#uflb statements

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Case 20160430W, statement of Liam Woodman, April 4, 2016. Statement read by Miguel Slater, archival assistant. Statement on the subject of an old teapot. Statement begins.

I know I sound crazy and well maybe I am. But I also know that my husband has been intoxicated by that thing and I don’t know who else to go to now. And I know it’s the teapot. I just do okay?

It was a gift from Thomas’ grandmother before she passed. It was a porcelain teapot with a silver rim and a floral pattern on it. We never used it. It always seemed to be filled with cobwebs, and no matter how many times we cleaned it out and any tea made in it would feel strange. Almost stringy, I guess? We had planned to throw it out and be done with it, but we would always forget to take it out with us whenever we went out to throw away our trash. So for a while it just lived with us, sitting on our kitchen counter and not really doing much of anything.

Then one morning I found Thomas drinking some tea. I asked if he could make me a cup and a few moments later he called me over to sit and drink with him. When I looked in the mug I saw these spiderwebs floating in the tea. I asked him if he had forgotten to rinse out the mug first and he just looked at me with a confused expression on his face. I glanced over into his mug and there were clearly webs in it too but it was like he hadn’t noticed, or that he didn’t care. I picked up the mugs to drain them out but he grabbed my wrist tightly and told me to put it down. I thought he was just in a mood and needed some space today so I left for work as usual.

He seemed pretty calm when I got back but he didn’t mention what had happened in the morning. He asked me about my day and I told him about how my boss had been giving me a hard time lately. He said that I should rest and that he’d “take care of it” for me. When I woke up I found Thomas drinking a cup of tea, and that my boss had quit for some unknown reason. A few days after he was declared missing.

For the next month or two anyone I complained about to Thomas would go missing. I knew something was up but whenever I tried to talk with him about it he said he was doing it for me and that I should be glad he’s making my life easier. I felt so weird, like I was being ungrateful and a bad husband to him, even though in our six years of being together he had never acted like this. I was beginning to get scared of saying anything to him in general.

Then some of his friends began to disappear. And some of mine. Whenever the police came to ask us about it I would say I hadn’t known them very well or that we had a falling out. He would glare me down, making sure I was saying the right thing. All while drinking a cold cup of tea.

Yesterday was when I saw it. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw Thomas was dragging someone's body across the floor. I didn’t recognize them as they were cocooned in thick white silk. I watched from the bedroom door as he took it over to the teapot. Then a spider crawled out of the spout. It was almost pure black, and larger than any spider I had seen before. I could have sworn it was the size of Thomas when fully out of the teapot, almost as if it was growing the closer it got to the body. It stuck its fangs into the cocoon and I saw a stream of a black liquid spew out of its mouth and into the body. The cocoon thrashed weakly as the liquid filled up the sack. Then it made a terrible sucking sound, like it was drinking whoever was in there through a straw. It was bigger when it had finished its meal, unraveling the silk to reveal nothing. There weren’t even any bones left behind.

I think I fainted. The next thing I remember was Thomas cradling me in his arms. I was so glad he only had two. He kept whispering to me that he had taken care of her and that I should trust him. I do trust him, and I don’t want anything to happen to him. But I’m also scared about that spider in the teapot and I know it did something to Thomas. He told me I could make a statement about it and that he wouldn’t get into any trouble, and that’s why I’m here. I’m just worried that Thomas is going to get taken by the spider. I still haven't gotten over my fear of the things.

Statement ends

Spiders…eugh. I hate them. They crawl everywhere and their webs are too sticky and easy to walk into.

It appears that everyone in the story is under an alias. And they seem to have traced their steps very well, I haven’t been able to find anything identifying. I’ve been looking through disappearance cases via our back door access to police reports and haven’t found much. The closest I found was that there was an increase in disappearances in the Tucson area of Arizona between 2015 and 2016. I’ll get another assistant to look into this further.

Recording ends.

[usher-foundation-lincoln-branch]

Click

You can’t be in here-

There is the sound of a wet coughing.

Oh? Something in your throat? Water perhaps?

Miguel seems to be struggling to breathe. The sound of water rippling is picked up.

Now don’t panic. It’ll only make it worse. Breathing is somewhat hard to do underwater.

The sound of waves crashing is heard. The voices grow warbled through the water.

How? The files! No-

Is that really what you’re worried about? All the other things in the world and you’re worried about some pieces of paper? But don’t worry. I won’t soak your precious little papers. I just want to make my statement and take back what’s mine. That’s all.

