Monday, September 17, 2007

Sep 18, 2007 - Entry #18

Sep 18, 2007 - Entry #18

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*

On the outside, one could easily assume that the plane Boyd and I were about to board was like any other, common, commercial aircraft.

Inside showed a different story with plush leather seats, a livingroom, several offices with closed doors, a sixty inch, wide screen television. All the comforts for either the President or your average Billionaire.

I saw Mr Accountant disappear into an office and close the door behind himself. A Soldier led us to separate seats and we were instructed to ask for anything we wanted to make our flight comfortable. Boyd asked for a cheeseburger and fries with a big smile. And to my surprise, ten minutes into the flight he received it along with the Globe and Mail.

Shorty after take off I turned my attention to the digital tape recorder Mr Accountant had given me. I put the earbuds into my ears and pressed play...

"Who I am is not important. What is important is that you listen carefully. This recorder will only play this once then will be automatically deleted...

...Your wife and son are being held in Iraq by an organization called the Illuminati. A group that has been around for roughly 200 years. Their official goal is simply 'power over the planet through wealth and influence'. Pretty much every government and major corporation on earth has been infiltrated by this society on some level. The top of their list as their means to their ultimate goal is to acquire what has been found in Iraq..."

(at this point I pressed pause and asked for a paper and pen which I promptly received)

" 1988 Iraqi archaeologists unearthed a 2800 year old treasure found in the ancient Assyrian city of Nimrud, located south east of the present day city of Mosul. The treasure included 5 crates filled with over 600 pieces of gold jewelry and ornaments. This find was placed on display at Baghdad's National Museum. Almost two years later, Saddam Hussein ordered the invasion of Kuwait. At this point, the treasure was taken and hidden away by unknown individuals and not seen until ...

...March 19, 2003 missiles hit Baghdad and Operation Iraqi Freedom had begun. Looting was out of control and even though the U.S. had mandated to protect at all museums, palaces etc, the majority of forces were initially ordered to protect one bank...

...Why would they care about one bank and not worry about the billions of dollars of gold and national treasures being stolen and destroyed? Simply put, the treasure of Nimrud was known to be hidden in the basement of this bank...and what has not been released to the public is the fact that one of these crates held several scrolls...

...These scrolls are made of an unknown, metallic cloth like material that can not be destroyed. Identical to scrolls found in a recent archaeological find in Peru...they are not of this world.

...depending on one's viewpoint. these scrolls hold information that could possibly destroy mankind or save it...

The Illuminati has viewed this find to be a tool that could not only collapse the Catholic church but also bring world leaders to their knees. This my friend is the reason why the Invasion of Iraq occurred. All else has been a smokescreen.

The Illuminati are desperate to decipher these scrolls and they have discovered that there is only one individual on the planet that can translate the etched writings and symbols...

...your son"


Sunday, September 16, 2007

Sep 16, 2007 - Entry #17

Sep 16, 2007 - Entry #17

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*


I appreciate all email, thoughts and prayers/support while I have been absent from internet use. I shall respond to all email as promptly as I can.

I am back in the United States and I will continue with this blog. It is more important now than ever (as you shall soon see) that I continue to convey an accurate, chronological account of what has happened.


...I sat next to Boyd on the flight to Alaska, thinking about the dream. I couldn't get over how real it was and I hoped to hell what Mr Leatherskin had said was bullshit.

The facility at HAARP was damn near identical to Groom Lake. Several stories of floors underground. Security procedures were identical. Photographs, retinal scans, DNA swabs etc.

Mr Accountant and two Military Police led us to a living quarters. (or should I say temporary prison). The bedrooms were slightly larger and a little more comfortable. We were shown a recreation room that was ours to use, complete with a billiards table, a library of books (mostly fiction) and a movie screen which showed mostly classic films.

Roughly after a week of pacing the walls an MP Officer arrived at our floor and handed me a folder with a NSA emblem in a corner and marked 'CLASSIFIED LEVEL 4' across the front (no idea what level 4 meant).

Without a word the MP ignored my 'what's this?' and headed back to disappear into the elevators.

I sat on my bed and opened the folder. I quickly realized that it was the 'file' on Claire.

Several pictures showed her on the first few pages. Close up of her out in public. Obviously under surveillance. The following pages revealed a fairly detailed biography. Some speculation but mostly facts.

Overall the folder revealed that she is a mercenary/assassin for hire and a deadly one at that.

It also was clear that she could win an academy award for the way she could infiltrate tight groups / foreign governments, gain trust, strike then disappear like the wind. Her arsenal of tools included poison, sniper rifles, knives and hand to hand combat. She had learned her skills in the U.S. Special Forces and had gone AWOL. Prior to her military career her life was speculation. The file suspected that she had come from Ireland as a teenager and had a past completely fabricated in order to get into the military. It seemed that she had someone pulling strings and had long term plans for her.

I sat thinking about the day she pushed the gun in my face and the convincing 'story' of what happened to her. This woman obviously had zero conscience and it made the hairs stand up on my neck knowing she had Michael.

The following days were finally interrupted by Mr Accountant. They had found my wife and son in Iraq. It was now 'urgent' that they get me there.

Panic filled my chest 'Why urgent!?'

Mr Accountant handed me a digital, hand held recorder and headphones. "Listen to this on the plane.'

He abruptly turned and left without a word.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Sep 15, 2007 - Entry #16

Sep 15, 2007 - Entry #16

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*

before leaving Groom Lake I had a dream...

...Boyd and I had requested to get some sleep. We were exhausted beyond being able to comprehend another word. Mr Accountant nodded and led us from the boardroom to a sleeping quarters section, two more levels down. There were roughly fifty or so doors, along a plain hallway, each opened to a single bedroom. The were more like shoe boxes complete with a small shower stall.

I was so tired I didn't care if it was a closet lined with broken glass, the sight of a pillow was heaven.

As I lay there I felt lead pull my eyelids down and my thoughts drifted to precious moments I had playing with Michael. Instantly, I found myself sitting in our living room, a massive bucket of lego bricks which Valarie and I had bought him for Christmas.

Michael was silently stacking pieces, making what looked like a strange ship. He was humming a song under his breath which struck me odd because I don't remember hm ever taking an interest in music.

I sat there smiling, feeling good at how happy he was.

He suddenly stopped and looked up at me "Dad, you need to know something..."

I raised an eyebrow.

"...Don't believe anybody. Not a soul"

He reached over and placed his hand on mine. I looked down at it and saw it didn't seem right. Kinda bluish and dusty pale. I lifted my gaze to his and realized that his face had changed too. He was horribly sick.

He forced a smile "The world will be wonderful one day."

I put my hand on his forehead. It felt ice cold to the touch. I panicked and told him I was going to take him to the doctor, he could finish his spaceship another time.

He continued to smile "It's not a spaceship Dad. It's a container."

He patted the top of the lego structure. "...inside is the future"

I shook my head confused.

He laughed and lifted the square top by what looked like handles. He set it aside. Just as I was about to peer inside, sand began to pour from it and out into the room.

