They Exist
Author’s Note
I’m sorry in advance that this drags out a bit, lol.
Something I learned quickly upon beginning my research for this story is that Michigan is kind of all over the place. Also the fact that a lot of folklore is very dark in historical roots at times. But everything from Dogman and the Ada Witch, to classic wendigos and Bigfoot, to more obscure Bessie, Pressie and Loup-Garou, the cryptids and folklore run deep here; with the dark forests, long history, and deep rivers making plenty of space for little supernatural mysteries everywhere.
As someone who grew up reading and listening to stories of Dogman and wendigos, as well as someone who grew up telling and making up tales of the ghosts in our backyard and the skin-walkers in Grandpa’s hunting spots, I wanted to include all of the stories. Every cryptid, every witch, every bar’s ghosts—but ultimately for the sake of the time and sanity of both me and you readers, I couldn’t do that.
It’s not in the spirit of this collaboration anyways. Also, some of the myths around here are a bit specific or odd. Like the sands of Bete Grise where the sand screams for a Native’s lost love who disappeared into Lake Superior, or George Parris, the keeper of a broken down lighthouse, whose ghost refused to leave and relit the lighthouse for the first time in decades.
To cut to the chase (finally), Here is an overview of the stories I drew inspiration from.
1. Dogman
Dogman (my favorite!) has been popular modernly mostly since 1987 when a DJ on a radio station made a song about the story, exactly a century after the first documented sighting in Michigan; where two lumberjacks saw a “man with a dog’s head chopping lumber”. Creatures resembling dogman can be seen in the folklore of many native tribes in Michigan for the majority, but also a few later sightings in other states such as Wisconsin. Dogman likes to hide in packs of ordinary wild dogs and wolves, only when they scatter, the Dogman stands on his hind legs to a staggering eight feet tall, and glares at potential threats with his glowing, piercing yellow eyes, unblinking and threatening. Dogman only comes out on years ending in seven, though sightings happen scarcely through other years. Either way, if ever you drive out on a dark, north-western Michigan road, watch out through your windows, you might see him observing your vehicle, whether for prey or mere noticing we’ll never know, and I imagine anyone who finds out won’t be in a state to tell us.
2. The Nain Rouge
The story goes that back in 1703, the founder of Detroit saw a small red-dressed goblin. A creature whom you should treat with respect, but of course, as the tale goes, Cadillac hit him over the head to get him out of the way. After that, well, if you know about Detroit and Cadillac’s history, he didn’t have the best of luck. Detroit tradition presumes that the Rogue is what causes tragedy and misfortune, having cursed the city for Cadillac’s rashness, though others believe he simply warns us of what is to come. He’s shown up before several tragedies, whether spotted on an electrical tower before a massive outage or in the fields before a bloody battle in Pontiac’s revolution, the Nain Rogue is always there. Regardless of if he’s a helpful prophet or a malicious demon, bad news always follows.
3. Melon Heads
Melon Heads are a group of small, humanoid creatures with round, bald heads. They are believed to be the spirits of children with brain swelling who were mistreated and escaped from an asylum around Felt Mansion. The alleged asylum was a prison at some point, but people debate whether there was ever an asylum there at all. The children survived with each other as their family to protect and keep company amongst themselves, and are skittish to others and tend to stay as a group. They are freakishly strong—able to easily overcome and overpower humans even when the melonheads are armed with nothing, though they definitely can’t take a hit, being very thin and vulnerable generally. Different interpretations and versions of the story involve the Ohio version, where Dr. Crow experimented on the children in an orphanage until they grew deformed, bulbous heads. The children then killed Dr. Crow, and burned down the orphanage, running into the forest, where they allegedly eat babies or bite people who come into their territory—potentially turning outsiders into melonheads.
4. Mishipeshu and Misiginebig
Misignebig (“The Great Serpent”)is said to be a humongous, scaly snake-like creature with horns and dragon-like wisps. It’s scales beautifully reflect the suns light into a myriad of colours, and it’s said to have a body stretching up to 40 feet. It’s not necessarily tied to any one place, being spotted in several rivers and lakes across the US, known as a guardian of the waterways sometimes, but Misiginebig is mostly associated with the Great Lakes—so Michigan by association (:
Despite that The Great Serpent has origins in several tribes of Algonquian peoples, most of whom spanned from roughly the rocky mountains to the East coast of the US and maybe stretching into Canada slightly. Misignebig is said to have been born from the land, becoming a protector of natural resources, and being able to control the water it lies in—demanding respect for it and the nature, or being benevolent and directing the river’s flow naturally. However, this also means that it’s health is directly tied to the land’s and deterioration of the surrounding area can weaken and maybe potentially kill Misignebig.
Meanwhile, Mishipeshu (“The Underwater Panther” or “The Great Lynx”). It has a predatory, feline body, covered in scales echoing colours of the deep sea, taking the darker parts of the Great Lakes. It’s back tail is covered in spikes, with smaller hind legs. The creature has Ojibwe origins and is said to have power over the water and weather, bringing massive storms and waves if it chooses. Mishipeshu could also control ocean creatures and a hunter’s luck, and it would use it’s powers against anyone who disturbed peace or was disrespectful. The Great Lynx would also guard copper, specifically, requiring prayers or offerings before miners could take anything—the Lynx otherwise enforcing the rules as stated before. It also can give prophecy and fortunes to those that it favors, in dreams or visions of sorts.