There is the sound of a struggle in the water. Eventually one of them seems to slow down.

Hey now, you know I can kill you right now right? I’m trying to be kind to you. So stop trying to bash my head in. Besides, you won’t do much with a coffee mug.

Fine. Statement of?

Sean Lornes.

Regarding?

An unfortunate undersea accident on August 18, 2024.

Statement begins.

When I was young I had always loved the sea. I used to surf and swim all the time when I could. I would spend hours in the waves, feeling them crash down on me. If I was ever at the beach you wouldn’t find me until the sun had set and the water was too cold to swim in. It was a wonderful time for me, and my parents would be glad to have me out of their hair for a while.

As I got older I would have to spend less time with the sea and more time involved in studies. The sea wasn’t just a little walk away from my house anymore and I certainly didn’t have the time to drive all the way to the sea. But every summer I would come back and spend all my time out at the beach swimming. One time I even found a small

I was lucky enough to have a well paying job. I scraped enough money to buy a small boat and learned how to use it. It wasn’t flashy but it got the job done. I’d bring my parents or my friends along with me out to sea for a bit and we’d spend the day in the middle of the ocean. They would fish and I would sit under the sky, watching blue meet blue in all directions. It gave me a sense of calm. That in the end we were all just a bunch of ants sandwiched between two fields of blue, so what’s the point of worrying what we do in between?

One day my mom called me out of the blue. She was really excited about something. She told me to come over to the house right away. So I did. She took out a little wrapped box and told me it was my birthday gift. When I opened it I saw a small little ticket inside. It was for a submersible tour of the ocean floor. They would dive down in the sea near a kelp forest and see what it was like underwater.

I was admittedly excited to go. When we got on the boat I was itching to go down. It was me and four others, though I don’t remember their names anymore. It was a simple thing really, just one hull with a large window at the front and a panel to control its movements. There was a small statue of a wave on the hull, made of a deep blue rock. The more I stared into it the more it pulled me in. As we felt the submersible sink we could look through the window at the endless strands of kelp twining their way in and out of each other, gently swayed by the waves. We watched some fish swim in and out. But that wasn’t what I was paying attention to. I watched the statue. And there was this urge. This urge to go into the sea. To let it push me around in the vast expanse of it. But I knew I would drown. Unless I could give it something in return. Four things in fact.

The submersible was not very well manufactured. As we went down I could almost feel the water press into the hull. I could feel the fear that the other people felt, wondering if they would be lost at sea forever. I doubted it would actually survive an extended stay at the bottom of the sea floor. We were only meant to reach halfway down the kelp forest before we went back up. So I waited.

Once we were at the depth we needed to be I grabbed hold of the control panel and sent us plummeting down. As much as they tried to drag me off I stayed firm. It was thrilling to sink, deep down into the murky waters. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of the waves. The window began to warp and shift into an almost wavelike pattern. And then it cracked open, filling the submersible with that salty water.

Statement ends.

I drowned with everyone else of course, except that the sea took me in. I took a deep breath and let myself float in the ocean for a while. Eventually I came back, which brings us to today. I think that for some reason that statue is in your storage. And I would like it back.

I’m sorry but I really can’t just give it to you.

Shame. I thought you’d be reasonable about this.

The sound of water filling the room comes back. Miguel begins to cough violently.

Okay! You can have the statue! I’ll bring it out for you.

Good. I knew you’d agree eventually. I’ll leave you alone after this. Well, unless I find you out at sea.

The recording clicks off.

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Case 19981028H, Statement given by Jim Hall, October 28, 1998. Statement in regards to an old hunting rifle. Statement read and archived by Luci Dreme.

I’m coming here because I feel like I have to. I don’t know how much longer before I’m forced to do it again. I really don’t want to do it again. But when that thing makes me do it…well it won’t be an animal. 

It started when I found this old hunting rifle in a box in the attic. I assumed it belonged to my pappy, and I had inherited with the rest of the stuff in his cabin. And hunting season had just started so I wanted to go out and try my hand at using pap’s old riffle. When I picked it up it felt like any old gun to me. It was only when I went out into the woods that it started. 

