I’ve Been Missing Since August of 2014, This is What’s Happened Since My Last Journaled ‘Experience’

Police were called, and a small investigation took place. Nothing definitive was found besides burnt brush on the forest’s edge. According to a police officer I talked to—an older man, and friend of my father’s who worked as a deputy at the time—the Wilsons had moved out of town shortly after this encounter. No explanation given.

This ‘report’ was in an online forum. It disappeared a day after I printscreen’ed the full text. Not the report, but the whole forum site.

If J.E. Wilson is still alive, I hope to contact him someday. If this is seen through, my communication with him will hopefully be recorded in my next post.
I firmly believe that my written encounters in 2014 were with something consistent in both Wilson’s sighting and what I would come to remember after I wrote my journal.

With this out of the way, here is my account starting on September 7th, 2014. This was when I had stopped typing.
The following is imperfect and based solely on memory.
Whether these memories were dreams, visions, or something else—that is for the reader to decide. I hold steadfast that my experience, as much as it’s hard to admit, was very real; and a graze with the beyond.

After finishing the last bit of my journal, I closed my laptop and went down the tunnel leading out of town. This was, in my mind at the time, the only option I had to escape whatever anomaly I was experiencing. I had a flashlight that ran on batteries the width of my thumb, and I used it indiscriminately for whatever light it actually gave.
I was walking for a long time. I don’t remember being afraid of the dark ahead, but the growing darkness behind me. I kept looking back towards the beginning of the tunnel to see if one of those god-awful things was following me. I never saw anything.
It was at least an hour on foot to the other side of the tunnel, a travel I had taken for granted by car. I was upset when I saw that the other side was just as unoccupied as the city was. The tunnel drops off at a rural set of running hills; this should have been expected. The sky was much, much darker, still daytime, and the wind was strong enough to push my balance. All of my surroundings were way too saturated with color—leading me to think something was wrong with my eyes. I turned to my right, and there was something large and dark hovering at least ten feet above the ground, close to me. Whatever this thing was, it looked like one of the rectangles, way elongated, and with a cube sitting on its top. The cube had two lights on two of its faces, versus two lights on one of its faces. I didn’t get too good of a look beyond that.
It wasn’t there one second, then the next, it was. My vision tunneled either out of fear or the will of the object observing me. Then I blacked out.

I woke up on a cold table in a monochromed, dimly-lit room. Everything was dull metal, like a dark stainless-steel. There was an ambient vibration that filled the area. This might have been an industrial fan. Behind this, I could hear feet shuffling around me. My vision was painfully nearsighted when I had woken up, and it didn’t get any better as I tried to bring things into focus. From what I could garner, there were three people surrounding me. All three appeared, from my vantage point, as complete silhouettes.
One of them reached out and dangled something in front of my face. This was Dad’s Walkman. The voice that asked me ‘what is this’ wasn’t spoken aloud, it was ringing in my head, and the tone sounded indifferent. It took a moment for me to concentrate on what I was seeing. I couldn’t tell you why, but I screamed like hell when I saw the speaker’s hand holding the Walkman with long, spindly fingers. The skin was pale, and there weren’t any fingernails. Starting at the wrist, and going beyond, was a form-fitting black sleeve. This hand was not normal. When I screamed, my head was jerked back to the table and my jaw spasmed shut. I couldn’t make much noise after that. I saw them take a tape from somewhere, probably my bookbag, and try their best to put it in the Walkman. They did this as a show for me. They made sure it was right in my sights. The song choice alone made me want to thrash around more than I already was. ‘Only the Good Die Young’.
The one that had spoken to me watched with dark bugeyes as I jerked my head around. My neck was the only part of my body that I could move.
This memory quit sometime after the song started.

Next, I remember waking up on another table. I knew this wasn’t the same room because the wall to my right was gone. There was a tall hallway going out from this missing wall as far as I could see. It looked like the back room of a grocery store stripped of its pallet racks.
My vision was normal again, and I could move my body. Naturally, I got up and walked. The rooms I had woken up in, including the first one, were much more sleek and clean over the rest of the compound. The facilities were clean, but I distinctly remember these two rooms being much more pristine.
I don’t remember many details about the actual hallways, other than their dark-gray blandness and how high the ceiling was. Sometimes the ceiling would duck, stay that way for a while, then find its way back up.
There were occasionally doors. There was even one close to the room I had woken up in. All of them were locked and reinforced, and nothing budged. It didn’t take long for me to get extremely bored with this.
Over the course of my stroll, I never got tired, hungry, or thirsty. I must have been walking for at least a month. I didn’t see anybody or anything. A month in was when I decided to turn back and find the room I had woken up in. I decided the only way I was going to find any peace was if I could lie on that table again and close my eyes.

It was less than a month back. Not even a week. I knew some shortcuts at that point.
When I got to the expanse where I could finally see the open wall, I noticed that the door closest to where I had woken up was open. The metal bars holding it shut were retracted, and the door was resting on the adjacent wall. Inside was a clean, large storage room with no extensions. Only fluorescent lights in the high ceiling. On the center floor was a tall rectangular prism. I stopped myself for a moment when I realized what I was looking at. There it was, in a room with a doorway too small for it to leave. Its ‘eyes’ were dark, and it looked deactivated. To that, I simply backed out, shut the door over the best I could, and laid down on the table I found myself on in the beginning. It was oddly comfortable, and I fell asleep instantly.

Next, I remember a handful of visions. They’re all disconnected, and may have been years apart. I don’t remember what led up to them, or what happened after them. Whatever stuck out in my mind, I’m writing down.

First, I walked up to a door and looked into a room. I did not have any motor control. I had a feeling that all of these movements were pre-programmed.
This room was pristine, like the previous two I mentioned. In this room were three or four, probably four, figures. They were tall and thin, all holding what looked like skinny sledgehammers with both of their hands. They were raising the hammers above their heads and bringing them down to a shattered object on the ground. I recognized a strap from Dad’s Walkman. They were moving fast, and all of their movements were blurry. One of them phased up to me. It didn’t walk or run, it just floated towards me really, really fast. I got a good look at its face. Its head was shaped like an upside-down teardrop, and it had large, slanted eyes. Pale skin, slightly bluish, no ears or hair, and a small mouth and nose. It bared these sharp little teeth at me. Its head turned slowly as it spoke right into my head; ‘Blasphemy’—then it zipped back to the circle and began working with its sledgehammer again.

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