These two together resemble an important aspect of folklore. They tell not only of respecting nature and working with it, but what happens when you don’t. If you respect them, they might help you. But the two are ultimately temperamental in their own rights and will force control and peace.
5. So Many Others!
Those are the big concepts I was inspired by, but so many other aspects infected my work as I wrote and researched for it. Here’s a small list of some of these superstitions, and I so encourage further research—they’re awesome!
1. The Paulding Light
A light appearing in a valley at night, just outside of Paulding, it’s said to be a ghost of an old miner who died a horrible death in an old town, cursed to forever haunt the grounds; it’s said he uses his lantern as a warning to all who try to visit.
2. Hell’s Bridge
Long ago there a man named Elias Friske is said to have killed six children and thrown them in a small river beneath an old metal bridge, claiming to be possessed by the devil. It’s said that going to the bridge at midnight, you can still hear the devil’s laughter and the children’s final screams. Census data reports the Friske family moving in, years after the alleged incident, but not a single Elias was known to… exist, really.
3. Fort Wayne Ghosts
Fort Wayne, as you might remember from middle school history, was a fort heavily involved in many wars, serving as a recruitment and training center in the civil war, and a huge relevance in wars with Native Americans; it’s no surprise the fort is now seen as a “hotspot” for ghostly activity, with sounds of soldiers running through the tunnels, or troops marching through walls, or more, people have reported many, mostly benevolent “spirits” around the spot.
4. Caladrius
Caladrius is said to be a pale bird, resembling a heron or maybe or similar bird. It’s a roughly 3-4 foot tall snow-white, silent bird glowing in the moonlight. It appears especially when communities are breaking out in illness, and if it locks eyes with someone, they can miraculously heal, if it diverts it’s eyes though, the fate of the afflicted is sealed, and death nears. This bird truly should be higher on this list, but it’s tiny presence can resemble hope and healing.
5. General Cryptids and Superstitions
Let’s be honest, if you’re reading this, you know what a wendigo is. You know what a skinwalker is. And you can probably guess that Michigan has a LOT of water monsters, and almost as many ghost stories. That’s not even mentioning the witch trials. I also noticed some superstitions and ideas, not all explicitly stated, but hopefully carrying the spirit (hehe, punny) of Michigan and it’s myths. If you don’t know any of that, welcome to cryptids and mythology! I unfortunately cannot explain all of the myths around today, but I took a lot of inspiration from sort of everything.
6. UFOs and Aliens
I know neither UFOs nor aliens are strictly speaking Michigan folklore, but to me they are. I have two main incidents to reference. Firstly, the 1994 sighting. Between radar blips, radio frequencies, and reportings of “Christmas lights” in the sky, there were six cylindrical objects with unknown origins. But secondly, the aliens surrounding my elementary school. This is a bit of folklore you probably can’t research much, but it fits the bill. Me and my friends would speculate about the absurdly deep potholes that big trucks would seemingly float over, despite all reason saying it should’ve caused a lot more issues, and the gunk oozing out of trees, bricks, and the cracks in the sidewalk. The alien-like creatures were the most interesting things to learn about at that school, and would hid under ground, they build entire societies hidden from our view, peaking out through the holes and cracks around us. They had cover ups, of course, lazy blocks that blend in but seem off if you look close enough. We passed the story to the Kindergartners and our younger siblings to scare them, and the story lives on.
On to the actual story now!
Sorry for the lengthy introduction, but I hope you learned something from it (: I know I certainly did. This project has been really fun for me, I love working with other writers, and it’s been a while since I’ve looked into the wonder on the other side of the veil of reality, lol. Without further ado (finally), enjoy the story!
The Actual Story
Chapter 1
Expectant faces stare up at the clock waiting for the final bell to ring faster. One wills for the clock to slow, and never ring.
Finally, after what feels like days to some, the hour is over. The bell rings, and herds of kids grab their bags and run out the door, summer of ‘37, here they come! All the kids except for one young boy.
He slowly stuffs notebooks in his backpack, taking as long as he can, before slothfully walking up to the front of the classroom, brushing his bronze, shoulder length hair out of his face and back to it’s ordinary messiness.
“Hi, uh, Mr. Stonewall,” he said, looking everywhere else before his eyes finally settle on his teacher’s piercing brown eyes.
“If you haven’t noticed, Atlas, it’s the end of the year,” Mr. Stonewall started saying—his deep voice a stark contrast to the boy’s, “I go home tonight, I finalize grades, and I spend the next glorious three months without dealing with you children, yes?” The boy averts his eyes again.
“Y-yes, sir.” Atlas pushes his hair back again, and shifts his weight to the other leg.
