MYSTERY MAN

We've met before, haven't we?

I don't think so. Where was it you think we met?

At your house. Don't you remember?

No. No, I don't. Are you sure?

Of course. As a matter of fact, I'm there right now.

What do you mean? You're where right now?

At your house.

That's fuckin' crazy, man.

Call me. Dial your number. Go ahead.

[Fred dials the number and the Mystery Man answers]

[over the phone] I told you I was here.

How'd you do that?

Ask me.

[into phone] How did you get inside my house?

[voice] You invited me. It is not my custom to go where I am not wanted.

Who are you?

[Both Mystery Men laugh mechanically]

[voice] Give me back my phone.

It's been a pleasure talking to you.


If we don't, remember me.

LORD FORGIVE US

December 9, 1879:

Met with Blake this evening for the first time. He stood in the shadows to prevent me from getting a clear look at his face. What a vile disease this is. He is a rich man with a cursed condition, but this does not prevent him from trying to better his situation and that of his comrades at the colony.

December 11, 1879:

Blake's proposition is simple: He wants to move off Tanzier Island and re-locate the entire colony just north of here. He has purchased a clipper ship called the Elizabeth Dane with part of his fortune and asks only for permission to settle here.

I must balance my feelings of mercy and compassion for this poor man, with my revulsion at the thought of a leper colony only a mile distant.

April 20, 1880:

The six of us met tonight. From midnight until one o'clock, we planned the death of Blake and his comrades. I tell myself that Blake's gold will allow the church to be built, and our small settlement to become a township, but it does not soothe the horror that I feel being an accomplice to murder.

April 21, 1880:

The deed is done. Blake followed our false fire on shore and the ship broke apart on the rocks off Spivey Point. We were aided by an unearthly fog that rolled in, as if Heaven sent, although God had no part in our actions tonight. Blake's gold will be recovered tomorrow, but may the Lord forgive us for what we've done.

AN INSIDIOUS AGENDA

You were about eight. You suffered night terrors - these awful fits of pure fear. You were terrified of an old woman you said used to come visit you at night.

I dismissed your stories. I told you to grow up.

Then I saw her for myself. 

 

At first I thought it was a camera problem. Then I saw her again.

  In each photo, she got closer...

...and closer...

 ...and closer to you. 

In the back of your mind, you're still afraid to have your picture taken...

... aren't you?

ONE MORE STORY...

"My father was a fisherman. He ran a trawler out of Whitley Reef. One night, late, he was coming back in. He was out beyond the reef, out near Spivey Point. He looked to windward and saw a brig under shortsail, heading right for him. And he radioed, there was no reply. Nothing moved on deck, but she held her course. My dad and two of his hands, they boarded the brig, the Risa Jane. No one was on board. There was food on the table, and a hot, steaming cup of coffee. But underneath, the tin cup was rusted to the table. And then something caught my father's eye. It was a gold doubloon, minted in Spain, 1867. My dad picked up the coin, put it in his breast pocket of his jacket, and zippered it up. He came home, told us the story, and he unzippered the pocket to give me the coin. It was gone."

 Nagrobek.

THEIR STRICT ATTENTION

What sick ridiculous puppets we are

and what a gross little stage we dance on.

What fun we have dancing and fucking.

Not a care in the world.

Not knowing that we are nothing.

We are not what was intended.

If we don't, remember me.

FIVE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

"In five minutes, it will be the 21st of April. One hundred years ago on the 21st of April, out in the waters around Spivey Point, a small clipper ship drew toward land. Suddenly, out of the night, the fog rolled in. For a moment, they could see nothing, not a foot in front of them. Then, they saw a light. By God, it was a fire burning on the shore, strong enough to penetrate the swirling mist. They steered a course toward the light. But it was a campfire, like this one. The ship crashed against the rocks, the hull sheared in two, mars snapped like a twig. The wreckage sank, with all the men aboard. At the bottom of the sea, lay the Elizabeth Dane, with her crew, their lungs filled with salt water, their eyes open, staring to the darkness. And above, as suddenly as it come, the fog lifted, receded back across the ocean and never came again. But it is told by the fishermen, and their fathers and grandfathers, that when the fog returns to Antonio Bay, the men at the bottom of the sea, out in the water by Spivey Point will rise up and search for the campfire that led them to their dark, icy death."

A FEW MURDERS

"The caretakers will leave at midnight, locking us in here until they come back in the morning. Once the door is locked, there's no way out. The windows have bars that a jail would be proud of, and the only door to the outside locks like vault. There's no electricity, no phone, no one within miles, so no way to call for help."