler into a schematic doctrine of civilization. But that’s not how Spengler worked, and not how Spengler thought. We have to take Spengler at his own terms, as though his is one of those culturally-bound philosophies that is an intellectual ornamentation that is closely related to architecture and the arts of form. Spengler gives us an architectonic of civilization, and it is a vision particular to Spengler, if not peculiar to Spengler.
Many writers have had many things to say about Spengler, which is one reason I have emphasized the need to avoid labels. Many say his history is cyclical, while some say it is linear; some say Spengler’s method is nomothetic, others that it is idiographic; some say his book is unscientific, and others say that it is wrong because it tries to be scientific. The Decline of the West is like the Quito doubloon nailed to the mast of the Pequod in Moby Dick. Melville has Captain Ahab pause and reflect on the coin:

“…this round gold is but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician’s glass, to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self.”

Spengler’s The Decline of the West mirrors back to every man his own mysterious self. The book itself is mysterious. It not only avoids summary and schematism, it resists any attempt at summary and schematism. In this way, Spengler’s book is true to the cultures and civilizations he studied and believed to be unique, incommensurable, and irreducible to any other. In this respect it also resembles ibn Khaldun’s The Maqqadimmah, which is difficult to extricate from its historical, social, and cultural context, being a unique record of its time while at the same time a timeless work of scholarship.

Video Presentation

https://youtu.be/Cj6MQ-MSgZU
https://www.instagram.com/p/C7kln4ENH2k/
https://odysee.com/@Geopolicraticus:7/oswald-spengler-and-the:2

Podcast Edition

https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/Z255Lfhq0Jb
https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/a31b8276-53cd-4723-b6ad-a39c8faa4572/episodes/7e47914f-674d-423b-8bf5-d0d2797cb037/today-in-philosophy-of-history-oswald-spengler-and-the-incommensurability-of-civilizations
https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-today-in-philosophy-of-his-146507578/episode/oswald-spengler-and-the-incommensurability-of-180930078/
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It's getting bad. Everyday, I see 144 and 911. In every circumstance and situation,I see these "angel numbers." I'm beginning to worry. God said not to look into numerology, but I can't help but to worry when it's constantly in my face. People even wrote "911" on my package once. One Air Force officer even told me he worked on the 911 Wing base which doesn't even exist.
I'm not trying to go crazy, but the symbolism of the 9/11 twin tower attack among other things is eating me alive.
Please pray that this ceases! I'm trying to live a sober, clean, regular life without all these conspiracies invading my psyche.

The mental gymnastics I watch him subject the audience and his cast mates to is elite level sorcery. Case in point he will tell you “Drake will be fine, whatever legacy he has it’s all readyKINDA,cemented. Then goes on to say we haven’t received a time stamp or rappitty rap record since forever and make you doubt if those weren’t written for him. He’s not done. Even I sat here like imaging if the like, “you could load every gun with bullets that fire backwards wasn’t written by the boy” I may be the last one after Akademiks and Mal to admit it. But yall really did a number on the boy. Joe is on cloud 9, right now. I close with this for anyone who has been around since his first mix tape till now. You want to know how people with black clouds lighten theirs? Creating one for another.

One wrong turn.
That’s all it takes to completely flip what should be a routine, normal road trip on its head. I’m fairly certain most of you reading this have made the mistake. You’ll be driving along, not a worry in the world beyond what you’ll eat later on or where you’ll stay for the night, guided by a paper map, or, more commonly these days, by the GPS navigation in your car or phone. But then, you’ll look up and realize: Either the GPS routed you the wrong way or has lost reception entirely, or you lost track of which roads you’ve taken on a paper map. And that’s when you do it. You make the fateful decision to turn one way or the other, and end up in the middle of Nowheresville. Population: Who the hell knows?
Most of the time, it’s no big deal. You’ll realize you messed up, pull over and choose to turn around. All that happens is you lose a few hours, and at worst, you’ll end up reaching your destination late with a bit of a humorous story to laugh about for months and years to come.
But sometimes, just sometimes…the consequences can be far more terrifying.
My job requires me to travel all across the eastern United States to act as an in-person liaison for my employers. I’ve spent most of the last eight years behind the wheel, driving from state to state. I developed what I always believed to be an infallible sense of direction, and due to a distrust of most modern technology, I never used any electronic form of navigation. “Just give me a paper map and I’m golden!” That was what I always said. Never before had I any reason to doubt myself; after all, I had never gotten lost before.