Within seconds the floor was covered and it was rising fast...Within another few seconds we were both engulfed. I fought like hell to keep Michael above it...sand soon filled my throat and I couldn't scream...

I instantly woke with light stabbing my eyes.

The shadow of Mr Accountant stood in the doorway. "It's time to go"


Saturday, August 18, 2007

Aug 18, 2007 - Entry #15

Aug 18, 2007 - Entry #15

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*

I am sitting in a cafe in Anchorage Alaska. This is the first moment I've had to get at a keyboard and have access to the internet (since my last post).

The past several weeks Boyd and I have been held in a military facility, located underneath a scientific project called HAARP. Some kind of communication system being developed using the ionosphere. (more interesting facts on this later)

We have been treated fine and have had all of the comforts of home minus televsion. My torture lay in the hours and weeks that have ticked by like a sloth on morphine. There has been zero news on the location of my wife and son until now...

Michael and my wife have been located and in the morning Boyd and I will be transported to Iraq.


continued from my last post...

Shortly after arriving at Groom Lake (area 51) I was ushered toward a hangar while Boyd was shoved toward another.

I stopped in my tracks, dug my heels in and asked 'Mr Leatherskin' where Boyd was being taken to.

He told me not to worry. Boyd was to be debriefed (whatever that meant) and was to be safely escorted home.

'And me?'

'You are to be informed on various aspects on your situation and processed into our system. You will then be transported to Alaska. Don't worry, reasons will become clear.'

It suddenly dawned on me, as 'Mr Leatherskin' waited for my legs to move that they (whoever these top secret goons were) needed me.

I shook my head. 'Boyd stays with me'.

He lowered his brow and clenched his jaw. It was obvious nobody said no to this man. For a moment I thought he was going to grab me by the throat and pull my tongue through my nostrils.

I didn't give him the chance to reply...'You want me? Boyd stays by my side. End of discussion.'

Mr Leatherskin looked at his watch and scowled. 'Fine'

The complex we were led to would be best described as a massive office building with dozens of floors...inverted underground.

We were taken inside past a jet fighter hangar and through a series of hallways to a set of 12 elevator doors. Security, as you can imagine, was in place to keep anyone and anything out that wasn't permitted.

Boyd and I had our retinas scanned, photographs taken, the inside of our mouths swabbed (I'm guessing for DNA). then finally, after a series of various body measurements (height, weight etc) -- we were given ID tags with magnetic keys. During this entire time I wondered what the hell they wanted from me so bad that they would go through all of this to get me into a top secret facility.

Knowing I was about to see behind the curtain made my palms sweat and with each documentation of my body, uneasiness grew in my guts, warning me that this wasn't a good thing.

We entered a guarded elevator. I could see Boyd was disappointed at no sight of 'flying saucers' and I noticed he was just as exhausted as I was from the last couple of days.

After a series of carpeted hallways we ended up in an office like boardroom. Soft chairs, a table that would seat twenty, a pitcher of water and a large plate of fresh fruit. I had no idea what floor we were on (elevators had no numbers showing, only a touch screen and keyboard)

Mr Leatherskin did not waste time. He directed us to sit as he worked a control panel on the wall.

Boyd immediately dug into the fruit and helped himself to the water. Mr 'Accountant' calmly walked in from another door as an overhead projector screen lowered and a slide show began.

Various slides continued to show surveillance shots of families in the public...each with a young child....a family at a park...another walking in a mall...a mother loading her daughter into a mini-van. All oblivious that they had been photographed.

"...These families have several aspects in common..."

Boyd happily munched on a strawberry as Mr Leatherskin turned toward me and paused. I could feel myself slowly sink into the chair from the weight of his unblinking stare alone. "All of these children are the genetic offspring of an Alien race. Their paternal mothers had been abducted by Drones. You may have heard them as Grays.'

Boyd suddenly choked on his strawberry and leaped to his feet. Two soldiers at the door tensed as he slapped his hand on his thigh. "I knew it!"

I told Boyd to shut up and sit down. He reluctantly sat, squirmed in his chair, leaned over and whispered in my ear 'I knew there was fucking aliens. Lying cocksuckers.'

The slide show clicked again...

The screen now displayed my wife, my son and I three years ago at a county picnic. I remember that day clearly. My son rode on my shoulders as my wife and I held hands. We were making our way toward the parking lot sunburnt and tired. It was the end of a hot day of baseball, watermelon and good friends. The perfect of perfect days.

'Mr need to listen carefully and understand this. Your adopted son's mother was abducted by the drones and was impregnated with your son. He has special abilities and is one of many...'

I swallowed hard at a completely dry throat.

'You and your wife had been chosen to be the parents of Michael. Based on your psychological design and protective nature. The Alien Race who have sent these Drones had factored in insurance to protect their genetic investment. They need to protect the children while being absent. Finding a parent who would protect their offspring to ends of the earth isn't difficult. But finding an adoptive parent who would is. You and your wife are of select, rare individuals by nature.

My blood pressure began to rise. I leaned forward and locked eyes with Leatherskin. 'Look. I don't care about this alien shit. This story you are feeding us is bullshit. Why aren't you finding my son? And where the hell is my wife!'

Mr Accountant stepped forward. 'Dillan. This Alien race had factored in something else...a safety mechanism...'

I folded my arms, bracing myself for another stream of manure.

'...if the parents are physically not present with the child for a period of time, a biological switch is triggered and the child will begin to slowly die...'


Monday, July 2, 2007

July 2, 2007 - Entry #14

July 2, 2007 - Entry #14

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*

I’m not sure if I’ll ever come to grips with what I’m about to write. The past 12 days have been beyond words but I’ll do my best. A lot has happened since my last post and I finally have the chance to document most happenings. (although it may take a couple of posts over the next day or so to catch up)

I am currently typing this from an airport hotel in Canada. Boyd and I are on route, under U.S. military escort, to Alaska...

The morning after my last post, Boyd and I crossed the border into Mexico.

It was obvious that they were waiting for us.

We crossed on foot for two reasons. No passports are needed (for people crossing on foot) and no explanation/insurance documents etc are asked for.

The plan was to hire a driver pay him as a guide. Before we could ward off a swarm of locals selling their souvenirs, dozens of Mexican soldiers suddenly appeared from nowhere. They grabbed us, cuffed us and threw us into the back of an unmarked van.

We were driven (at amazing speeds) to a small town (I still don’t know where this is/was). We were pulled from the van and hurried into a small warehouse type building, separated into two different rooms where I sat, cuffed to a chair, waiting for over an hour.

The stale heat in the small room was unbearable and my wrists ached like hell, cuffed tight behind me.

I sat there thinking the worst. I’ve heard horror stories of Mexican prisons and corrupt Judges. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pay off any bribes and at that moment, alone in an empty room with a steel table bolted to the floor, I thought my life was over.

My thoughts drifted from worries of imminent beatings and extortion to my wife and son. I would have given anything to tell them I loved them and wanted to see them one last time.

I now know what goes through your mind when the ‘fat lady is about to sing’. You simply think about the ones you love.

