//TMA askblog is up! Doing this as a goofy little side thing while working on other projects. I am a university student so expect replies to be fairly spontaneous! My hope for this blog is to supply art ideas for myself as well as a place to expand my own writing and stories.
//Dawn uses She/They Pronouns and more information about herself and the staff will be revealed in future posts as I grow this blog and story. The Chrysalis Society resides in British Columbia, Canada, with a focus on retrieving statements from around the province and country. They have a much more... hands on style of research than many of the other sister institutions due to their Archivist's ties to The Hunt and Spiral.
//No she's not related to Rosie Zampano, it's simply coincidence...
//This blog is run by @dawn-arts if you want to support my artwork!
//General rules: Don't be weird or submit anything relating to personal intense traumas, I am a real person running this blog and not a therapist. I'm very chill as long as yall are chill!
It happened in May. Uh, the 12th I think. Kinda fuzzy but I'm pretty sure.
I live in Edmonton but my family lives in Llyodminister and I make the trek there seasonally.
Not many folks live in the area and the weather was good, so I was expecting the drive to be relatively mundane.
I drive a Jeep Comanche, bought in 1990, deep maroon. She's a bit beat up and has a nasty bark in her engine but she takes the trek well, lots of space.
The drive was boring even with the local news, though something did stand out to me. Edmonton ain't small but it aint big either, I know so many people in town; shop clerks know me by name, neighbors give each other gifts, I still know my professors, etc.
So whenever something weird happens, it makes headlines. In this case it was the disappearance of Miriam Ray, a 24 year old woman who had vanished off Yellowhead highway near Minburn. Her car was found, but she never was.
I heard about the case in the papers and it had been 2 months since her disappearance. Seems they still keeping the case relevant.
Of course Yellowhead highway was the road I was taking, so it put me a bit on edge.
Wasn't expecting anything to happen and I ignored the feeling, least till I found the woman.
It was around noon and near Vermillion when I pulled off the highway to have a smoke.
I knew there was a provincial park nearby and some small village hamlets next to the highway, but seeing people just muddling around was rare.
As I rolled down the window, a person stumbled out of the bushes. She looked rugged and my first thought was that this was some drug dulled vagabond, so I prepped to turn around.
She had a small backpack and was tattered, covered in dirt, clearly a victim of the elements.
There was some part of me curious what she was going to do, though. So I lingered for a second, knowing full well she'd spot the car demanding attention against the small patch of woodland.
The woman looked up finally so I could see her face and it took me a second as I dragged the cigarette again.Β
It was Miriam alright, least it looked like her.
Frayed purple edges in her hair, bumpy nose, Caucasian if I had to guess, large mole on her right cheek that I swore the papers said was on her left.
We locked eyes and she immediately grinned at me in the most delight I have ever seen a human face portray.
"Could I get a ride?" She asked, voice flat, and took a step forward towards the car. She didn't go any further but was holding herself like a drunk.
Now I don't pick up hitchhikers. Call it superstition but the horror stories taught me it was a bad idea.
It was broad daylight though, and I thought I had just randomly stumbled across a person that's been missing for 2 months. Yeah it was odd, and the sheer enthusiasm she expressed to get in the pickup with a fat mid 40s scruff like me felt iffy, but... I couldn't just drive away. Guilty conscious wouldn't let that happen.
I made up my mind and waved her over, snuffing out the cigarette in a tray, I wasn't gonna be rude.
Her walk was stiff and off kilter, but she got in beside me, throwing down the backpack which was bursting at the seems with what looked like clothes.
"You Miriam Ray?" I had asked, realizing I probably should've asked that before letting the stranger into my car.
Her eyes were stiffly transfixed on me, and she answered "Yeah! Get in." With the same excitement as before. Her voice was a bit more gruff, not to mention the needlessly added remark at the end.
But I gave her the benefit of the doubt, she'd been rattled and probably without much water which would mess with anyones senses.
I took it as truth and threw a U-turn to get back on the road.
I told her we were gonna go drop her off at the next town's station since my old busted phone only worked with a stable connection and I couldn't call the cops then and there.
She was silent, occasionally looking someplace else with a sort of impatient confusion. Her breathing was labored and manual.
Ended up offering her some of my water, and while she took the bottle, I don't recall her ever actually drinking from it.
Instead she kept glaring at me without any readable expression, and I noticed ripples and small lumps in her cheeks.
I had to break the silence by asking what had happened. It wasnt none of my business but might as well strike up some conversation in hopes of making it a bit less awkward.
She didn't answer for a good while, content with just staring me down with the same look a dog gives you when you're holding a ball.