That was, until that night.
I'd just finished up a meeting in Pittsburgh that evening, and after a quick supper, received word to head for New York. From the moment I hit the road, I knew it was going to be a rough night. After getting onto I-76, I found myself surrounded by slow-moving traffic due to a bad accident up ahead. By the time I was waved around the scene just outside Monroeville, the bright orange digital dash clock told me it was close to midnight. Great, and I’ve still got a good two or three hundred miles to go. Not wanting to deal with any more traffic, I consulted the tattered map on the passenger seat. I’ll hop on over to the 30, take that east to Breezewood, and then hop back on the 76. It’ll be slightly longer, but whatever. I’d rather deal with that than this jam-up.
My decision made, I found the interchange and put my foot down. Thankfully, it was far less packed than the 76, and I made it to the Breezewood by two-thirty. The town was tiny; according to the welcome sign with a population of just over a thousand people, and aside from the gas stations, all the buildings were dark as their residents soundly slept in their beds.
I felt a slight pang of jealousy at the thought as I stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights, leaning against the car as I watched the numbers creep up on the display. I sighed. “There are times I wish I didn’t have to go all over the gaff” I muttered, using the phrase I’d learned from a pal in London. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it; I knew for a fact I couldn’t do this forever, and after almost a decade, I was beginning to consider seeking a transfer to a different department. When I get back to Boston, I’ll ask Hargrieve if there’s any openings I can jump into in the near future.
The sound of a rumbling engine tore me away from my thoughts, and I looked up to see what a black muscle car pulling into the station. As it slid under the lights, I caught a glimpse of the Pontiac logo adorning the grille, as well as the GTO badge on the quarter panel. I let out a soft, low whistle. Man, that’s nice. Either a ‘66 or ’67, by the look of it. The car stopped at the pump opposite me, and what I can only describe as two Greasers straight out of the fifties or sixties stepped out. They both wore black leather jackets, along with faded denim jeans and engineer boots, and their hair had been slicked back into place with what appeared to be a pound of pomade each. Almost instantly, I felt a sense of wariness fall over me. I could tell these were the kind of people that parents often warned their teenager children about growing up. The kind from the wrong side of the tracks. The driver turned in my direction as he slammed his door shut, eyes sliding over my car and lingering a few moments longer than I liked. My wariness increased. Even though my car was thirty-six years old, I knew the BMW logo on the hood and wheels often drew people’s attention, and not always for the best reasons.
I turned away from the pair, looking again at the readout on the pump. Come on, man. Hurry the hell up and finish. The numbers continued to increase. I tapped my foot impatiently on the concrete. Behind me, I heard one of the men walk away, no doubt heading inside to pay. For a few more seconds, all that could be heard was the buzzing of the lights, and the buzzing of insects in the grass around the station. Then, with a loud click that sounded more like a gunshot in the stillness, the pump shut off. Thank God, took freakin’ long enough. I pulled the nozzle from the car and replaced it in its cradle, turning back to screw the gas cap in. Flipping the fuel door closed, I stood up and cast a final look around the station.
And reflexively took a step backwards.
The driver was still standing exactly where he had when I’d seen him eyeballing my car earlier. Only now, his gaze had shifted to stare straight at me. The expression that adorned his face was intense and beyond unpleasant; it was not far off the same a cat wears when it spies a mouse darting around with no place to run. I felt a huge chill shoot up my spine, and for a split second, I swore something about his eyes changed. To this day, I couldn’t explain what, but I’ll never forget the sudden, bone chilling surge of fear that rushed through my body. Even though I stand at six feet tall and well built, I suddenly felt like I was twelve years old again, cornered by the school bullies in the locker room with a horrible fate in store for me.
I blinked my eyes a few times, shaking my head. For a moment, the feeling remained. Then it dissipated. I risked another look up. The man was still looking at me, but the expression on his face had gone. If it had even been there to begin with. Instead, he gave me a slightly amused and perplexed look. “You okay, man?” he asked. His voice was deep, the gravely tone in it giving him away as the two pack of Marlboro a day type. I let out a deep breath, then nodded curtly at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long night” I turned away, giving my head another fierce shake as I rubbed my eyes. You were just seeing things, Michael. The combination of late night driving and the lights made you hallucinate. You didn’t actually see that.