Finally the door opened and man walked in (Mexican) wearing a suit and eye glasses. At first glance one would assume him to be an accountant type. But considering where I was sitting, I immediately thought him to be a lawyer...about to offer help...for a price.
But I was wrong.

He took off his eye glasses and without a hint of any emotion (or the slightest drop of sweat) he proceeded to tell me he was American and he was here to ‘help’ me and my family. He then mentioned, without hesitation that he worked for the U.S military.

Before I could say anything, he continued with the following...

“Your family has been watched since the day you brought your boy home from the hospital (adoption). Not by us (U.S. Military) but by a rogue, global, secret organization...”

I raised an eyebrow and he continued...

“...Between the years of 1947 and 1998 there have been, on average, 54 documented, abductions of humans by this organization each year. (this number is supposedly higher)...

...The overall scope of their project is unknown and aside from various experiments, the main purpose of the abductions is to impregnate females and return them to their lives...

...A good majority of the women impregnated were the offspring of mothers who were also impregnated with them. A second generation...

...It is speculated that roughly 1500 women have returned with roughly half actually given birth. The others have had miscarriages at various stages of pregnancy without anyone the wiser...

...At first it seemed that the women were chosen strictly due to genetics (above average in physical attributes/health/intelligence) but data shows that the ‘selection process’ also includes similar family, social backgrounds...

...Overall, we speculate that the scope of the ‘project’ is to genetically modify the human race in small steps.”

At this point all I could do is stare at him while he took a break from talking and cleaned his glasses. The man spoke as if he was casually mentioning baseball statistics.

He then looked at me for a long, unblinking moment and said “What do you know about the Grays?”

I stared back silent. At first not quite realizing what he said. I was having a hard enough time trying to absorb everything else.

He repeated the question to me.

I stared in disbelief “Fucking Aliens?”

He nodded and I burst into a fit of laughter.

I tried to talk but I was laughing so damn hard I couldn’t even breathe. I mean, I watched X-files and I’ve seen movies. I’ve even heard of crap like this on late night ‘on the fringe’ radio where nutballs call in to describe how they’ve been ‘anal probed’ and implanted with alien listening devices.

Then my temper kicked in. I wanted to explode. I told him to get fucking serious. I demanded him to let me and Boyd out of there and to ‘Charge me with something or get fucked!’

He calmly returned his glasses to his face and continued...

“I’m not going to waste time here. For the moment, you need to know two things. Your son has been kidnapped by an incredibly dangerous woman...”

No shit

I tried to tell him Claire is headed to Peru with my son. (my son and julian’s map) but he carried on...

“...Claire isn’t in Peru anymore. And latest intelligence shows that your wife is most likely being tortured.”

Before I could demand more information he promptly left the room.

Five minutes later Mexican soldiers returned, threw a bag over my head and ushered me back to the van.

The next thing I knew I was sitting next to Boyd on a large helicopter. Both of us with black bags tied over our heads. Boyd and I tried to speak but without radio headsets the blaring helicopter blades made it impossible.

Two hours later I could feel the helicopter drop in altitude. Moments upon landing, two hands pulled me from inside. I could feel flat pavement below my feet as I walked, guided by someone on each side of me.

I could hear the helicopter rise away when the handcuffs were removed and the hood pulled off my head.

I squinted around through blinding sunlight and noticed Boyd standing a few yards from me, also squinting as his hood was removed as well.

Two American soldiers stood on each side. Desert camouflage.

My eyes adjusted on a sparse, never-ending, desert terrain and long, rolling mountains the distance.

The soldiers suddenly stood to attention when I noticed my ‘Accountant type’ friend from emerge from a steel building’s open hangar. Beside him, a high ranking, uniformed soldier with skin like leather.

The pair reached me as I rubbed my wrists. ‘Mr Leatherskin’ held out his hand looking as serious as a heart attack’

A split second thought wanted to refuse his hand but I took it anyway.

He looked me square in the eye and said “Welcome to Detachment 3, Groom Lake, Nevada gentlemen”

I scanned the desert terrain again and the various hangars/buildings and it dawned on me where we were.

I turned to Boyd and could see his face was showing the words that wanted to escape my mouth. Then he said it for me...

‘Area 51?’


Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Jun 19, 2007 - Entry #13

Jun 19, 2007 - Entry #13

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please scroll down and begin with Entry #1*

The police have no idea who I am…

I walked to the local police station soon after my last post. The officer on duty sat behind the front desk doing some kind of paperwork. I told him everything. He took me to a questioning room of sorts, gave me a glass of water and a few pastries. I handed over my ID and he left me alone with my thoughts.

It seemed like an eternity before he returned and sat down before me. My mouth hung open as he proceeded to talk…

According to him, there is no record of me being wanted for murder. No record of my wife missing. No record of anything. He told me he even called my place of work to ask if I have been missing. According to my supervisor (at the engineering firm) they have ‘never heard of me'

I stared at him and told him ‘that’s wrong.’ I’d call them myself. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed the office. The phone rang then answered with the ‘after hours’ recording. I slammed the phone shut and checked my watch. It was after 4pm. Closed for the day.

‘What about Claire? My son has been kidnapped for Christ sakes! What about my wife!'

He just stared at me.

I frantically pulled my laptop out and showed him the blog, scrolled to the picture of my wife and told him to read from the beginning. It was all there, ‘Why the hell would I make this up!’

He shook his head, closed my laptop case and asked me if I was taking any medication.

I used every ounce of my being to not explode and realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this condescending asshole. Maybe I wouldn’t believe me either. I glanced to my reflection in a window. I looked like I slept in a ditch for days and was wild with panic. Like some nut case that escaped from an asylum.

I calmed down and asked him to check the computers again. I described Claire and Julian in detail. I told him that she must have kidnapped him as well. He (reluctantly) took down all details then left me again.

I sat there fuming at the indifferent attitude of this prick. I contemplated giving him the contact info for the old guy at the farm. But decided that would be my last straw. I did not want to implicate that nice family in anyway.

I opened my laptop and checked my friend’s site for messages and was relieved to see he had responded to me.

He was on his way.

I compared times in his message and realized that he would most likely be pulling into town within the half hour. I had to get out of the station.

Thank God, small town police stations don’t have much staff. I opened the door to the room and checked the hallway. Nobody.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped from the room and made my way toward the exit.

A voice suddenly shouted from down the hall.


I froze in my tracks

‘Could you come back after dinner? I’ll see if I can help you then.’

At that moment, I didn’t know if I wanted to smile and shake his hand for not giving a shit, or drive my fist through his face for not giving a shit.

So I’m currently typing this beside my friend ‘Boyd’ as he drives. We are heading south and are 3 hours or so from the border. My only thread of a clue as to where Claire and my son might possibly be is the map the boys had made.

I’ve known Boyd since we were kids. One of a small handful of ‘best pals’ that grew up together. Some friends stayed around and camouflaged into their married lives, others left for bigger and better things.

Boyd’s always believed he was one of the smart ones to move out of that ‘shit-assed-inbred-mutherfuckin-town’ (his words).