The lumps under her skin had seemingly shifted, maybe it was just me.
She did end up speaking, said something like "Brother and I go hiking in Calgary. Once, a bear showed up! You're lucky one didn't get you."
Her pitch was noteably higher and I got the worst feeling in my gut I've ever darn felt.Β
I scoffed at myself for being a paranoid bastard, just get the damn girl to safety. That was the job and I had decided that no matter what, I was gonna do it. Though I did decide that if I kept turning to look at her then I'd get freaked out, so I kept my eyes fixed on the road.
We were driving for about 7 minutes before it hit me. I remembered none the papers mentioned a brother and I couldve sworn she was last seen near Minburn off the highway, not Calgary.
The seat jittered at this point and her... it's damn voice.
"Pull over?"
She said in my voice. At the corner of my eye I saw her raise a hand, large hairy and calloused. My hand.
It wasn't exactly my voice, but it sounded like when you record your voice and play it back and it sounds vaguely different than what you'd except?
I decided that whatever was beside me wasn't worth knowing, and I saw a gas station up ahead. I needed whatever this thing was, out of my car. Missing girl be damed. I convinced myself it was just a drugged up vagabond that was planning on robbing me, or worse. Somehow that option felt better than the other implications.
I made a silent prayer and told her I saw a gas station and that we would pull over.
It said nothing, but I felt her eyes on my neck. I avoided looking into the mirrors.
Hot breath followed its labored breathing as I turned into the gas station.
Quickly I came to the idea that whatever she was, it may try to chase me.
Slowly I left my car, taking the keys, and locked it. Yeah yeah I know she could open it but an extra 2 seconds mattered in the moment.
I rounded the car and couldn't keep myself from looking, I needed to know if it was going to try anything.
First thing I noticed was her glee. She, or it, had a horribly stretched grin. Skin peeled back on the edges of her mouth to show gums.
It didn't look like me, not immediately like I had first feared. Yet she had uh... traits. One of her hands was mine, disproportionate to its other dainty little hand.
There was a stubble on her face, as if it was trying to grow my beard. And she looked distinctly older and more gruff than I remembered just a few minutes ago.
It's eyes bulged, slightly lopsided, and she wasn't blinking. Not once.
"Whats a fine sir like you doing out here?" It said, again in my goddamn voice. More clear this time.
That was my call to go, and so I ran into the gas station and immediately told the clerk to lock the damn door.
He could tell I was frightened and unarmed, so he did. God be gracious he did.
The person or thing or whatever the hell it was, crawled out if my car and started shambling away. It's skin was lumpy and moving, looking more and more like me. Somehow it instantly put on an extra 100 pounds in just a few seconds, and kept it's eyes fixed on me.
It didn't charge at us or even linger, just walked away. Stumbling at first but it grew more confident, more normal as it walked.
That made it so much worse, somehow. Like whatever it was, it was learning.
I called the police, told them I think I may have found Miriam Ray, or at least someone that looked like her. I didn't add the weird part, last thing I needed was for them to think I was insane. But the woman on the side of the phone paused for a moment, and she said something I ain't ever hear a 911 receiver say. "Get away from her, find a safe place." That was it. She was cold and serious.
I understood and she said dispatchers would be there soon.
Took em a hot minute, the bastards. But they've a small town group so I guess ill give em the benefit of the doubt. It didnt matter. It was gone.
They showed up and found the truck empty, not a single sign of her or whatever it was that looked like her.
An officer asked me if she had been carrying any ID and that's when it hit me I forgot to even ask for ID. I let her into my car so damn easily, I was stupid.
He seemed to understand though and asked how long I had been driving with her. I said maybe about 30 minutes and he looked relieved. That's when he gave me your information. I have some faith but I don't believe in none that magic hocus pocus you lot cover. I do admit to things getting weirder after the incident, though.
I saw things I didn't notice before. In crowded areas I'd spot people in the back of crowds moving more stiffly, almost trying to blend in. Like they weren't real, just there to fill up space. Some folks I talked to had the same energy as Miriam, same weird smiles that just didn't sit right. Sometimes my own reflection scared me even if I couldn't find a fault with it, just didnt feel like me.
I've been increasingly paranoid, and while it has let me interact with my faith through my family, it's been a real cause for sleep loss.
Been bothering me enough that I finally decided that getting it off my chest to you guys might help. I found myself down here anyway, so thought I'd stop by.
That's it I guess.
More disappearances?
You think it's a pattern?
The Mirror? You're speaking a lot of cryptic stuff to a backcountry man, you know that right?
Well uh, good luck I guess. You said to take the door on the left, right? No? The right one? Okay.