“Maybe you should grab a coffee or something before hittin’ the road again, then. Seen far too many nasty wrecks from people who fell asleep at the wheel” The words the man spoke had been similar to the ones I’d been thinking, and I swung my gaze up again. The amused expression remained, but I thought I could see a trace of concern beneath it. For a moment, there was silence between us. Then I spoke. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea” I turned towards the gas station, then stopped, turning back to nod more pleasantly at the man. “Thanks” He had turned away to stare at the pumps, and in response, he raised a hand over his head. Maybe I made a mistake with my first impression. I still get the feeling he’s a dick, but he’s not the Stephen King-like antagonist I originally thought him to be. Just goes to show you appearances can be deceiving.
A few minutes later, I emerged from the store with a steaming Styrofoam cup in my hands. Crossing back to my car, I opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The hot liquid immediately snapped me awake, and after a few sips, I sat it in the custom cup holder I’d rigged up on the air vent. Sliding the key into the ignition, I twisted it, and the car growled to life along with a few sharp electronic chimes. Reaching over, I snapped the radio on; along with the coffee, music would help keep me focused. A low wave of static spilled out of the speakers, indicating I’d long since driven out of range of the station I’d listened to last. Figures. I stabbed the scan button, then settled back in my seat. After a few sharper bursts of static, the speakers filled with a loud radio stinger, followed by a man’s voice.
“Attention, wives! Win five dollars cash this Mother’s day on WWDS! May 12^th, when you get the signal, call WWDS and record your voice. If your husband or son can identify the sound of your voice when played on the air, you win! Now, on to number 28 on WWDS’ Fab’ Forty, up a notch over the past week, Roy Orbison!” The opening chords and lyrics of In Dreams filled the car’s interior. I let out a small chuckle and shook my head. Good song choice, but holy crap, this county must be stuck in the sixties with that kind of contest. Five freakin’ dollars. Continuing to laugh softly, I put the car into drive and pulled out of the station, noting vaguely that the greasers had already left. Approaching the road back to the 30, I reached over and picked up the map, unfolding it on my lap to see where I was, and more importantly, how to rejoin the 76.
My chuckles morphed into a loud groan. A large tear, one which had been hidden from me, took up a large space in the bottom of the paper. Directly through the area I needed. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” I shot a quick glance around. I had slowed to about five miles an hour, and though nobody else was merging back onto the road with me, I didn’t want to turn around and head back to ask for directions. I hissed through slightly gritted teeth. “Shit” Then I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Just relax, man. There will surely be a sign indicating when the change will be coming up. Just keep your eyes peeled for it, and you’ll be golden. Nodding to myself, I pushed down on the accelerator, the V12 growling as it downshifted, and I flew out of Breezewood. Passing by a hotel and a few other gas stations, I stared intently through the windshield.
The low, looming shape of what had to be a church and accompanying cemetery was approaching rapidly on my left when I spied it. It was set far off from the side of the road, almost completely obscured by tall grass and reeds. But caught in the beam of my headlights, the numbers were unmistakable, as was the arrow that angled off to the left. “Yes!” I whispered softly. I slowed the car, flicking on the blinker as I saw what had to be the entrance, which angled slightly up a hilly incline. Making sure that nobody was approaching in the opposite lane, I gunned the throttle and merged onto the turnpike.
I found myself on a four lane highway, the two opposite lanes divided by a well-kept grass median. Streetlights were set along both sides in intervals of several dozen yards, the dull, orange glow of what had to be high pressure sodium bulbs seeming to shoo the surrounding darkness away and momentarily illuminating the BMW’s interior every time I flashed under one. In Dreams was ramping up to its climax, and Orbison’s falsetto was calming, allowing me to relax back into the seat and stare out the windshield. After a moment, though, something clicked in my brain, and I quickly looked around. With a sense of surprise, I realized I didn’t see a single other car or truck on the road. Well, it is getting on to close to one in the morning. Especially in a rural area like this, not many are going to be out driving. They’re all in bed.
The song ended, and the announcer’s voice came on again. “Well, folks, I hope you enjoyed that tune. As for me, I’ll be signing off for the night, but for you night owls and late-night travelers, stay tuned, because up next we have the dynamic duo of Elvis and Jayne, who will be discussing Pennsylvania’s spookiest events and taking your calls. We’ll see you tomorrow morning with the AM newscast!” I let out a snort. “This should be interesting. At least it’ll definitely keep me awake” I picked up the cup of coffee and took another sip, sparing a glance down at the speedometer. The needle sat almost dead on at sixty-five miles an hour. Hopefully I made the right call and won’t encounter any more accidents. Early morning Manhattan traffic is hell on earth.