Never married. No kids.

Only string of girlfriends that 'don't-know-how-to-cook-cause-it-don't-matter-that-they-don't-know-how-
to-cook’ (again, his words)

Despite his messed up taste in women, he is definitely one of the few good guys around these days and if he wouldn’t punch me in the nose, I’d kiss him on the cheek for showing up to help.

I am fully rested again and my head is much clearer.

Questions play over and over again in my head like some hellish merry go round...

Who the hell is Claire?

Why did she try kill me?

Why did she kidnap my son!

Is my wife alive?

Tomorrow morning we are going to try get across the border.

If anything has happened to my son...

...Claire is going to wish she was dead.


Thursday, June 14, 2007

Jun 14, 2007 - Entry #12

Jun 14, 2007 - Entry #12

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

Claire has kidnapped my son…

The morning after my last post, we had left a motel. While driving toward the next town I told Claire that Michael and I weren’t going to be going to South America with her and that we were parting ways with her and Julian at the next town.

She was very quiet for the entire ride.

When we reached the next town Claire pulled into a service station to get fuel. She said she needed to use the restroom while I unloaded my backpack from the back of the van.

The only thing she had asked me (earlier) was how I was going to get to where I had planned. I told her I was going to walk and possibly hitchhike. One thing I didn’t tell her was my friend (in the city) had planned on driving to meet us since he had acquired a car.

Not another word from her for the rest of the day.

While I unloaded bags to get at my backpack I overheard Julian say something to Michael that made the hairs on my neck stand up. Julian had asked Michael ‘why we had to leave them’.

Michael told him ‘Don’t worry’

Julian said he was scared and told Michael to ‘Make me stay'

Then, as Claire returned from the restroom I heard Julian whisper...

‘If you see my Mom, tell her I miss her’

I paused, wondering if I heard him right. I said ‘Julian, what did you say?’

Julian sat there silent, tears rolling down his cheeks, begging me with his eyes to not say anything.

Claire climbed behind the wheel as I closed the back door to the van. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked to the driver’s door window.

I told Michael to get out of the van and just as I was going to ask Claire about what Julian had said, I was staring straight into the barrel of a handgun.

Every muscle in my body froze and my hearing became strangely muffled. I could see Claire’s lips move with a curled bitterness that chilled my bones. Time slowed down for me as I could hear her say “Don’t move Michael!”

Her lips moved again 'You wouldn't understand.'

Then her eyes turned hard as stone. I could see a slight shift in them, knowing in an instant that she was going to pull the trigger.

A reflex kicked in and I jerked my backpack upward, ducking down. The blast of the gun ripped the backpack from my hands as my momentum carried me toward the back, side door. I grasped the handle and managed to yank it open.

Michael had just taken his seatbelt off and I reached for his arm.

But I wasn't fast enough. Claire punched the gas and the mini-van’s wheels churned in the gravel. Michael slipped backward away from me, back into the van as I fell to the ground.

I pulled myself to my feet, ears ringing from the gunshot. I watched in horror as the van sped away, with my son still inside.

I frantically searched around for someone, anything to help. I begged in my mind that someone had seen what happened.


I paced and tried desperately to calm down. I needed to think but my mind raced back and forth to every moment leading up to this.

My body lurched into a run into the direction that Claire drove off to. My heart thumped like a war drum in my head. Rage boiled to the point that my entire being wanted to rip her limbs off, one at a time until there was nothing left. Then my body couldn’t take it anymore. I stumbled to the ditch and stood there, no feeling whatsoever.

I've hitched one ride with a rancher and have walked for miles. I need a car and I’ve tried to get a hold of my friend. I was supposed to meet him yesterday (a days travel from where I am) but I’m guessing that since I didn’t show, he might have turned around and went home.

Hopefully he checks messages I’ve left on his site.

I haven’t eaten in 3 days now.

I can’t think straight

A broken record plays over and over in my head. 'I shouldn't have gone this far!'

I'm doing what I should have done the day this all began.

I'm turning myself in.

this could be my last post.


Friday, June 8, 2007

Jun 8, 2007 - Entry #11

Jun 8, 2007 - Entry #11

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

Two more days and we reach the border…

Driving to South America like this has me worried to no end. And I've told Claire that it’s probably not a good idea to go. In her mind, there’s no other option. But I’m starting to have serious doubts on all of this (and her mental state).

I’ve tried to tell her that we have no clear reason to drive to a foreign country other than the fact the kids say we have to. This is nuts. I can't believe I said yes in the first place. She won’t discuss it at all. In fact, now she won’t discuss anything.

I’ve decided I’m going to tell her tomorrow that I’m not going with her. I’m going to stay at the next town and figure out a way to get my son and myself heading back toward my friends place in the city.

Regarding my wife…

Today I’ve spent several hours trying to get any kind of information at all on her. All I can find is the fact that she is missing. I even called her sister and received nothing but accusations of doing ‘god knows what’ to her.

I know she’s alive. I can feel it in my bones.

I’ve decided to post a picture of her that I have on my camera phone.

I am doing this with the hope that someone who reads this might have come across her somehow, somewhere.

I’ve also posted an email address below her picture. if anyone has any information at all, please let me know.

I know posting this information is a possible risk and a shot in the dark.

I don't care...

I'm on my last straw.

Valarie C.

Last seen in Washington State, May 7, 2007

contact for info... dillankramer at


Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Jun 5, 2007 - Entry #10

Jun 5, 2007 - Entry #10

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

Claire and I (and the boys) had left the farm on the 3rd and we are currently driving to South America.

Around 4 am, after my last post, Claire woke me.

I could see she had been crying (which she had been doing every night, alone, in her room). She had drifted off to sleep beside her son and woke to find him gone.

I noticed her hands were ice cold when she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the window. She desperately wanted to show me something outside.

Michael wasn’t beside me either and I panicked.

But before I could ask where Michael was she had yanked me over to the window and told me the boys were outside.

I rubbed sleep from my eyes and initially had a hell of a time to focus…

Outside, under an amazingly bright moon, I could see Michael and Julian standing beside the barn. Both facing the wall in their pajamas.

I asked Claire, 'what the hell they were doing?'...'Michael should be in bed'...‘They should both be in bed’.

She pointed, told me to open my eyes and “Look.”

I rubbed my eyes again and could make out papers tacked to the side of the barn....Lots of papers.

I quickly threw some pants on, ran downstairs, and headed over to the boys.

The boys had kept to themselves over the last couple of days, drawing their strange, geometric pictures. They were content (with their strange behavior) I had left Michael alone while Claire and I talked and tried to figure out this whole mess.

The boys had finished their drawings, had got out of bed and tacked them up on the barn wall with a staple gun. Up close it was a strange collage. But when you stepped back several feet you could see that the separate images (on separate papers) made up the unmistakable shape of a South American country.

I stood there with my mouth hanging open beside Claire. I asked her what the hell it was for.

‘The boys said we will find answers there’

Michael walked over and pointed to one, well defined spot. “Here”.