When I woke up the next morning I smelt that acrid scent of blood almost the second I left my tent, I assumed it was probably from the aftermath of what happened last night. I packed up all of my gear, glancing around just to be sure some.. absurd megafaunal beast wasnβt somehow sneaking up on me, right when I began walking back the way I went I saw it, right in my path, it was.. enormous. To call it a beast is to give it a disservice, this hulking mass of muscle and claws and teeth was something I donβt think I could describe to this day, it was watching me though, I knew that. I.. ran, I am not a brave woman when it comes to wildlife, especially wildlife that can kill me, that's when it started the chase. I donβt know how it could be this fast or nimble with that size, I tried losing it in the woods but it was always somehow just a few meters behind me, eventually I slipped, and I felt its jaws clamp on my leg. It ripped my leg clean off, its a pain I would not wish upon my greatest enemy, at this point it had its hulking mass of a paw on my torso, its claws digging into my shoulders and threatening to do the same to my neck. I had all but accepted my fate before the smell of smoke filled my nose, it seemed to get the attention of my soon to be killer. It ran away, leaving me there now struggling to breathe from exhaustion and smoke inhalation, I looked at the fires as I tried to find my footing, or rather get up at all, and I could swear I saw someone in there, I tried to scream out to them to run or help me, Iβm not sure which. I think I passed out at this point because the next thing I know Iβm in a hospital bed with Ira by my side, telling me shes lucky she found me before the fire got to me, no questions about my leg, which at that point had been thoroughly treated and cauterized. I donβt go hiking anymore, even if I survived that encounter completely intact I donβt think I would, I tried explaining what happened to Ira and she just gave me your address, telling me that she had some friends who benefited from giving you their stories.Β
I donβt know if this will help me feel better or do.. anything at all, but its on paper and I guess that's enough, this is the end of my statement, Hanna Burke signing off. (2/2)
Not sure why Iβm writing this, maybe itβll just give me some closure, not sure. Came a long way to write though, all the way from The Hudson, from the recommendation of a friend. I digress, I suppose thats not the point, the point is Iβm here so Iβll write.
Have you ever hiked? Not that paltry 20 minute trail stuff, like a several hours or even days long trudge through terrain you could only hope to find kilometers away from any civilization. I used to do it a lot, sometimes Iβd book whole weeks off of work to just.. walk, through mountains, forests, fields, all of it, with nothing but a bag on my back and a stick. Though forests and mountains are the usual trend Iβve always found a secret solace in the trails I made for myself in the peatlands and surrounding shrub filled forests, I know I probably shouldnβt be hiking in them on my own but it was nice. Of course that was until a friend of mine, Ira Carpenter, suggested I go during a particularly cold winter, she said something about the ground being more firm making the entire journey different, I donβt think I believed her but work had become quite stressful and I was due for a nice break, her suggestion just sort of felt right, like it was my own thought. It honestly was pretty nice at first, she was right about the ground being firm, though it was obviously quite slippery due to the ice, it wasnβt even that cold, I felt pretty confident setting up camp and going another day instead of turning back and heading home, god how I wish I went home. Once I had everything set up I saw what probably should have been my first warning, a set of fresh and deep footprints in the frozen dirt, easily the size of a bears, but it didnβt look like any bear track I knew of, but I brushed it off, cooking myself some dinner and trying to get some rest. I couldnβt have been asleep for any longer than 3 hours when I was awoken by a loud noise deep in the woods, Iβd call it a roar but it almost sounded like a scream. I wont lie that shook me to my very core, I considered getting up right then and there and bolting across a days worth of treacherous path to my car in the middle of the cold winter night, but I knew better than to do that, I rationalized to myself that I would probably not interest whatever it was and I should just focus on getting rest so I could head back in the morning. (1/2)
[ I'm still looking for a job because of this, just so you're aware. I live in Chilliwack and worked an office job in Vancouver, managing accounting for a construction company.
The commute is as egregious as you can imagine. Rise and shine at 4am, out the doors by 5, pray you make it by 8. I was used to it though, brought my headphones as always and knew that regardless of what BS reared that day; Guns n Roses would make it survivable. They were my brother's favorite band before the accident and I considered it to be a sort of paying respects when I listened to their music.
Chilliwack isn't a bustling part of town but it ain't exactly quiet either. There was a celebration going down at District 1881 so a lot of folks were there at the time. Despite it being so early there's poor suckers getting up earlier than I and even those returning from the graveyard shift. Most days I'd spot a couple dozen cars on the roads before hopping the 53 to the station.Β
Not that morning though, no. Not a soul in sight. There was that thick season changing fog that came down from the mountains as well, making it hard to see. I'd say I could see about 25ft In front of me with the distorted lights of hidden lamps. I walked for another 15 minutes to my stop, but I didn't see another soul. It wasn't exactly weird, just put me on edge a bit more than normal.Β
Soon enough the bus came crawling out of the fog, and I noticed it didn't have the display lights on, again not an uncommon sight. There was a city plan to get a new fleet of buses within the year, so these kinds of malfunctions were honestly expected and had happened a handful of times before.