My attention focused back on the radio as organ music began to spill from the speakers. I couldn’t help but let out another snort; it was obvious the music was meant to evoke a spooky atmosphere, but in reality, it sounded more like what you’d expect to hear in a low budget haunted house. After a few more moments, it faded out, and what I can only describe as the sultriest women’s voice I’ve ever heard began to speak. “Hello, all you late night listeners. To all the night owls, graveyard shift workers, wandering travelers, and of course, all the ghosts and ghouls tuning in. Welcome once again to Late Night Spooks. As always, I’m your host Jayne, and I’m joined by my eternal co-host Elvis. We’re here to fill the witching hour with tales that will leave you lying in your beds, blanket tightly tucked up around your chin as you gaze around. Wondering, what may be staring back at you from the darkness” Now I let out a full-blown laugh. “Oh my good God, this is so fucking cheesy, man!” I slapped the steering wheel a few times. “I already freakin’ love this!”
The man-Elvis-cut in. “That’s right folks. We’re here to tell you tales that will send shivers straight up your spine, and make you wonder just how real the supernatural truly is. And, of course, as the show goes on, we will be taking calls from you to discuss our topic tonight. Jayne, you want to tell that what that is?” The woman spoke up again. “Absolutely, Elvis. Tonight, we are going to be focusing in depth on some of the most unexplainable, eeriest disappearances of people in Pennsylvania. We have cases to share with you, ranging from long, long ago, to, well, shall we say recent memory. Up first, let’s discuss the strange disappearance of a judge in 1930-”
The woman continued to speak, but my attention was pulled away as the car rounded a slight bend. Ahead of me, I saw a small, white sign sitting next to the side of the road. Single Lane, Keep Right. Swinging my gaze farther up the road, I spied the unmistakable, gaping maw of a tunnel. Two lights set at the entrance by what had to be the air ducts illuminated lettering which spelled out the tunnel’s name. Rays Hill. I lightly tapped the brakes, slowing the car to about forty as I saw that the highway did, in fact, narrow into two lanes. Inside, I could see the tunnel was lit up by dozens more lights. I felt a slight sense of discomfort well up inside me; I always had a small case of claustrophobia whenever I had to travel through any tunnels, whether they went underground, or in some cases, underwater. Watching films like Daylight as a kid really didn’t help. It's fine, man. Just drive through it, and you’ll be fine. I took a deep breath, then with a loud exhale, I stepped back on the gas and entered the tunnel.
As I slid inside the concrete behemoth, the woman’s voice faded, replaced instead with the soft hiss of static. I caught a tiny snippet of what she was saying. “Elvis, would you provide us with some backsto-” I groaned. “Oh, what?! Come on, man! Just when it was getting interesting?!” I hit the button to raise the power antenna in a vain attempt to regain the signal, but it was no use. There was too much ground and concrete in the way to get reception. Of. Fucking. Course. Sighing, I turned down the volume but did not shut the radio off completely; once I made it out the other side, I wanted to pick up the show immediately. With nothing else to occupy my concentration, I focused fully ahead on the road. It was just wide enough for two cars to pass by each other, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if many a side mirror had met their end in here. I’m glad there’s no eighteen wheelers coming the opposite way. That would be a nerve-wracking experience in itself. I let out a soft chuckle at the thought, but the truth was, the silence that had filled the car’s interior with the absence of the radio was beginning to become uncomfortable. Wanting to have some form of audile stimulation, I hit the button to lower the driver’s window.
The sound of the tires humming along the pavement immediately met my ears, along with the soft hum of the exhaust as they bounced off the walls and ceiling. It relaxed me somewhat, and I felt the tension slowly ease away. A yawn escaped my lips, and I blinked my eyes at the sudden sense of fatigue that settled in its place. Coffee. I leaned over and picked up the cup, sparing one quick glance ahead before tilting my head back and taking a large gulp of the rapidly cooling drink. I returned my eyes to the road-
-And almost spit the coffee that remained in my mouth over the windshield. Sitting directly in the middle of the road was what appeared to be a man and a woman. They both straddled bicycles with handlebar mounted lights, their gaze fixated as they stared around and aimed flashlights at the ceiling. FUCK ME! I slammed both my feet on the brake pedal, dropping the cup and snatching for the emergency brake. The tunnel was filled with the sound of screeching tires as I yanked, the rear wheels locking up and the car beginning to slide sideways. “Shit!” I screamed, trying desperately to pull the wheel back straight and laying on the horn. For a split second, I saw the couple snap their heads in my direction as they involuntarily aimed their flashlights through the windshield, blinding me for a moment. Their faces filled with shock and horror, and they attempted to leap off their bikes and out of the way.