So without any other options and having stayed at this farm way too long, we said our good-byes and have hit the road.

Before leaving, the old man told me he had ‘mowed down’ the strange impressions in the alfalfa and told me not to worry. whoever comes looking for us will ‘see the wrong end of his shotgun’.

I smiled, shook his hand and said goodbye.

We have been taking turns driving Claire’s mini-van for a day and a half now.

We have pulled into a small town now and have rented a motel room with two beds.

Claire hasn’t been talking much and, up until moments ago, she hasn’t slept (hardly at all) in days. Upon opening the motel room door she flopped onto one of the beds and instantly fell fast asleep. It was only minutes before I noticed a few tears roll down her cheeks.

I fed the boys some sandwiches and they have fallen asleep in front of the muted television.

It is quiet here now as I type this and search the internet for any news on anything at all.

Previous news reports on the net of me being 'hunted' are gone.

I keep trying to google my wife’s name. searching online newspapers for any sign of her being found.


It's like she never existed and I want to drive my fist through the wall.

driving to South America like this is insane.

I feel like I'm losing my mind.

and I feel further from the truth

...more than ever before.


Saturday, June 2, 2007

Jun 2, 2007 - Entry #9

Jun 2, 2007 - Entry #9

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

Claire’s story...

She was born and raised in a small town (Tennessee). Above average grades. Moved away to attend University where she met her husband and graduated with a Masters Degree in Science, specializing in Materials.

She and her husband had adopted their son twelve years ago and have lived happy, productive lives until a couple of weeks ago.

Amazingly, their son has almost identical personality traits to Michael. Somewhat anti-social with other kids, high intelligence and spends hours in his room drawing these symbols on papers, (although more prolific than my son).

A couple of weeks ago, she had noticed her son glued to the television, flipping through channels with a vengeance. He stopped when he reached a news story on a farm in Tennessee.

A crop circle had appeared on May 25, (this year) in Monroe County. Julian was glued to the television for hours, flipping the channel to any news story he could find on it.

Claire showed me a drawing he had done of the crop circle. An elaborate series of circles (four large and four small) all joined with lines. In the middle was another circle with a triangle.

The next day, when she came home from picking up her son from school, she walked into her house and found it a total mess. Sofa’s turned upside down (cut open), sections of drywall cut out, carpets ripped up, all in all, just like how I had found my house.

She heard a loud noise rise from downstairs and then her husband yelled to her ‘Claire! Get out of here!’

She called out his name but no answer. She headed to the doorway to the basement and called his name again. Nothing.

She stood, frightened at the top of the stairs, looking down into darkness.

Suddenly a man in a suit rushed up the stairs after her with a large knife. Her reflexes grabbed the door to the stairs and slammed it shut before he reached the top. She turned and ran.

She called out for Julian as she ran outside. With a stroke of luck she found him still in the mini-van (looking for a calculator). She jumped in, started the engine and backed out of the driveway as the man with the knife burst out the front door.

Claire raced to the police station.

She arrived in hysterics and had a difficult time explaining to the officer at the front desk through her tears.

The police had gone to the house to investigate and found her husband hanging in the basement. Dead.

The official report concluded that he had a mental breakdown, destroyed the house and killed himself. Claire was furious.

She drove to her sister’s house and, while on the way, Julian told her they “had to go”.

He told her that it was dangerous to go anywhere but where the message said.

Claire asked what message he was talking about. He showed her the drawing of the crop circle. He then reached into the glove box, pulled out a road map booklet of the united states and circled a spot where he wanted to go.

She ignored this and told Julian not to worry.

Before she reached her sisters house she received a call from the police on her cell. The officer told her that she needed to come in to answer some questions regarding the investigation into her husbands ‘suicide’.

When she arrived, she pulled out front and parked. Julian was suddenly trembling in fear and tears began to roll down his face. He cried for her to please not go in. She hugged him and told him not to worry.

As she hugged him, she spotted a face, through the window of the police station. A man talking to an officer. It was the same man in a suit who raced up the stairs.

Claire’s entire being ached with adrenaline. She frantically shifted the car into drive and pulled slowly away from the curb.

The next thing she said she knew she was on the highway and didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Julian opened the map again pleaded with her. So she agreed with out any idea what else to do.

As they drove, Claire quizzed Julian more about the circles. He told her they were messages. This one was for him.

She asked how it could be a message; it was “only a drawing of circles”.

He simply replied, “It's math mom.”

Over the next couple of days as they traveled, the only other information that Julian would say was they knew they would be at the right spot when they found ‘this’. He handed over the drawing of the crop circle we found at the farm.

Claire asked him what message that image said and was taken aback when Julian smiled as bright as the sun.

“It’s another boy…like me”


Thursday, May 31, 2007

May 31, 2007 - Entry #8

May 31, 2007 - Entry #8

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

The woman’s name is Claire and she had been driving for days with her twelve-year-old son…

When the two of them stepped from their mini-van and headed toward the barn, I didn’t know what I was going to do. The old guy had locked the shed to keep whoever was coming from thinking anyone was in there. I was suddenly more curious than worried. Why would a woman with her son want to see me and how the hell did they know I was at a farm in the middle of nowhere?

The old guy opened the shed and we stepped outside. Claire outstretched her hand to me and introduced herself and her son Jules. I couldn’t help notice that she wouldn’t take her eyes off my son.

The sun had started to warm the day and the old man broke a moment of uncomfortable silence by inviting us into the house for coffee and bagels.

Inside, it was quite noticeable that Claire was very tired. I asked where she was from and she said 'Knoxville, Tennessee'. She seemed quite anxious and stressed and wouldn't sit. She paced the room, constantly looking out the window.

I asked if someone was after her.

No reply.

Then I noticed her son and mine sitting together in the living room, quietly talking to each other.

I was starting to get very creeped out.

The old guy asked her to 'please sit' and have some coffee. She refused and asked if she could go outside and look around. Before the old guy could open his mouth she was out the door.

We quickly joined her on the porch and watched her search around, becoming more agitated by the minute. She turned and suddenly headed over to the barn.

At the barn she searched as if she lost something. When the old man and I caught up with her she asked if he had a ladder. He said ‘Sure, I got a few’.

She told him she wanted a tall one that could reach the top of the barn.

The old guy lowered his brow and before he could open his mouth she spotted one and raced over to it (along side the barn). She struggled as she lifted one end and pulled.

The old guy caught up with her and told her to calm down and if she promised she wouldn’t 'kill herself' she could climb to the roof from inside the barn.

He led us inside to a built in ladder, leading up to a hatch. The three of us inched our way, it was a tricky climb but we made it up and out onto the roof.

I was amazed at how far I could see. Farmland stretched to the horizon. Fresh green fields growing lush from the large amounts of rain the county has been getting.

Claire hurried along the sides of the barn, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she scanned the area. The old man yelled for her to slow down (he didn’t want to clean up the mess if she fell and if she didn't calm down she'd have to get off his land)

She spotted what she was looking for and halted.