“Well, Mr. Sterling, your work seems to suggest some things that contradict that plan.” Mr. Stonewall moves to turn around the monitor on his desk, showing an essay with the words ‘The Route Reminiscences’ stamped on it in big letters at the top. “Can you tell me what this is?”
“It’s my non-fiction analysis project, from earlier this semester,” Atlas replies, looking from the computer to the teacher with a new sense of confidence. “I wrote it based on the memoirs I read fro-”
“Yes, Atlas!” Mr. Stonewall snaps, cutting him off. “It is indeed your nonfiction project. From two units ago, nonetheless.”
“If this is about the other essays, I can explain”
Stonewall waited, his stare unwavering against Atlas’ fidgeting, grey eyes.
“Oh, uh” Atlas stammered, before continuing, “I did the math, I should have 100% on this essay, bringing my overall grade to a 62% even if I skip the other essays, because each essay should average out to around 12 points and I-”
“Sterling!” He snaps again, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk, “you got a zero on this assignment. Math your way out of that one, if you know so well what you’re doing.”
Atlas pauses, cocking his head. “That can’t be possible. Even Maddy got a B on that essay, and I looked over her work for peer review and it was, well,” Atlas shakes his head dramatically, and takes in a breath, “something.”
“It was something. Passing. Yours isn’t,” Mr. Stonewall’s voice has an edge to it, harder than before, “Now, would you like to keep talking?”
“No, sir,” Atlas scoffs off his previous chuckle, “sorry.”
“Better. Look,” Stonewall’s voice softens again, and he spreads his hands across his desk, “I know you should be passing this class, you know you should be, you’re not. This essay is, technically brilliant, but it’s not nonfiction.”
Atlas starts talking again, his voice fast but even, as if he’s forcing the words. “Officer Grayson has been put on the record as a genuine worker who was given a parcel that lead him on a mission to deliver it through an unknown route that lead to problems with bio-hab analogue testing for the commercial space market, yes or no?”
“Yes, but that does not mean that his fictional memoir based on that delivery job, where he turned it into a monster hunting mission to impress 12 years olds was an accurate representation. ‘The Unknowns of The Route’— I mean, that seems real to you? You were meant to capture reality.”
“Reality’s dumb, I captured a representation of reality,” Atlas retorted, his pitch rising steadily.
“Being held back is dumb, and you captured a representation of a story,” Stonebridge looks at the boy for a moment before continuing. “Look, kid, do you want the class credit or not? I’m going to level with you, this is a pattern now, and I should be failing you.” His teacher sighs, and Atlas looks down again.
“I have an alternative assignment—alternative to summer school” He added, before Atlas could argue back. “I want you to find your own route.”
Atlas looked up again, opening his mouth for another comeback, but he couldn’t find the words. “You want me to what?”
“Prove to me, that these ‘unknowns’ are real. You’re 17, you have a car—I know you do, because it’s the loudest engine in the lot—fitting—but regardless, I want you to go out, look for something cool, and record what happens.” He flings a hard-bound notebook on the desk.
Atlas wraps his fingers around the cover tentatively.
“Why?”
“Because, you are the most obnoxious, lazy, foolish student I’ve had in years!” He exclaims, to which Atlas scowls slightly, tightening his grip on the book. “I want you to capture your representation of reality this summer, go far away from here, and come back with nonfiction—with evidence. Be a journalist. It’s an easy assignment for you to do, a quick assignment for me to grade, and the only thing I can think of where you can’t argue my grade. Get photos, sketches, whatever. Test the route the old officer claims to have taken. See what happens,” he leans over, pushing the book to the boy across the table, before meeting eyes one final time.
“You need to pass. We all know you’re brilliant—too obnoxious to be a standard failing student, now prove it.”
A Journal to Nowhere
Hello, reader. I’m writing this now because I
am screwed.
School got out two weeks ago, technically I’m an 11th grader now. Apart from the whole Stonewall thing.
My essay was nonfiction, and I’m going to prove it to you, reader. This won’t be cryptic, not like Grayson’s old log books. I’m not here to question reality for you, I’m here to prove it.
I’m going to go to the other habitats. The ones that even Grayson didn’t go to, the habs from the first study.
I told Dad I was visiting a friend’s house for most of the summer, he didn’t really care. Honestly I’m not sure if he realized it was summer already.
Oh well,
Grayson never went into detail on what the habs were in his book. I had to do my own research for that—which was heavily referenced in my essay, but apparently that was ‘fiction’.
Habs were created by many commercial companies, originally used as analogue tests for space materials, and they were essentially pods and tents made out of some new(ish) “super material” with modular life support that were thrown into every circumstance possible.
An active volcano? Of course! Under a mountain of snow? Why not? I’m pretty sure one of them is actively being dragged around the air by one of those airplanes used to show off signs and stuff, it was at least.
The missions got scrapped eventually—funding reasons.
But there was still always weird things going on around them, sorry, “aLleGEdlY”, there are still increased sightings of creatures.
For some reason, a lot of the habs were thrown here in Michigan. No complaints from me, it makes this an easy trip to plan.