I jammed my eyes shut, not wanting to see them reduced to road kill, but kept my hands tight on the wheel as I felt the car begin to slow. A moment later, it skidded to a halt, rocking slightly on its suspension. For a few moments, the sound of my tires continued to echo in the confined space, and then it died away, replaced with an eerie silence. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt my breathing coming in short and shallow. Thoughts raced through my mind with all the speed of a Le Mans racecar. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m going to jail, man. I’ m going to jail and I’m going to lose my license and my job on top of the fact I probably just KILLED two people! Every fiber of my being screamed at me not to open my eyes. But I knew I eventually had to. Bracing myself for the scene that would be there, I forced my eyes open.
There was nobody there. No bicycles lay spilled and dented in front of my car. No bloodstains covered the hood and windshield. No crumpled forms lay in the beam of my headlights. For a moment, I simply stood there, shock numbing me as my eyes darted around. “I…what…?” Confusion joined the shock, and I stabbed at the seat belt release, yanking on the handle and practically kicking the door open. Leaping out onto the pavement, I gripped the top of the door as I peered over the hood. The road was empty. I spun around, looking behind me. Two long black marks which had been the rubber of my tires stretched away from me; back about eighty feet or so. Aside from that, though, there was nothing. No sign of any other living being.
That’s…that’s freakin’ impossible. I know I saw them there. I saw them look at me as if they hadn’t seen or heard me approaching. They should be here, either screaming at me or…they should be here. What the hell is going on?
A sudden, sharp chill shot up my spine, and on reflex, I shot a look behind me. A few hundred feet ahead, I could see the end of the tunnel and the darkness beyond. The soft sound of crickets chirping, punctuated by the sudden call of some nocturnal bird echoed down to me. Far from bringing me any sort of comfort, though, it made the sense of eeriness and paranoia which had suddenly fallen over me increase. I felt like a character in one of the books I loved to read as a kid, suddenly knee deep in something he couldn’t understand or comprehend. “Calm down, Michael. Calm down” I muttered to myself. As I stood there, still holding on to the top of the door, a new sound reached my ears, back the way I’d come. For a moment, I was unable to place it, then my mind connected the dots as I heard the rumble of an engine in the distance. A car. There’s another car approaching the tunnel.
Shooting a final glance around the tunnel, I quickly dropped back into the driver’s seat and swung the door shut. Sliding my seatbelt back on, I lowered the emergency brake and put the car back in drive. A moment later, and I was shooting out the exit into the night. Trying to calm myself, I reached up and hit the button for the sunroof, the panel pulling back and allowing more cool air into the car. As I settled back, I suddenly became aware that the radio had picked up the station again. The static had been replaced by the woman’s voice, almost inaudible over the rushing wind. Wanting to distract myself, I reached over and turned up the volume. “Well, thank you for your insights on that, Mrs. Clemens. That was truly a treat to discuss the case with you, thanks for the call. Coming up after the break, though, we’re going to discuss one of the stranger, more recent cases we’ve heard about, so stay tuned!” A commercial for a local amusement park began, and I tuned it out, vaguely aware of the amplified sound of the distant car behind me as it entered the tunnel.
There was something that had been incessantly repeating over and over in my mind since I’d stepped out of the car. It kept flapping around like the loose end of a film reel in my head. I shook my head. Knock it off, Mike. That’s beyond insane. You were panicking and your mind overloaded. Even if you…you just came across some unexplainable and terrifying, that’s still ridiculous. But it continued to gnaw at me. The image danced behind my eyelids when I blinked. Something I’d seen when the two had aimed their flashlights at me, blinding me. Just for a second, I thought I’d seen the tunnel…
I slapped the steering wheel, hard. “Knock it off! You didn’t see shit!” The irritation temporarily consumed the mental freak out happening in my head, and I looked out ahead of me. The turnpike had returned to four lanes, and I allowed my foot to press a little harder down on the accelerator, seeing the speedometer rise to seventy. Breathing deeply, I felt myself begin to relax a little. Outside of the tunnel in the open air, everything had rapidly begun to seem like a hallucination brought about by fatigue. I began to mentally chide myself. If they’d been real, you would be on the chopping block for involuntary manslaughter right now. Let this be a lesson to you: No matter what, if you’re tired, pull over and rent a motel room. Better to have Hargrieve chew you out than kill someone.