The first day I went out there wasn’t much to find. I found a couple quail nesting about and that was that. When I fired the bullet, that’s when It began. The satisfaction of having killed. I had never felt that rush before. The second day I found some quail again, but no matter how many I slaughtered I couldn’t feel satisfied. The woods were a bloodbath, and I never once questioned why the gun hadn’t run out of bullets. The urge to kill only stopped when I found a rabbit and shot it dead. That was not the first time the woods were painted that dark carmine. By the end of that week I had a dozen pigeons, ten rabbits, two turkeys and one deer. Whenever I picked up that gun I could feel it again, the need to fire, to kill. 

Yesterday I couldn't find any game. That’s when I realized what this thing was. It had to take a life, or I would be next. I knew it somehow, that if it didn’t spill enough blood it would be me who would wake up with a bullet to the chest. That fear that I would be prey, that is what made me kill Donna. 

I loved Donna. She had been nothing but kind. We had been married for almost twenty five years, brought up a child. Ryan doesn’t deserve to know what happened to his poor mother. How she screamed when it struck her. The wicked glee I got when I saw her fall. That wretched feeling of finally ending the chase, of killing

I ran. But no matter how hard I tried I still couldn’t let go of that gun. So I came here. Because if anything, one of you knows how to stop this. But don’t get too close alright. If any of you get any ideas of taking my only defense away from me I swear I will-

Statement ended.

Jim Hall, huh? I looked into him before reading this one out. I prefer to know my facts first. The cops found out about what he did, and he ran. Was a serial killer for a few years, but eventually they caught up to him. His own son, what was it- Ryan. Right. He refused to visit him at first. Only came to yell at the security guards for letting Jim die after only a few months in jail. I tried to reach out to him, to try and get a statement on his perspective of the whole thing, to sniff out some more details, but he was…uncooperative.

We can’t know if this was a man giving into his worst thoughts, or if that gun was as potent as he said it was without more information. I mean, we’ve all had thoughts like that. But acting on them is different. God, if I could just get Ryan to interview it’d be-

They let out a sigh.

Can’t change that. Need to stop focusing on it. You’ve got work to do. Luci. There’s other shit to record, and you’ve got to finish up this recording.

They pause again, awkward silence overtaking the recording.

Right, well, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to end one of these- I’m sort of talking to no one. Not until someone decides to listen back to it. So, bye future employee, I guess. See you in the future.

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Case 2023729Da. Statement of Ashley Wath, July 29, 2023. Audio recording by Miguel Slater, archival assistant. Statement on the subject of a “Shadow Man”. Statement begins.

I saw him. I know I did. That thing that haunts my sleep. I don’t even know if it’s a ‘him’. All I know is he shows up every night and he’s getting closer.

It happened for the first time about a week ago. I have nightmares all the time but this one was different somehow. I was awake. I know I was because I had just gone to use the bathroom and went back to my bed. That’s when I saw him.

He was just a shadow at first. I saw him in the corner of my room and then I blinked and he wasn’t there. It was like he had vanished into the dark. I tried to go back to sleep and couldn’t. I was too afraid he was still there. Waiting.

It happened the next night too. This time he was actually there. Not like a shadow, no like an actual person. I felt the fear that someday he was going to grab me and take me away. I couldn’t move my body anymore. I tried to scream but I just couldn’t. He reached out to me but stopped just before he touched me. That finger was too long to be human.

It kept happening. Again and again and again. Now I see him in every shadow. He’s reaching out to me. He really wants me to join him. But I’m scared. I’m so scared. I know what will happen if I do.

I saw him take someone once. It’s my fault and I know it is. I was walking home with my friend. Her name was Annie. I watched as he jumped out of the shadows and gripped her wrists. Then he consumed her. He wrapped some sort of tendrils around her body. They were black and inky and just thinking about it makes me want to throw up. They were almost suffocating her, dangling her limp body up in the night. She tried to scream but I couldn’t hear it. The last thing I saw before she was gone was it stealing the light out of her eyes. Then she was gone, and it was darker than ever.

I know he’s coming for me. It’s that or I bring him others. I don’t know what I’ll choose. I just need to get this out in the case I disappear tomorrow. You’ll know why.

Statement ends

What a cheery statement. Unfortunately once again Ms. Wath is not available to interview. She seems to be missing. However I’m not sure if she’s missing by coincidence or by choice. I also think we should be wary about trying to find Ms. Wath. Something tells me that she won’t be keen on following up with us if we do.

Recording ends.