I’m taking the small car, I could probably get away with borrowing my dad’s truck, but now I can run the more out of way paths.
That’s what Grayson did.
He was looking for a hab, but he didn’t know which one. The final hab in the UP isn’t the one that matters—Grayson didn’t even make it that far—but rather everything on the way.
To be fair he also only had a small car, it couldn’t go fast enough for more main roads if he wanted. Had to take the work car.
It’s funny, he wasn’t even an officer, really, just a ranger. Even he didn’t know why he was chosen to be the delivery man. He just was.
Chapter 2
His alarm had gone off at 6 that morning.
An adventurer starts early, Atlas told himself, forcing himself to untangle from his warm, soft blankets.
He eventually gets up, grabbing his breakfast of a bottle of cold apple juice before going to get dressed. It’s his last few hours home, a fact he knows all too well.
꩜ ꩜ ꩜
After a few hours, mostly rereading The Unknowns and checking his lists, he walks to his shelf to grab the journal. The forest green, A5 reminder of his failures in the last year. He shakes his head, shoving it in the old, canvas rucksack with his clothes, before checking the list he’d wrote himself on a crumpled piece of notebook paper:
InstX Camera
Camera Film
Flashlight
Phone Charger
Extra Batteries
CD Player
Recorder
Tent
Fire Starters
Pencils/Pens!!!!!
Wallet
Atlas sits on his bed, the items scattered around him sinking with him into the old mattress, and he rubs his eyes. This is it.
He really did it this time. He rips his hand away from his face.
“Focus,” he whispers shakily under his breath.
He finishes packing his bag, finally fastening the front shut and wrapping his recorder around his wrist.
He breathes in, slowly.
It’ll be a long summer alone, he knows. Though he did try, it turns out that not many teenagers want to spend their summer chasing ghosts with little to no screen time.
After a moment, he gets up again, and shoulders the bag.
He walks across hid old carpet to the mirror by his door and turns it around to check his outfit.
He looks like a real adventurer, he thinks. He grins, slightly, looking at his dark blue, wool blend coat, and dark khakis. The coat had been in the attic for ages, waiting for an opportunity to be worn.
Atlas opens the door, stepping to the hallway and closing it slowly, as if it’d be the last time, which for a while it might be. He let himself feel the carpet squish under his feet, and the door hinge hesitating at all the spots it needs to be oiled.
He turns around and runs down the stairs.
“Bye Dad!” He calls to the couch as he passes, not waiting for a response.
Atlas opens the front door to the blast of the summer heat and the wind ripping at his coat. A perfect summer day.
The old, yellow sports car was exactly right for this type of trip. Gas powered, reliable, but still new enough to not have crank windows—barely.
He slips into the car and lets himself sink into the pleather seats and starts driving.
He’d looked up the route before, studied for a few minutes. Long enough. Atlas leans over slightly to reach the center console, grabbing the aux cord and plugging in.
“Man Overboard” starts blasting immediately, to which Atlas taps out the beat.
The road trip was off to good start. He smiles in the rear-view mirror for a moment, before turning back to the road.
A few turns later, the car broke onto the highway. Atlas rolled down the window, letting one of his hands fall out to the wind as it caught in his hair.
He kept driving until less and less cars were with him on the road, and eventually, his headlights shone on the reflective sign pointing to the exit.
Gray’s Legacy
I’m taking us to where Grayson couldn’t. I know, I know, I’ve talked a lot about what he has and hasn’t done, but here me out with this one.
He had experience, but he made mistakes. I don’t have experience, but I have his mistake. Thus, I’m friggin cheating.
If my mentioning him coming before me is boring you, then go read something else!
Why are you reading a teenagers journal right now anyways?
Creep <3
Ok, I’m sorry, please don’t leave.
Look, my point stands, from reading the officer’s book, I found some bits of rules or advice that he started writing. I’m compiling them here, because unlike him, I want my results to be provable.
Call that “a RepRiSEnTatIoN oF A sTOrY”
Sorry, I’m writing in pen, please don’t fail me.
Here’s a list of some basic guidelines I was able to gather. Most of them are common sense, but again, of caution bores you, go play Subway Surfers.
Don’t drive late. You’re diurnal, they’re nocturnal. Don’t be dumb, tired, or impaired on these roads..
BE PREPARED. The habs are stationed anywhere, and everywhere. You could wind up in any conditions, so be prepared for every condition.
Know when to leave things alone. If it looks weird or dangerous, that’s probably because it is. Some risk is expected, but know your limits.
Don’t take hitchhikers. It doesn’t matter how innocent they look. They’re not.
NEVER find yourself alone by water—or worse, with someone you don’t trust.
Don’t pick up copper from the forest.
Don’t cause or stick around for weird noises.
DO NOT do ANY sort of substance to impair your judgment, you must trust yourself with NO doubt.
Contrarily, doubt everything that’s not yourself.
Know the line between gaining knowledge and gaining risk.
Be respectful, nature is not here to play games, but if you force it, it will win.
I don’t know why all of these are rules, again, he was a scientist, he didn’t expect things to happen how they did, I have no clue how he got to the condition that he did, but something happened, apparently. Something that made him start recording everything.