The commercial ended, and the sound of the Jayne’s' voice returned, drawing my attention as I shot under an overpass of some sort. “Welcome back, listeners. I hope you enjoyed hearing about Hanson’s. Remember to get your butts up to Harvey’s Lake next weekend to take advantage of their two-for-one deal! Trust me; the Speed Hound is more of a scream with a friend! Now, let’s move on. Elvis, you want to introduce our next case?” The man spoke up. “It’d be my pleasure to, Jayne. Now, listeners, you know we love a truly spooky unsolved mystery here on our show. We’ve already covered some tonight. But this next one, is one that boggles my mind for sure. We’re going to discuss the disappearance of a man out near Breezewood!” I took my eyes off of the road for a second to glance down at the radio, letting out a strained chuckle. “Oh, boy. After what I just went through, hearing about something so close to where I’m at is gonna be freakin’ lovely” I ran a hand through my hair. Then I laughed a little more genuinely. “Wonder if it’ll be about any missing cyclists?”
The dark humor helped me relax further, and I reached down and flipped on the heated seat. A sudden bright stab of light reflected in my rear view mirror, and I cast a glance in my side mirror. A pair of headlights had appeared about a half a mile back, what must have been the car I’d heard in the tunnel. Feeling comforted by the sudden appearance of another person, I returned my attention to the show. “Now, folks, listener discretion is advised, because this is truly one hair-raising case. It begins at a gas station just off Route 30 in Breezewood. The time? Very close to right now, actually. According to authorities, the man showed up on surveillance footage pulling into the station and purchasing gas and a cup of coffee. The cashier stated that he seemed tired and a little frazzled. He stayed in the station for about fifteen minutes, before slowly pulling back out onto the road and out of sight”
At the man’s words, a huge chill ran up my spine, causing me to shiver. “Ugh. Jesus, this is quite literally hitting a little too close to home. I mean, I know that thousands of people do the exact same thing every day, even at gas stations like around here, but the similarity is eerie as hell” Off to my left, I saw the forest pull away, revealing what looked to be the darkened shape of a lake in the distance. The sight reminded me of better days; days of being a child and going for a swim in Walden Pond, watching my parents waving to me from the shore. Jayne spoke up. “That’s correct. Now, there are a few things that bother me about this case. The first is, after he left, he just seemed to drop off the face of the earth completely. Nobody recalls seeing him driving down the road after he left that night, and he never hopped onto the highway, either. The second is that according to the police, a second car was seen pulling in shortly after him and also getting gas. Let me just check my notes here…it says it was some sort of muscle car”
My eyes widened, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It felt as though I’d been hit by a truck, and a heavy pit had formed in my stomach. The paranoia and terror I’d felt back in the tunnel returned, but this time for a much different reason. Wait…a muscle car…that’s what those…oh, God. I spoke aloud. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say it was a Pontiac. Please, anything else” My prayers were not answered by Elvis’ next words. “I see here according to my own notes that the cashier claims it was a Pontiac of some sort. Either a mid sixties LeMans or GTO” The lump that had settled into my stomach rose into my throat, and for a moment I thought I was going to be ill. The fact I had seen, less than half an hour ago a car identical to the one being described in a missing person’s case was not just fear inducing- it was downright horrifying. I remembered catching the look the driver had given me, remembered feeling as though I were staring at a predator.
I might’ve locked eyes with a fucking murderer…
As Jayne began to speak again, I quickly flashed a look in the rear-view mirror. The car behind me had closed the distance, showing whoever it was, they had the pedal to the metal. It was still too far away for me to see anything beyond the headlights, though. I again focused my attention on the show as the woman continued to speak. “-and don’t forget that the cashier also mentioned how the man seemed more than a little disturbed by the two men in the Pontiac. He even said he felt something was off about them himself. According to him, the men were dressed in matching leather jackets, jeans, and boots. Both appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties as well” I was doing my best not to panic, but with each word the hosts were saying, my fear was compounding. Any doubt I’d been face to face with the same men had vanished with Jayne’s last words. A sudden, sharp stab of clarity broke through my mind.