The bus stopped, swung upon its doors, and I headed inside, paying the driver a good morning but got no response. I didn't expect one in the first place. Tapped my card and took a seat on the third row driver's side against the window, the same one I always did. I was the second stop on the route, so the vehicle was vacant minus myself and the driver. I'd put the man in about his 50s? It was hard to see his face though as he didn't have the lights in the bus on.Β
I only began to get concerned when the fog seemed to thicken further, the beams of the bus bouncing off back at it and visibility dropping further. The driver seemed to be persistent though, and I probably couldβve been more bothered than I was, considering I was already thinking ahead to how packed the train would be.Β
It wasnβt until around 15 minutes into the ride that I fully realized things were off. No one else had gotten on the bus. I knew some folks by face that took the same commute as I, but they didn't show up.Β
I sat up and noted the fact the bus was making several turns I didn't recognize. Glacing at the display, which I usually disregarded considering I always took it to its end, I saw a strand of letters I didn't recognize.Β
Convinced the driver had somehow veered off course because of the weather or otherwise, I snapped at him to pull up a GPS, but he acted like I didn't exist.Β
Enough was enough and missing my stop was off the table, so I stood up despite the bumpiness and went to go talk to him face to face. When the bus went over a particularly prominent bump, my head jarred towards outside to see the fog clearing ever so slightly, just enough to see the fact we were on a straight road that seemingly stretched indefinitely into the fog.
What I didn't expect to see was the sudden disappearance of the driver. It didn't process in me immediately, still leftover fatigue from the early hours. Yet when I fully realized that this vehicle was suddenly without its operator, panic had overridden my annoyance.Β
I'll be honest when I say I have no idea how to drive a bus, and the lack of an ignition slot I passed off as a trait of the vehicle. It was still rolling and that's all I needed to know. What I was still trying to figure out was what happened to the driver. Had he just bailed out of the side door? It seemed to be the only option and despite the absolutely ludicrous idea a person would willingly do such an act, I never heard the door open in the first place. Near instant thoughts of my brother teased my mind which only increased my panic.
Throwing myself into the seat, I tried to encourage the vehicle to stop, slamming on the breaks and pulling the emergency lock. Yet it did not stop. I fiddled with every button on its panel, praying there was some magical emergency βoffβ switch. What I did find, instead, was the switch that opened the passenger doors.Β
I seriously weighed my options and how beneficial it would be to throw myself out the side of a moving vehicle. That was when the fog moved with purpose. Once the thing that simply framed this odd display of incompetence now seemed to gain an intention. A strand of the fog curled and twisted like an arm towards the open door, creeping inside and spreading across the floor of the bus.Β
Don't ask me what it was that crossed my mind to tell me that the fog was a bad idea. Instinct, maybe? Whatever it was I just knew that touching it would be bad. Really bad. I started to lose my breath, oxygen catching on my lungs before it could escape. My brother had died in a car crash and I was prepared for the same horrid fate to befall me.Β
His passing had destroyed me. He was all I had when my parents separated. I had no real friends to turn to, and any relationship I thought was going somewhere just abruptly ceased for years after his passing. Not even my apartment neighbors seemed to acknowledge my existence outside of concerned glances. He was everything I had and my life outside of the workplace seemed to fizzle away.
I don't blame him for it, I really don't. In honesty I could've been a bolder person, it just never occurred to me when he was there to make it all so much easier.Β
I clutched the wheel of the bus and shut the passenger doors even though the fog had raised about 2 and a half feet above the floor and just waited. It was cold and prickly, the tears I knew had started falling were freezing on my cheeks.