I’m writing all this now because it’s my first rest. I’ve been out for a few hours—I might’ve left later than I planned—either way, it’s getting dark, I’m getting tired, and this is the last motel I know of.
I know this is supposed to be all factual, but I’ve never been farther than this, let alone on my own, I’m
This is going to be an interesting stop hopefully. Last time I was here a couple of years ago, I stayed in one of the nicer rooms with my dad. But now I’m staying in one of the cheaper rooms. That’s what Gray had to do, he wasn’t supposed to be stopping anywhere; He wasn’t supposed to be on a trip at all, that’s how he ran into so much stuff.
This should be an interesting learning experience, I suppose. More interesting than driving on I-75, that’s for sure. The more variables I can shove into one day, the better.
Nothing happened today, but I will find something.
Maybe I can find what happened to Grayson.
We all know he wasn’t the one who published the book. Too much of a boy scout to do something like that.
What I do know, however, is which habs he went to, and which he didn’t.
Specifically, in order, the one’s I’m interested in:
1) The old Detroit hab
Somewhere in the sewers originally, this segment was created to test how the habs could function in toxic conditions, I guess. More specifically, the modular life support included an air filter connected to planters to try and utilize a fertilizer. It was one of the earlier tests, so low bar, I guess. Oh—but the worst part, I forgot the worst part—a WATER FILTER! I mean, it’s so obvious but like, if we go to planet reeking of methane and sulfur, how about we just…. leave? There are other exoplanets! And as far as sulfur goes, we learned that going to Venus is a stupid idea, can we just drop it? I mean, hey, what do I know, right? This hab was abandoned though, the city refused after a few months, and the tent and modules were moved to a local swamp in a hidden forest.
2) Kalamazoo
This one’s a rather new hab, it was, at least. It was shoved in the Kalamazoo river, one of the deepest parts of the river where a cave meets the lithosphere almost. They tested how the habs could be assembled remotely in locations like that, keeping both sections separate, as well as how the pressure and temperature differences would affect it. It was kind of interesting, they never released how the food growing module worked, or whether the matter recycler worked—it was alleged to be like mechanical gills. Absorbing oxygen from water and releasing carbonic acid. It was awesome! Something happened though, the tracker for the hab got displaced, and nobody knows what happened to it or its crew.
3) Cass City
I hadn’t heard of this hab before. There’s not much in Cass that I know of, presumably it was another control hab, simply there to make sure normal conditions and pressures can be maintained with standard wear and tear.
4) Rockford
There’s a failed launch here, actually. Meant to shoot for the stars, but instead they shot for a random forest in the middle of nowhere. The hab was studied as normal though, mostly as a nature study though. The area apparently has a biodiversity unusual for the area. A lot of creatures who shouldn’t fit the ecology, but they stay contained and fit all the right niches.
5) The Copper Island
There’s an island, it used to be considered a myth until recently, the hab was again, a later one. It’s used to study how the habs can respond to crazy weather, because this island faces crazy weather. It’s the type of island—like Doggerland— where it’s awesome, but not usually taught about, so a lot of people still consider it a myth. Somehow, this tiny island, that used to serve as a copper mine, has some of the craziest weather in the country! So much so that the island itself moved, I don’t mean your standard tectonic movement either, I mean the island disappeared above the UP, and the over a century later is emerged in Lake Huron! It’s near the Mackinac Bridge now!
6) The Occlision
This hab is interesting, placed in the middle of a crater that slowly decayed from nothing. It appeared across decades, with notes of matter decay since at least the 2010s. People speculate a lot about it, thinking it might be aliens or radiation concentrated from a faraway phenomena, but whatever is causing the ground to decay hopefully hasn’t been able to get through the hab walls, and hopefully hasn’t spread further.
Chapter 3
Atlas walks up to the booth outside of the old motel, and rests his hand against the dirty countertop, rubbing his finger along the chipped paint.
“Uh, hi?” He says to the lady behind the counter. She’s laying slumped in her chair, with her branded cap pulled over her eyes. His eyes fall on the bell in the middle of the table, under the foggy plastic separator covered in condensation from the night.
He reaches over to tentatively hit the bell, it didn’t make a sound.
“Hi,” the girl starts to mumble, not moving a muscle, “welcome to the White Horse Inn—remodel, hope you’re having a great day!” She said, with practiced enthusiasm barely shining through her low voice, “what you want?”
Atlas blinked twice, and shifted on his feet, “Could I have a-uh, a room for the night?”
“Room 2, forty-six dollars sixteen cents,” the girl presses an old, rusty key into the desk, before returning her arms to being crossed on her lap, Atlas slides a few bills on the counter. “have a fantastic night,” the girl says, pushing her cap up slightly.
“You too,” Atlas trails off, looking to the doors lining the small building. He pauses a moment, before walking off to find his room.
Atlas finally closes the door, sighing and peeling off his wool coat.