I joined her side as she pulled out a folded up paper (letter size) and handed it to me. I unfolded it.

On the paper were two circles joined by two lines and hash marks along the sides of the lines.

She said ‘My son drew that four days ago’.

She then pointed down to the field of alfalfa stretching out from the back side of the barn.

My mouth hung open at the same image, pressed down in the plants.

So we’ve been at the farmhouse since. I’ve heard her whole story and have been documenting everything. It’s frightening how similar our stories and lives have been.

This morning, she said my wife is probably dead...

Just like her husband.


Monday, May 28, 2007

May 28, 2007 - Entry #7

May 28, 2007 - Entry #7

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1

I am having a difficult time writing this at the moment.

I wish I could describe what happened yesterday (and today) with enough clarity that anyone reading this would understand why I am numb and why I’m having a very hard time sorting this situation out. But, I guess, even if I could write like a pro I wouldn’t believe it myself. Then again, I probably would believe it even less.

As I mentioned, I planned on leaving yesterday morning but, due to what I’m about to write, I am still here writing this from the farmhouse guest room…

I woke before sunrise, showered, dressed and thanked everyone for their help. I wasn't feeling well so I graciously turned down a large breakfast. My son quietly ate while I went outside to the dark morning and joined the old guy’s side at his pick-up truck.

He had started it and was cleaning garbage from the passenger floor. He told me we would have to stop for gas on the way and that it would be a half day drive. (further than I thought)

I turned to get my son but he was already walking from the house toward me. Then my chest tightened…

Headlights from a vehicle, a half mile away, were heading toward the farm. I asked the old man if he was expecting anyone. He shook his head as he joined my side. We watched the headlights turn away to another direction and I relaxed. But then they turned again and it was obvious that this farm was their destination.

The old guy told me to grab my son and follow him.

We hurried to the barn through the dark, where he led us inside, to a tool shed room. I told my son not to worry as the old man shut the shed room door and padlocked the outside.

I pushed my way through various boxes and farm equipment to a dirt smudged window. I couldn’t see a thing so I used my sleeve to clean it the best I could.

I could see the old man at his pick-up. I saw him pull a shotgun from behind the seat, load a shell into it and rest it over his shoulder.

I waited for what seemed like forever for a sign of the vehicle to arrive. The old man stood calm as he lit a smoke and watched.

Light finally stretched across the ground and shone on the old man. He shielded his eyes with one hand as a mini-van rolled to a stop in front of him. The head lights dimmed.

The farmer walked around to the driver’s door as its window rolled down and its interior light turned on. It was a woman in her late thirties with jet black hair.

The old man and the woman spoke for a moment and it looked like she was lost as he began to (what looked like) give her directions.

He then suddenly turned and faced me with confused look on his face.

I felt cold sweat run from my temple as he raised his arm and pointed at me.


Saturday, May 26, 2007

May 26, 2007 - Entry #6

May 26, 2007 - Entry #6

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1

A lot has happened since my last log…

It had rained all morning as I drove and, at one point in the late afternoon, I swear that armageddon had been unleashed on the earth. Hail the size of marbles had machine gunned our car for several minutes. I reassured my (scared out of his wits) son that we’d be fine.

To my relief the rain had slowed as fast as it came. I reached to adjust the radio to hear weather reports when a deer had bolted onto the road. I yanked on the steering wheel.

The car clipped the back end of the deer and skid sideways over mud. I hit the brakes and the we slid helplessly toward the ditch as if a hand had snatched the top of the car and decided it was time for us to get off the road.

We hit sideways, burying the front left side (and most of the side down to the door) completely in mud and weeds.

I turned to check on my son and he sat there with his eyes as wide as silver dollars. He pursed his lips and said ‘Holy wow’.

Relief burst from me with a laugh, ‘Yeah, Holy wow’.

I looked back to the road and could see a dark outline of the deer on the road. I told my son to stay in the car then climbed out the passenger door, slugged my way through the mud and made my way up onto the road.

I stood before the deer as its remaining huffs of life rose through the rain. It’s eyes wide with fear.

My son startled me when he joined my side. We both stared at the deer in silence for a few minutes when he looked up at me and said ‘We hit it’

My heart sank. ‘Yes we did’

An amazing amount of blood had pooled from its neck (which also looked broken). The deer kicked its legs twice and I told my son to go back to the car. I turned to see he was crying. I picked him up and hugged him tight as he buried his face into my shoulder.

Later, I sat behind the wheel, gazing out to farm fields that never end and frowned at the rain as it spit on us.

It was going to be dark soon so I decided we had better stay put and hopefully the rain would stop by morning. I tried the engine to warm up the car. Nothing. We ate a few gas station sandwiches then bundled up in blankets. I tried the radio. Nothing but static.

In the middle of the night there was a loud tap on the window. At first I didn’t wake up. I was in a deep sleep and it took a moment for me to realize where I was. I opened my eyes to a blinding flashlight through my window. Relief actually washed over me thinking ‘I’m caught. It’s over, thank God!’

It turned out to be a farmer in the area. He was heading home from town. He spotted our car and pulled over to see if anyone was alive in the wreck.

It was cold and still raining when he helped us out of the car and into his pick-up. I told him about the deer and could smell whisky on his breath as he coughed and smiled at the fact that we weren’t hurt. He ‘swore’ he’d find brains splattered all over the car and said we were nuts to be out in this. There were tornado warnings and funnel clouds were spotted in the next county over.

So now, at this moment, I am typing this at a small desk in a guestroom of a rather large farmhouse. The fellow who found us is a grandfather, living with his son and son’s wife. The couple has 5, unbelievably well mannered kids. This is will be the second night here and I am blown away at how nice these people have been to two, total strangers. I can’t describe how good the shower felt and a hot breakfast was heaven.

Earlier today I sat with the old guy in the front room. I told him my story. Everything. I decided that I owed him that and I am definitely not implicating anyone without them knowing.

After, he sat there thinking and looking at me for what seemed like an eternity. My son came into the room and asked if he could go see their cows (with two of the boys). The old man turned to my son and said ‘Do you love your dad?'

My son looked at him with a confused look then nodded ‘yes’.

The old guy smiled then told him to go see the cows. He then turned to me and said. ‘I’ll drive you and your boy to the city tomorrow morning. I need to go shopping anyway.’

I find it impossible to not think about my wife. So I write to clear my mind. I find putting down my thoughts like this helps more than ever now. Allows me to sort things out and think about what I’m going to do. I’ve begun to work out a plan and I’m looking forward to seeing my friend.

I’ve also been thinking about everything I’ve put off. Building a 3D puzzle that my son has asked me dozens of times to work on with him. Rebuilding a 1968 mustang, collecting dust in my garage. Finishing a novel that I started years ago and above all, take my wife to a tropical island for a holiday. A dream of hers (since forever) that I’ve put aside every year and I pray with every ounce of my soul that I can still take her one day.

I’ve also thought how my situation is laughable in comparison to the horrors in the world others have faced. People moving along with their lives when an event blows in like a sledgehammer and rips their lives apart.