Nothing happened though, no violent greeting of fire and screeching metal. The bus just continued its silent march along this infinite highway. βMaybe this was some grossly personal nightmare conjured by my sleep deprived brain.β I had thought before throwing myself against the controls of the bus. I put my entire weight against the break and used all my strength to try and force the wheel to spin, if only I could make it skid to a potential stop.Β
Two things resulted from that; one being that it was not a dream. The pain that screeched in my muscles from the amount of force I was using was real. Second? Despite my efforts the bus continued. I sat there and accepted it, coming to terms that I couldn't escape this bus unless I threw myself to the thing my gut assured me would be worse than whatever creeping hunger would assault me if I remained in this trap.Β
I felt the bus grow clammy and still as my mind wandered to the thoughts of my brother. His life was fearless, he continuously did the most reckless stuff but he said it made him alive. I was planning on asking a coworker out despite my previous record. I lived my life for him for so much of my life I had failed to recognize my own.Β
The previous morning she had said hello to me, my boss gave a pat on my back, and the division manager had invited me to a golf trip I had nearly forgotten. It wasn't much but without my work, several dozen people wouldn't be able to feed their families, go share their stories at a pub with friends, or buy gifts for themselves and others. It may have been systematic but my life did mean something to people.Β
It was a while before I realized the bus had stopped. When I did I immediately jumped up and saw the doors were open, the fog had mostly lifted, and I was suddenly at the corner of the station late in the afternoon.Β
Words cannot describe how fast I got out of that wretched bus and found the first ever pinch of joy relating to public train transit in my entire life. There were people there, people that didn't know me, but people that had complexities and space. I was 6 hours late to the conference and ended up being fired for the inexcusable absence. I could care less though, I have a loving girlfriend and friends I've been sharing my life with. Needless to say that experience opened my eyes to the people that cared, and I learned to care more because of it. ]
I regret to inform you that some of my little dears may have wandered into your archive! Have you been squashing any bugs recently? We may have a problem if so, but I have faith that this issue can be resolved.
Oh, yes, I see you have found one of my sweeties. Isn't she wonderful? I do hope this 'Beckett' fellow is taking good care of her..
I am, however, a little upset to hear that you do not like my dears.. I promise they are of no harm to you and your archive in their current state. In fact, I sense that they are quite comfortable within your walls, and as such I would suggest you leave them undisturbed.
If it brings you any comfort, Archivist, my 'involvement' comes from a place of neutrality, and I harbour nothing but personal respect for your work. We simply travel where we desire to spread, and there is no helping that. Perhaps your Director should learn of the joys of our hive before choosing hostility? I would be more than happy to show her.
I regret to inform you that some of my little dears may have wandered into your archive! Have you been squashing any bugs recently? We may have a problem if so, but I have faith that this issue can be resolved.
Hello Archivist, I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have heard your Society has helped people ailed by the supernatural at times and I do dearly hope that those stories are true, for I fear I have fallen prey to one of these Gears as your Society has labelled them. Enough rambling however, I suppose Iβll begin my statement.Β
Have you ever heard of myiasis Archivist? When a fly lays its eggs into your flesh while youβre still living? I have always had a fascination with the way insects interact with the world around them, the way that hundreds of them exist all around us and go unnoticed, yet myasis and parasitism have always left me with an itching sensation I cannot shake off, that feeling that bugs are digging into me, laying their eggs in my flesh, eating me, it always upset me. I have managed to avoid parasites for the most part in my life, barring mosquitoes and leeches, and other suck bloodsuckers, they initially caused me the same discomfort but over time I have grown numb to it. Though I suppose that isnβt entirety true, the itch they give once theyβre done feeding can at times be quite enjoyable, have you ever had an itch like that Archivist? Have you ever felt the impossibly strong almost prickly urge to claw at your own skin? In my younger years I always thought it was my body trying to get me to claw the bloodsuckers venoms out of me, but in recent years I have considered it might just be a gift from them, nothing can quite match the feeling of scratching the itches they provide. I have stopped swatting at mosquitoes recently, and I fear that may have been a mistake as a particularly large one had bit my leg a week ago, but it provided me with no itch, not initially, instead an almost squirming sensation that was subtle at first though now has grown into an almost debilitating pain, an itch I need to scratch, but it is not an itch on me, no Archivist, it is an itch on others. I am scared I will freely admit that, but not because of the pain nor the urge to gift others with this wriggling pain, in fact I am scared because of that, I can feel something writhing under my skin, hundreds of things, and they are hurting me, but I donβt mind Archivist, I am scared because it isnβt an urge to share this itch, it is a want. I have avoided help for this despite knowing I need it, even know I struggle to write this message for you. I do not know what is going to happen, but I can feel the hatred snaking its way through me that my guests have for your Society, I donβt know why. I can no longer walk without support, but I can almost hear them telling me that they can help, perhaps they can, but I know not the cost. I come to your Society in hopes of help, potential freedom from this turmoil, one part of me wonders if you can even provide. Please help.
What are your thoughts on experiences relating to fear in cold? I remember in 1997 being snowed in for several days on end in Manitoba as a kid, and from that point on I had a lingering fear of blizzards and being trapped. It's the thought of running out of supplies and not being able to leave that rattles me the most.