“Ahh,” he exclaims breathfully, “it is way to hot for this thing.” He tosses the jacket on the beside table, and nestled his bag in it. He sits down on the rock-hard bed, and pulls out a folded map from his pocket—torn from The Unknowns of The Route.
Atlas traces his finger along the printed path Grayson had taken, before looking to his path, scrawled in blue ink on the opposite side of the paper.
“This time tomorrow, the real trip begins.” He sets aside the map and switches off the lamp, it’s golden glow leaving him in the pitch dark nothing.
The room was cold, especially relative to outside, a difference Atlas appreciated very much as he crawled under the towel-soft blanket to go to sleep.
꩜ ꩜ ꩜
The Beginning, Again
Yesterday was the boring day. Nothing to record scientifically about the mysteries of driving down an interstate highway for three hours straight, other than mystery of how RAM drivers can get licenses and why Jeep drivers are allowed to vote still.
The motel was somewhat interesting, people report that before it was torn down and rebuilt, the inn was a big, fancy, haunted building. I didn’t see anything though.
Today though I definitely have more to do. Namely, I’m starving.
As I write this, I’m sitting at an old, dingy restaurant waiting for my large chicken shawarma to finish cooking. Was this a planned stop? No. Is it good for my budget? HELL no. But at the end of the day, I’m starving, and unless I plan on eating mothman or something like that, this is worth it. (and if a shawarma wasn’t in the plan, you can bet hunting and preparing a giant creature that could easily kill me is certainly not budgeted in my timeline.)
In two days, I’ll be in Detroit.
When I was younger, we learned the definition of a cryptid at camp: a creature with unexplainable abilities alleged but not proven to be real. I suppose that’s what Mr. Stonewall thinks of the creatures Officer Grayson found.
Either way, me and my friends had to present something on cryptids that we learned in the group, we all agreed that Detroit was a cryptid, slowly taking over all of Southern Michigan. By our argument, I’m already in Detroit, and I’ve already seen cryptids.
I don’t think that our sixth grade ramblings count as “reality” though, for this assignment. Probably for the better, or else I’d be in Detroit for a few weeks instead of all across the state.
Luckily though, for now at least, I’m just staying here in Oxford. I’m going to sleep in my car tonight though, that inn might have not been haunted, but it was weird.
Today I plan to look through the city, tomorrow I have to take the ‘scenic’ route to Detroit. Also known as I have to drive through a bunch of forested back roads without GPS and see what happens.
If I die from stupidity, I don’t even get a chance to die of something cool like a werewolf.
Either way, today I plan to walk around the city. Nothing major, but it should be fun. I don’t really know what I have to do.
I get that this assignment was a last ditch effort to pass, but like, I don’t know. Telling a 10th grader to travel across the country alone to act as a journalist akin to the genius journals of Officer A. Grayson Sr.
That’s kind of a messed up assignment, I swear, that’s barely even possible!
I want to find out, but where do I even start that? I’m just going to all the old habs that I know about, they should be mostly failed or abandoned by now but still, traveling across the state alone is just….
I mean, now that I think of it, I think I should be passing through where Jaxon moved, somewhere near Kalamazoo. I could ask him to come with me?
I’ve not talked to him since like, seventh grade, but… maybe. I’d have to leave early though, but I don’t have much planned today anyways, mostly just walking around, normal road trip things.
I could leave by noon…
My shawarma finally got here.
I should quit this assignment, turn this book into a food review. That’d be good. That’d be reality represented factually. This shawarma would get a 7/10. Not enough pickles.
I’m hungry.
Chapter 4
Atlas finishes his Shawarma, spilling garlic sauce all down his arm in the process. He hurriedly bumped the journal across the table with his elbows and wiped his hands and face with his napkin.
“Shit,” he growls under his breath. A waitress comes over to the commotion, and Atlas quickly finishes wiping off his arms.
“Hi, good morning!” He projects with a chuckle, “sorry, I’l-I’ll get this cleaned up,” he looks down at the table, wiping away as much sauce as he could before getting brushed off to leave.
After stopping to pay, Atlas goes out the door. A day of adventuring ahead of him, he slips on his bag as he walks out to his car, before driving to a small parking lot behind a toy store.
꩜ ꩜ ꩜
He steps carefully out of his car. As far as he’s known, this part of town had always been a bit messy. The type of streets to have speed bumps every other intersection, but having been paved long enough ago that swimming pools emerge from the pot holes.
He checks his recorder watch, the bright blue numbers show 10:24 AM. Atlas shakes his head, shoving his arm back to his side.
He steps out onto the sidewalk, going around the seemingly endless cars lining every roadside. He looks out at the ghost town of a city. So many cars parked everywhere, but nobody’s out anywhere to be seen.
He shrugs off the goosebumps along his arms. Small town problems, he thinks. After a few minutes of walking across the cracked, dirty sidewalk, Atlas looks around to see more brick buildings, each one equally as empty and bland as the last.
Finally, he reaches a building with some colour. Lights spewed out from the windows of the small shop, blocked only by the window clings of off-brand space invaders figures.
The arcade.