Life can be brittle as an eggshell and resilient as steel. I’ve taken too many things for granted in the past and it has concreted in my mind now that no guarantees exist for anyone.

When you’re a kid you think you are immortal, not sure where this lie comes from but it sure is a cruel one.


Thursday, May 24, 2007

May 24, 2007 - Entry #5

May 24, 2007 - Entry #5

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1

It is just after 10pm and I find myself strangely calm. I guess my stress has deadened from lack of sleep.

Back roads have been virtually traffic free and if all goes well, we should have one more day until I reach the city.

I’ve decided to not stop for anything now other than to find a wireless internet connection and to nap if needed. I’ve spent the last of my money on a full tank of gas and enough food.

There are numerous details/events I’ve left out of this log so far. I’ve been waiting to post them mainly due to the fact that if I want a record of my innocence shown I need to make sure I have accurate details.

I’ve been communicating with my friend (in the city) via websites like myspace, facebook and others. He’s been setting up a new (private) accounts every day or so (we have a system so I know which url is the next one).

My heart pounds every time I click to hear possible news of my wife and learn more about what the hell is going on.

Here are some facts I’ve been able to obtain…

1. The person that I’m being hunted for killing is our life long, family doctor.

2. Supposedly my fingerprints have been found all over his office and I was spotted leaving there a half hour before he was found.

3. He was found strangled to death.

4. Police have announced no motive.

5. Nobody knows where my wife is.

Firstly, of course my fingerprints are in his office. I’ve been there more times than I can count in my life. And yes I was there that day. I had an appointment to see him for a sprained wrist. I had fallen from a ladder the night before (hanging a picture for my wife).

Secondly, he was strangled without a soul hearing him? I know how small that office is and the receptionist would have heard something or at least she would have found him a within the half hour. My friend has tried calling her but she’s gone on emotional leave to some other country. Nothing adds up.


How could I strangle a 200lb man to death with a sprained wrist?

As to why I ran with my son…

After the initial shock at how much damage was done to my house I instantly thought my wife had been abducted. She was supposed to be at work but her car was in the driveway.

I immediately called her cell and received her voice mail. I called her work and they told me she left for lunch and hadn't returned. I then dialed to where my son was being looked after and he was fine. I bolted over, scooped him up and headed toward the police station.

On my way, my cell rang. It was an FBI agent. He asked me where my son was. I told him he was with me. He then told me to head to the police station and he’d explain everything when I got there. I asked why the FBI was there and tried to tell him about my house being ripped apart. He wouldn’t say anything other than to calm down and he’d explain when I arrived. I asked if he knew if my wife was okay. Again, like a broken record, he told me not to worry and he’d fill me in on everything when I arrived. I hung up feeling numb.

As I drove, I started to wonder why they weren’t at our house. The crime scene. Then my cellphone rang again. It was a text message from my wife…

It simply said ‘Run’


Tuesday, May 22, 2007

May 22, 2007 - Entry #4

May 22, 2007 - Entry #4

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1

It’s 3 am and my mind is racing.

I am listening to frogs chirp through the driver’s door window and my son is sleeping soundly under two thick blankets and a coat. The breeze is cool but comfortable.

I’ve had a hard time sleeping. Every so often I jolt awake at some imaginary sound. Writing this helps me focus and I find now it’s the only way I can unscramble my thoughts and fall asleep

I’ve driven roughly 420 miles since my last entry and have decided to head to a large, unnamed city. I’ve roughly calculated that I have enough money for fuel and food to make it within twenty or so miles of the city and it should take a couple of days with stops to rest. I don’t dare try using my credit cards due to the fact that they can most likely be traced and Interac is also definitely out of the question. My last option for money is to pawn this laptop. If needed, that should get us there for sure.

I loathe cities but I feel it’s my best chance to survive by blending into a large population. I need get my bearings and see an old friend. I simply have no choice now. My son and I need help.

Lack of funds and the need for fuel/food has translated to us sleeping in the car full time. On the plus side it means we have less chance of being spotted and don’t have to worry about finding the cheapest Motel in town with a mattress that would make your skin crawl. On the negative, I wont have access to a shower and I swear, if this nightmare ever ends, I’ll never step foot inside a gas station restroom again.

Libraries are much cleaner and free internet is a big plus. The last time I logged on at a Library I sent an email to a hometown acquaintance. I am desperate for some kind of clue as to where my wife has gone so I created a new hotmail account and wrote up a few questions. The moment I clicked ‘send’ it suddenly dawned on me that email could be traced. I can’t believe I did it but I’m not thinking clearly from lack of sleep.

I hope the Library at the next town is open when I get there. Not only do I want to upload this log but also I’d like to wash up my son. If it isn’t open I’ll be stuck with a gas station and I’ll have to find a wireless connection somewhere I can log onto.

I modified my appearance yesterday. All I’ll say is that it’s amazing how much a change to a person’s hair can alter how they look. My son couldn’t take his eyes off me as we headed back to the car. I helped him into the car, rested my hand on his shoulder to comfort his wide-eyed stare and told him not to worry, “It’s still me’.

I climbed behind the steering wheel when he lowered his brow and said “No Dad. You missed a spot”. I checked the rear view mirror and realized that the lighting in the restroom was worse than I thought. We both burst into laughs. I don’t know what felt better, actually feeling a laugh rise after these long, frightening days or hearing my son giggle until tears rolled down his cheeks. Best sound in the world.

I slid the car into drive and suddenly I felt like we could make it to the ends of the earth.

Later, my son slept as I drove in silence. My thoughts wandered back to the day my life was churned upside down. I thought about the damage to the house my wife and I worked so hard to build and maintain. A home with years of memories that the lonely would die for.

I remember the first night my wife and I slept under its roof. I lay awake with my arms folded behind my head. Her arm rested across my chest as her soft, sleeping breath brushed over my shoulder.

The window was open to the night after a long, hot summer day. As the white, frail curtains wavered and floated up from a change in the wind, I thought about the future possibilities in that house. How good it was going to be. How we would build a family and stick together through thick and thin.

I was right. It was good.

When I first met my wife, the very first thought that entered my mind, was ‘I can’t believe how stunning this woman’s eyes are.’ The next thing I clearly remember thinking was ‘I can’t believe she’s talking to me.’

We met at University. It was the first day of school with an orientation for new students. Roughly nine hundred of us were herded like cattle into an auditorium for speeches, orientation etc. I sat there sweating about what I was going to do about my lack of books. I had come up short after paying tuition and I knew it was going to be a challenge to begin a full course load without them. As I sat there with my worry lines burrowing in and my mind a hundred miles away, something suddenly caught my eye…

Across the auditorium I saw a flicker of light. I squinted my eyes and then focused on a woman who is now the best friend I’ll ever have. My wife.

I smiled at the pleasant distraction from my worries.

Students were then ushered and organized into lesser groups and after a tour of the University we were released for lunch. I found myself standing outside after the tour dispersed. I turned around, searching for a certain, described building with a cafeteria and there she was, looking just as perplexed as where to go as I was. A magnet inside my guts suddenly pulled me over to introduce myself.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting across from her having coffee, never wanting the conversation to end.


Monday, May 21, 2007

May 21, 2007 - Entry #3

May 21, 2007 - Entry #3

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*

I stole a car since my last entry.

Not something I'm proud of or have done before and I plan on (hopefully) not doing it again unless extreme circumstances warrant it.

The day after my last post, I was spotted (recognized) by a clerk at the grocery store. I had left the motel to get my son lunch and a few pairs of socks. His only pair had worn a hole in one heel.

It took me a moment to realize something was up. When I looked up to the clerk to purchase my items, his face grew instantly pale and he started stammering. I thought he was going to piss his pants as he jogged away, toward an office door. When it sunk in, I quickly left the store, hurried back to the motel, gathered up my son and our stuff.

In the parking lot I managed to find a car with the keys in it. Thinking on this now, I didn’t realize anyone in this day and age would leave their keys. But it was a small town and I guess small town trust still is alive and well. With a half a tank of fuel, I turned onto back roads and headed out of state. (thank God I remembered my map).

Later (into the night), I pulled over on a pitch-black, country road to sleep. I clicked the radio on to let music help clear my mind. I turned up the volume just in time to hear a reporter declare that I’ve been spotted in the state and I’m a violent, murdering fugitive who has kidnapped my son.

Regarding my Son…

Simply put, he is not like other boys. My wife and I adopted him 7 years ago as a baby and have raised him as an only child. We noticed peculiarities about him at an early age. His speech was delayed and although very frustrating for him, we managed with a booklet of ‘communication pictures’. Upon realizing this was making his speech lazy (and worse), we threw that away and his speech slowly came.

My son is what I’ve always called an ‘old soul’. You know people in your life that have this natural, wisdom? A mature sense about them or an age-old aura? Well this is my son. He has (since an early age) this way of looking at you from behind the eyes of a wise, 90 year old man. You can tell that he thinks things through thoroughly before speaking. And at times it seems like he can peer through to your soul. Unnerving to most to say the least.

My son has always had zero interest in socializing/playing with other kids. Other boys/girls would do normal ‘kid things’ and he would just look at them perplexed then go off to work on his own projects like puzzles, models and lego structures.

So with all this, it wasn’t a surprise to find that, through basic tests, a resident psychologist speculated for us that his IQ is off the charts. We would have to place him in a school for Gifted Children and with that, most likely move. Something I was not happy about. I loved my town and the clean air. I loved the fact you could let your kids walk to school without worrying about them arriving alive. And even, well…leave your keys in your car.

A few weeks ago my son had showed me something and I haven’t told a soul. For two main reasons. I’m sure nobody would believe me and secondly I have a hard time believing it myself, (let alone making sense of it)

It had started with him drawing several shapes on paper then tacking them on his wall. Every other day a new shape. Now, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about a child drawing pictures and decorating his bedroom but these were simple, geometric shapes. Some drawn together to complete bizarre, even more complex shapes. Nothing distinguishable to be seen in the drawings ie. Cars, dogs, trees etc. Only combinations of simple shapes.

I had shrugged this off until one day I passed by his room. These papers had covered most of his walls by now, each with it’s own distinguishable shape(s). One drawing caught my attention. I stepped up close to examine its intricate, almost spectacular circles, lines and spirals. It was simply amazing.

Two days later…I was reading my after dinner newspaper, thinking of dozing off in front of the television. Then I turned the page. Glaring at me, in bold, clear ink was a photograph of the exact, same shape on my son’s wall. A smiling farmer, on a side photo, described how he discovered the shape in his wheat crop that morning. A Crop Circle. At first I was blown away by how exact my son had copied the picture in exact detail.

Then it dawned on me…

My son had posted that picture on his wall BEFORE the crop circle had formed in the field.

I triple checked the dates in the article and phoned the newspaper. The dates checked out.

Writing this out like this makes it even more ridiculous to me. As stated before, I am an Engineer. I deal in facts.

When I asked my son how he could do this he simply smiled and said, “You’ll see.”


Thursday, May 17, 2007

May 17, 2007 - Entry #2

May 17, 2007 - Entry #2

*This diary is intended to be an official record for the world as to what is happening to me and my family and what (although unknown at this point) is to be. -- for an accurate reading, please begin with Entry #1*


Before getting ahead of myself, I’ve decided to give you some of my background. I’ve never been one to stand on a soapbox and say ‘look at me!’ On the contrary, I prefer to be sitting in the audience and not up on any stage in the slightest

I feel it’s important though to state who or what I am. I truly believe that the only way you can truly know a man is to see what he does when nobody is looking. It’s 3 am. My son is fast asleep. Nothing accompanies me but the sound of a cheap air conditioner humming in this motel room.

I’ve led a life that would make sloth yawn. And I’m good with that.

I’m 35 years old.

Born in a small town.

Two average parents who never divorced. (which I suppose is not normal these days).

Never any serious trouble as a teenager other than getting caught racing cars on a Saturday night.

Finished high school with above average grades, moved to a larger city, completed University with a degree in Mechanical Eng.

Married when I was 25.

Adopted our beautiful son Michael (not his real name)

I suppose one way to know someone is to know his or her parents. My Father was a hard, working man with strong ethics. Not too strong of ethics though to the point where you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. On the contrary, people loved him. He was funny, smart and genuinely cared about people.

I remember once, (I think I was 9), a fight between two men had broken out in a store. I have no idea what the fists were flying about but I clearly remember that one guy was much bigger and it looked like he was going to kill the smaller. Without hesitation, my Father leaped into the middle and forcibly saved the smaller guy by wrestling the other to the ground. Police quickly arrived and took over. Thinking now, I realize that my Father risked his life that day to help (and possibly save the life) of a stranger. No names were exchanged. My Father simply straightened out his clothes, wiped some blood from his chin and led me from the store. We just carried on with our day and not another word was said. Just like a superhero, anonymously helping a man at extreme risk, asking nothing in return.

That pretty much sums up my Father.

My Mother was a quiet woman who worked part time to give us the extras in life. She never complained about one thing. (not to my ears anyway). She would sing when she took care of the house. A sound that would warm my heart. And to this day, when I think about how that made me feel, I smile.

Looking back, I didn’t truly appreciate her. I didn’t realize that the house didn’t clean itself. I didn’t realize that a good dinner (which we had every night) was more than touching the buttons on the microwave. And I had no idea what it was like for a Mother, who worked, baked, shopped and cleaned all day, to put her coat on and go work a few hours every night at a local restaurant. When you’re a kid you just expect things to be the way they are and never change. My lunch would be made for me every day with out question. Sometimes with a note wrapped around a candy bar or a bag of licorice. I used to be embarrassed by those notes at school. Not wanting my buddies to see ‘I love you’ or ‘Kisses from Mom’ scrawled inside. I’d quickly throw them in the garbage and run off to play.

My parents lives were ended in a heartbeat 11yrs ago when a logging truck slammed into their camper.

To this day, I wish I kept those notes.