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I don’t know what happened but I’m going to find out. The others are still asleep right now and I’ve locked myself up in the bathroom of the place we’re staying at. I’m only doing this because I need to finally face it. I can’t keep this case away if I want to solve it.

Case 20250607, Statement of Miguel Slater, June 07, 2025. Statement on the subject of Cody Wrabel’s disappearance.

Cody Wrabel. He was a friend of mine back in high school. We were…close. He never had much time to spare. He was always busy when I was free. He was a part of track, sprint specifically. We would only see each other during class and when he got lucky and didn’t have practice that day. We would go out together to a cafe that was nearby and catch up. We didn’t need to, we would still chat during class and all that. But I liked to talk with him outside of just school.

On my seventeenth birthday he gave me a camera. It was a small polaroid with two extra packets of film. I had talked about finding a way to make a memory book before we graduated so we would remember it in the future. I was a little ashamed actually, he had spent a lot of his own money on it. When I said I didn’t know how to repay him he told me he just wanted a photo album of us on our last year before I moved out to college, so when we were old and didn’t talk much we would still remember each other. I took my first picture that day. Me and him with matching party hats and a party horn in his mouth.

For a while I continued this. I had pictures of us at the cafe. A few of us at the park sitting up a tree or laying in the grass. One or two of us at the beach, although I hated going. One on Cody’s birthday, where he was wearing a sweater I knit for him. Why couldn’t it had stayed like that.

We were on a school trip. Camping in the mountains. I snuck a photo of him under the stars. He was gazing up at them, babbling on about which constellations were made from what stars. He noticed of course and snuck a picture of me fast asleep on his shoulder. He had given me his jacket so I would stay warm. When I woke up he wasn’t there.

I didn’t notice he was gone. Not for a while. Nobody did. We all thought he was still there when we got on the bus. And I was talking to him on the way back about how excited I was to be done with school. I didn’t notice anything was wrong until about a week later. By then we were graduating. I took a picture of us in our gowns, his medium black hair was getting in the way of his face a little. I could barely see his eyes, a deep green in that photo. I went home that night to finish up our albums. When I opened it, I saw a person in my photos. Someone who looked nothing like Cody. He had short fluffy light brown hair and blue eyes. He was a little taller than Cody, with a little more muscle on him. I compared the photos from today to that person. They weren’t the same person at all. I looked back through all of them. They all had this mystery person. The one who wasn’t Cody. The one wearing the same blue denim jacket I was, with the patches I made for him displayed faintly under the starlight.

I kept the album. I burned the photos I took that day. I never talked to that “Cody” again. I don’t know what that thing did to Cody, but I know that it was not him. I don’t know what happened to it, but I’m glad I got as far away from it as I could.

Statement ends.

The denim jacket wouldn’t have fit it. It’s still a little oversized on me, even after all this time. Ten years almost. Cody would have been glad to tease me about that. Not sure how he’d feel about me going into this job instead of going into mycology like I said I would. He always wanted me to try. If he was still here then maybe…

A sigh is heard, followed by the sound of sniffling. Miguel's voice sounds a little broken.

I just don’t remember him. I know he was the person that wore this jacket. I know his name was Cody. But I don’t remember why we were friends. What we did together. These photos are all I have left of him and for the life of me I can’t remember anything other than this? My best friend, the person I cared about most, and I couldn’t tell you his favorite color or the song he listened to the most or the secrets he would whisper to me? I just…I’m so sorry Cody. You deserved better than this. Better than-

The sound of a throat being cleared is heard.

That’s enough for now. Recording ends.

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Case 130719, Statement of Brianna Paris, November 11, 2019. Statement on the subject of Solus Ice Rink. Statement read by Errin Baylor.

I hate ice rinks now. I don’t want to see them ever again. I know, it’s a stupid thing to say. But whatever that rink did to me I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

I had always loved ice skating with friends. As a child I’d spend innumerable hours in the Minnesota winters skating on the lakes that froze over. But as I grew older and left everyone behind I found myself in Arizona, which is famous for being suffocating, and iceless. So you can imagine my absolute joy when I learned there was an ice rink near my college. Apparently my college had a hockey team and I thought it would be a great way to meet some friends, you know? So I signed up for the league.

The first day I was there went well. I went to the try-out and the manager seemed impressed by my performance. She didn’t really say anything to me but she nodded and muttered something to herself. That didn’t strike me as odd at all.