Stepping inside, Atlas pauses in the doorframe of the perfectly air conditioned, dark room. Only two other kids are in the building, crowding around an antique Pac-Man game. The sound of the game reminds Atlas of when his dad would take him to their local arcade.
Atlas takes a seat at one of the tables and waits, rolling a pen around in his hand until a server notices his entrance. The arcade only has a few staple games. The Pac-Man in the rertro-style corner of the room, right by the maintenance door, along with dusty boxes of Galaga and some FPS style games that were popular back in the ‘20s.
There are very few modern games here—just the revamped racers in the middle of the room. Aside from those, a wall of pinball machines line the side walls of the arcade, leaving just enough room for a classic claw machine by the door.
After a few minutes—long enough for the kids to devolve to a group of monkeys howling over who’s score was higher—a young man in the arcades blue-and-white striped uniform comes out of the kitchen.
“Sorry about the wait! Didn’t expect anyone new coming in around this time, what would you like?” The man spoke fast, with a childish lilt at the end of his sentence.
“Nah, you’re fine,” Atlas remarked, waving his arm casually, “can I just have a Pepsi?”
“Our machine for that has been broken since roughly a decade before you were born—before I was born,” the man blinks for a moment, laughing softly. “Anything else?”
“Figures that one of the machines would be broken,” Atlas says, gesturing to the collection of pinball machines, “can I just have a water then?”
“Now that,” the server starts, “is not broken. I’ll getchya that in a second, yeah?” Atlas nods his head up with a grin before turning back to the rest of the room. The kids in the corner finally separated, mostly focusing around the shooter games.
Atlas looks over at all the game systems again, looking for something—anything—worth noting. Everything, from the bag of Cheetos lying on the floor, littered by some uncaring degenerate, to the wires poking out from the old machines, holding on to dear life, everything was normal.
The walls were decorated with pictures from over the years, from the store’s remodel in 2022 to now. Pictures of high score winners and the odd local celebrity posing with the old owner, a man in his 60s who looked to be the type to fix up his own machines, and offer quarters on occasion to kids willing for one more game.
Eventually the server comes back, setting the glass cup on the table with a plastic straw, almost overflowing with drink.“Hello again, is that all for you?”
Atlas blinks out of his thoughts, “Yeah, I’m good, thanks. Do they have you working solo back there?” He cocks his head, looking again into the 20-something man’s green eyes.
“Oh, me? No, I run this place,” he looks out the giant window for a moment as he talks, “I’ve not hired anyone in a few years, business ain’t exactly boomin’ around here.”
“Huh, ok,” Atlas pauses to take a drink of the icy-cold water. It tastes like the metally mineral water you’d expect from a brick arcade stop. He winces for a second before continuing, “then who’s the old dude?”
“What, the guy in the photos?” the server looks back to the wall, “he used to run this place, way before I came around. He bought the arcade a few months before, well,”
Atlas nods, “Sorry, he seems like a good man.”
“He was, truly. It’s a shame.”
“Anyhow, I best be going, any chance I can get the check?” Atlas began stepping up from the table, offering the server a fist bump.
“Man, you got a water. You got a single cup of cold well water,” the server laughs, putting up his fist, “get outta here!”
Atlas runs his hand through his hair, “that is, a very good point. Have a good day!” He said, as he stepped out of the arcade, tossing a quarter to one of the kids that he thought looked the most like a vibe.
He sets out back to his car, walking at a brisker speed than before. He pulls his recorder up to his mouth, pressing in the red notch on the side to start it, the screen lights up to show the .wav file.
“The man in the window, I know what he meant now!” he started to stammer into the mic, trying to track the path he took to reach the arcade through the labyrinth of city blocks, “all along, Gray had known what to look for. Why?”
He slams the knob back down to end the recording, and sprints the rest of the way to his car.
The Man in The Window
Look, I’m sorry, Mr. Stonewall, assuming you actually read this and it’s not just a thing where you check it or it was an excuse to get me out of your room or—hold up that’s getting too long, you get the point.
HOLY SHIT!!!
This entire time, everything Grayson was writing, all the little ramblings and nonsensical notes and—wait, holy meta mistake. I’m being the nonsensical one now. Too bad, this is worth it!
For the sake of this, I need to explain a bit. A lot.
When Officer Grayson passed through this town—he did, it was towards the end of his journey—he stopped at the exact same arcade that I was in. Now, you aren’t here because you’re an evil old man, but if you were, you’d know how that doesn’t match up.
The arcade in downtown Oxford was built in 2022, The Unknowns of The Route were published after that, but the journal entries Grayson left were dated to the mid 2000s!
But it gets weirder!
The man who owned the arcade, apparently died within a few months of its opening, but he’s on pictures dating years forward. So, let me sum this up.
Officer Grayson goes into an arcade that didn’t exist at the time, and later when it does exist, the owner dies a few months later but keeps appearing in photos, and NOBODY sees an issue here.
Do you get the vision????
I’m going to throw up, holy shit this is incredible!
There are a few possibilities here, but I think I have to drive by that arcade again! Plus, it’s only 11:42, if I’m right, I can afford to stop by Jaxon’s house! Officer Grayson was more than a lowly ranger being overworked and I can prove it!