I’ve got to call the cops.
Reaching down, I fumbled for my cell phone, which had slid across the passenger seat. Snatching it up, I tapped the home button, the screen flashing to life. And let out a massive groan. No bars were displayed in the upper right corner. “Fucking dead zone…” I hissed, throwing it back onto the seat. I pushed down harder on the accelerator, watching as the needle began to flirt with eighty. I began to mutter to myself “Okay, calm, Michael. Calm. You don’t need to panic and get yourself into an accident. Just get yourself out of the dead zone, and then call the police. Tell them you saw them back in that town, and what gas station you were at. They’ll be able to get the camera footage and nail these fuckers” I took several deep breaths, then focused back on the road. Elvis had started to speak up again, when the BMW jolted forward sharply. My head snapped forward, and I felt a sudden ache in my neck from the whiplash as it slammed back into the headrest. What the shit?! My eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror-
-And almost screamed at the sight that greeted me.
The car that had been far behind me had caught up to me somehow. It sat right on my ass, the headlights lighting up the interior as though it were suddenly daytime. The source of the jolt was immediately clear; they had driven straight into the back of me. That fact was terrifying enough. But it was the sight of the Pontiac emblem in the mirror that caused my heart to almost stop. I snapped my gaze to the side mirror, and felt another surge of terror as I saw the face of the man from the gas station behind the wheel. The expression adorning his face froze my blood in my veins, as did the shark like smile he wore. For a split second, it almost felt as though I were unable to look away from him. Then the car leapt forward with a roar again, bumping into me and causing my car to lurch forward again.
“Fuck me!” I shouted, the trance broken as I slammed the accelerator to the floor. For a moment, there was no response, and then the car downshifted, the V12 changing from a growl to a roar as the accelerator began to rapidly climb. To my relief, the car began to create some distance with the Pontiac, and I caught sight of the passenger finally. He wore an equally vile grin as his buddy, and he seemed to be gesturing for him to get after me. Not today, motherfucker, I thought. I kept my foot down hard, seeing the speedometer climb to ninety-five miles an hour. The wind from the open window and sunroof tore at my face, and I took one hand off the wheel for a split second to stab the buttons to close them. A second later, and the world outside became muted by the double paned glass. I returned my gaze to the road, occasionally sparing glances in the rearview. The muscle car appeared to falter for a moment. Then I saw it begin to close the distance again.
“Shit!” I’d hoped I’d be able to keep the gap between us, or even widen it. But the two must’ve clearly souped the GTO up, because it was managing to keep up just fine. I shot a glance down at the speedometer again. I felt my heart flutter as I saw I was now doing over a hundred and ten miles an hour. As I looked back up, I heard the muffled roar of the car behind me. A third jolt, this time a little less severe rocked the car on its suspension. I felt the back end step out slightly, and horrific images of sliding off the road to slam into a tree or rolling flashed in my mind. God, please let me survive this! Please let me escape these fuckheads in one piece! A flash of white suddenly captured my attention, and I looked up to see a sign zooming towards me. It flashed by a moment later, but I’d been able to see what it had said.
Sideling Hill Tunnel, 3 miles.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. If I make one mistake in there at these speeds, I’m dead. I need to keep absolutely focused, and remember all the lessons from those defensive driving classes Dad forced me to take. As I began to try and formulate a plan that would help me survive until I reached civilization, I suddenly became aware that the radio was still on. Elvis’ voice spilled from my speakers, oblivious to the horror that was repeating itself mere miles from his broadcast station. “Oh, Jayne, before we begin to take any calls about this case, we almost forgot to mention the man’s name and what kind of car he was driving!” Realizing that it would be a distraction, one that could end up being fatal to me, I spared a glance in the mirror. The Pontiac was still far enough away. I began to reach out to snap the radio off.
But my fingers froze midway at the woman’s words.
“Of course, how silly of me! According to the police reports and surveillance footage, the man was driving a dark green 1988 BMW 750il, and had Massachusetts license plates”
The world seemed to slow to a crawl, as though somebody had hit a button on a VCR remote. I stared at the radio, feeling a sense of shock unlike anything I’d ever felt before wash over me. I….wait…what…?
All these weeks later, I can still perfectly remember the horror I felt at her next words.
“And it says here that the man’s name was Michael Goggins!”