I got an email saying I had been accepted into the team about a week later and that our practice was to begin on Monday. I was so excited to meet my new team. I remember gushing to my roommate about it, which I’m surprised she had the patience to listen to me. So I waited for Monday to come around.

When I arrived, it was about 5:30 in the morning. That was the time we were meant to practice, and I met up with some of the team inside the rink. They were silent. Eerily silent. It was almost as if they were all mute or something. I could have sworn they made no noise when they walked across the ground to the changing rooms. Each time I tried talking to them they would look at me with those piercing eyes, demanding I stay silent. We were headed to the changing rooms when I suddenly noticed the rink was almost, I don't know fogging up? I stared at it for a while, when I heard the door to the locker room close and the lock click. I tried knocking on the door but they didn’t seem to care too much about me being locked out. There was a fog coming in through the gap on the door too, it was thick and I could barely see my shoes through it. I decided to walk around for a moment to see if someone working here could open the door to the room for me.

The rink was full of odd corridors and corners. The heavy fog had also gotten worse somehow, and it felt almost nauseating. I tried to find my way towards the entrance but every turn just led me back to the ice rink. I couldn’t even find the changing rooms anymore. I was running around frantically by this point, desperately trying to find someone who could help. I was so alone, so lost in this place. I tried to yell out but my voice was so muffled by the fog I could barely hear myself, as if I wasn’t even there. I ran onto the ice at some point and slipped, falling face first into the bitter cold. I stumbled my way back up and realized I was stuck in the middle of the rink, with no one there to help me. I just kind of lay there, waiting for the cold to take me. But it didn’t.

Eventually I felt someone drag me off of the ice. She was hard to make out, shrouded in the thick fog. She kept muttering something to herself. I think it was “not afraid enough,”? Whatever the case, she led me out of the ice rink and I was so glad to feel the early morning sun on my face. I immediately emailed my coach and told her I was not going to be on the team this year. I still haven’t gotten a response. I also swore I would never go on a rink alone again. And then I came here, to one of your foundation buildings. And that leads us to now.

Whatever happened at the Solus Rink I don’t want to live through again it was so isolating, so lonesome. And I hope you guys can do something about it before someone else goes through that.

Statement Ends

Well. Ummm that’s something, I find quite a bit of this… difficult to believe. I mean a fog lady in the middle of an ice isn’t’ really a typical winter wonderland find. I do know however that ice rinks can fog up from time to time but that only happens on the ice itself not throughout the entire facility. This could be due to some type of concussion Brianna had suffered, they haven’t responded to any of our attempts to reach out though. I hope this doesn’t end up as another unsolved mystery with a dead statement giver. The rinks sponsor, The Solus Company seems vaguely familiar, i’ll have to check if they’ve been mentioned elsewhere.

Recording Ends

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Case 20150411Sp. Statement of Oliver Smith, April 11, 2015. Audio recording by archival assistant Miguel Slater. Statement on the subject of a hotel door.

The very first sentence in the hotel rulebook was “Do not go into door 229”. It was the only room in the hotel that was never checked out. It was never cleaned, inspected, and some of the staff even claimed that they had never seen it before. I know that it was there. We had a guest once. He had called us about reserving a room. I remember, because he reserved room 229.

I gave him the usual spiel, the room is already booked, it’s being cleaned, we don’t have a room 229, but he refused. He said he would take the room. I knew something was wrong when I wrote down the name he gave me for the booking. “Marco Mientes”. Although now I don’t think that was his real name.

I noticed when he arrived right away. He wore a flashing array of colors, none of them matching. He had no luggage with him. He walked in a jagged, random pattern. I walked over to see if he needed any assistance. He said nothing and flashed a smile. I should have known that smile wasn’t right. It twisted too much at the edges. But I guided him to his room anyway.

The door was there, at the end of the hallway. It was an old door, it looked much older than the rest of the hotel. The familiar carpet pattern had a more…jagged feel to it. The room number was there. Room 229. The man looked at me, and then at the key in my hands, and then to the door. I understood what he wanted. I put the key in the lock and turned.

It didn’t click. It was almost as if the door was already unlocked, always unlocked. When it swung open, I saw a room. Just like any other room in the hotel. But something just wasn’t right. I watched as the man entered the room. And then the door closed, as if by itself. I tried to open the door with the key when I realized that there was no key in my hands. Nor was there a door. There were only the numbers 229 left on the wall where the man had walked in. And a horrible laughter coming from inside.

Everyone says I’m making it up. We never had a room 229, Marco had never been on the booking list, they had not seen the man with the mismatched colors and jagged walk. I’m starting to believe I dreamt it. But whenever I walk to the hallway where door 229 would be, I still hear the laughter coming from the wall. And I also see the frame of a door. Waiting, waiting for me to get the key once more. Beckoning me into the forbidden room 229.

Statement ends

As interesting as this statement is, it’s not the most sound. I’ve done some looking about and it seems that the hotel that Mr Smith works at is the Cozen Hall, a hotel famously known for accidentally removing a room when it underwent renovations in the early 1980’s. The plans drawn called for a large support pillar in order to support the weight of the stories above, which was inserted inside what were the rooms 129 and 229. As for this “Marco Mientes” person…his name roughly translates to “Marco, you lie”. We tried to acquire a follow up with Mr Smith, but it seems he has gone missing. The last place he was seen was the Cozen Hall, in which eyewitnesses report that he had a strange key in his hand and was muttering “229” to himself, over and over again. ‘Spooky’ as some would put it. Just like all of this mess, another dead end.

Recording ends.

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Case UN0000001C, Letter sent by Dr. Horatio, undated. Statements on the subject of a parasitic mushroom. Statement read by Errin Baylor.

Letter Begins

Dearest Alexander, I hope my letter finds you well. How I wish I could be chatting with you over a cup of tea and a warm scone, but I need this letter to find you faster than I will be able to see you. I am writing to you as I believe I have discovered a new species of mushroom, but it seems to be more in your realm of knowledge than it is in the realm of the sciences. And as you know I trust you with my life, and I know you won’t ridicule me like my peers shall.

It began when my team and I departed on a trip to Oregon to study the mycological species in the dense forests. Here is where we came across a rather interesting specimen. This specimen was a dull blue, similar to that of blue mold. It was almost a perfect sphere and grew rather large, six inches in diameter was the biggest we observed. However, when we tried to procure some samples to send to our laboratory something strange began to occur. As Jack attempted to pick one of the mushrooms it exploded into a cloud of spores, similar to that of puffball varieties. We didn’t think much of this and instead collected spores in order to attempt to artificially cultivate them at our lab.

The next day we were meant to go into the forest and collect some more specimens, however Jack wasn’t feeling well. He hadn’t left his tent despite multiple crew members informing him of the itinerary of the day. He only responded when we attempted to open the tent, to which he shied away from any light. We decided it would be best if we let him rest for the day and watch the camp. We could no longer find any of the blue puffballs in the woods though we did procure what appeared to be chanterelles and boletes, among others.

When we returned to camp it was almost dark, and we noticed Jack was now out of his tent. I attempted to speak with him about what had happened earlier that day but he didn’t respond. And I swear to you Alex that Jack had some sort of growth on his hand. It was very small, and appeared to be a rather serious bug bite, but he would not allow anyone to treat him.

This went on for the rest of our trip. We would go out and collect specimens, and Jack would always stay behind. Every day he would get more and more “bites”. Until the final day.

That last day we had packed all of our equipment and were about to take off when I noticed Jack had gone from our campsite. There was a trail of muddy prints in the ground. A group of us went out into the woods to find Jack. We were beginning to get extremely worried about his mental state.

We found him after a while, lying in a ditch. He was dead. His skin was covered in thin blue strands that weaved their way in and out like mycelium. As we got closer we saw all those bites on him were beginning to grow. They burst out of his skin with a terrible popping sound and rapidly puffed up. They were dull blue growths in varying sizes, the biggest of which were around 8 inches in diameter. I ran backwards before they burst. The rest followed.

Parasitic mushrooms do not target people. We haven’t discovered any other species that does this, and we haven’t had any luck growing them in the lab. You are my last hope Alexander. This is far from being in the realm of science now. I’ve sent you a sealed ampule of the spores and some pictures. Perhaps your team has seen something similar before?

Your dear friend, Wyatt Horatio.

Letter ends.

Obviously there isn’t that much follow up to be done, Wyatt Horatio some researcher, despite my best attempts to find any studies conducted by him or mentions of his name he seems to have vanished. Even if anyone on the team managed to get a hold of a lead chances are he’s dead, just judging by the looks of this letter. Probably somewhere around the start of the 1900s. There’s not a lot of letters written anymore and despite some preservation this paper looks like it’s seen some things.

Anyways.

Recording Ends.