God this is going to be hell to format for this assignment, but you know what? You want reality, this is reality! It might even be more than that if Grayson was right!
What did you want a clearly written research paper? Did you want a thesis statement that stays the same? Did you? Because I don’t wanna read that shyte, I don’t wanna write that shyte, got it?
Ok good.
In the book, Grayson’s writings vary in detail, starting as a ranger taught to keep meticulous detail, getting more wordy as he learns more about the company he was working for, and more erratic towards the end. One of the later entires is something along the following (It’s not a quote, don’t quote me, it’s a paraphrase, because even I’m not lifeless enough to memorize a dang book. Shove it):
“The man watched me from the window. The man who shouldn’t be here. But he should be here. I’m not here. Nobody is here!!”
And then continues to go rambling on.
Most people who studied it assumed the same as Mr. Stonewall, just another example of the tale being sensationalized. Did he go crazy? Were they ghosts? OoooOooOOooooooOoOOoOoOOOOOOoooooooOOoOOOoOooooooOoHHhhhhHHhHHHHhHwwwwwWWWWWWwwwwwwwWwwWWWwwaaaaAAaaAAAaaaaAAaAAaa. How imaginative. No. Stupid1*.
I can’t say too much here, but this might be it.
This is another of those cases where all I have to say is…. get gooder? It’s my book foo, if you don’t wanna be called stupid then guess what you shouldn’t do? BE STUPID!
Written as Recorded
I just realized, I can just record stuff and cheap this whole assignment out.
ANYWAYS
I drove past the building I’d been in before, gripping the steering wheel so hard, I still barely feel my right hand. I slowed down as I neared the building.
It was as if life had been restored around here. All the people going down the street, talking, the bustling downtown me and my dad were in all those years ago wasn’t dead, it just wasn’t here before.
Because of the crowds, it took a minute to get a clear look. I peered through the foggy glass, to see the inside tattered. This place had been out of business for a while.
In front of the maintenance door, the glass has two eyes drawn over top of it in a snake-like manner.
I grinned from ear to ear. Just because the kids can’t be in the arcade, doesn’t mean they can’t be little delinquents. Specifically, these kids just grew up a bit. Around 10 years, old enough to be adult delinquents with spray paint.
I have my proof.
꩜ ꩜ ꩜
Back to writing without being able to just transfer the recording, I finally got out of Oxford. I’m on the roadside right now, about 10 miles out in front of a forest. I think this is where I have to go off the main road.
But first, I dug around my bag for a while, and I tore out this page of Grayson’s book. This time, it is a quote (aren’t you proud of me, Mr. Stonewall?):“Have you ever seen something that just… didn’t exist?
Perhaps a shadow, stretching across the wall from a light source that was never there, or something in the corner of your eye that you just swear you saw move, even though you just didn’t see it.
Some things don’t exist for a reason. There are some things that shouldn’t exist. Things so horrible, so disgusting, or impossible, that even imagining them shouldn’t happen.
Some people imagine these things anyways. Do you?
I know you possess some things like that. Like this. This very book your holding in your hands, it shouldn’t exist. Not a single one of these words should be possible to read, not by any metric. So why does it?”
If you can’t tell, after he reached the end of his journey—or whenever he went back to write this—he was talking a lot about existing.
What does it mean to exist? I mused on that quote for a bit in my essay *cough cough
But seriously, he focused so intently on this. While I was doing my research for this assignment (what, you really thought I was that lazy? Do we need to go back to what I said about being stupid?), I looked into cryptids.
The easiest explanation for everything Grayson found on the route. Cryptids, creatures with little to no scientific backing that keep getting ‘sightings’ driven by a psychological association and will for connection, right?
It’s that simple. Of course.
Except that it’s not. Another theory about cryptids is about the idea. Cryptids themselves are ideas, bits of culture passed through generations. What if these ideas reached somewhere else?
I mean, imagine we lived on an exoplanet far away, the hab program was successful, and it’s been decades. A whole new culture would exist, on a whole new world.
If they lose the ideas we bring, they lost that bit of culture. Those ideas don’t exist.
So if ideas mean existence, what if our ideas change on Earth? This is what Gray started getting into. The arcade exists, but it exists destroyed.
But in another timeline, another world, it doesn’t. It exists with an old man living jollily in the backroom and greeting his customers with a smile, in another world, the old man is dead, but the arcade carries his memory.
But ideas are blending here. Reality is bending here.
You want a representation of reality? How about proof that it doesn’t exist? At least, not for everyone.
The arcade stands as it always did, run down and leased out. Grayson came here wanting to see something else, so did I.
We didn’t see this reality. We saw a memory.
Maybe.
But then again, maybe this is how the old man went insane in the end.
This is a shortened version of the story. I changed the ending, I swear, Atlas doesn’t go off the deep end that quickly. I know there wasn’t much mention of cryptids here, which I apologize for. I plan to finish this at some point, but for now I hope anyone who reads this enjoys this anxious, overzealous nerd that is Atlas (: