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.

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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.



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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.



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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.

Also…

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’

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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.



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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.”

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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*

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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.




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May 14, 2007 - Entry #1

May 14, 2007 - Entry #1

Introduction...

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.

a side purpose of this diary is to also allow me to clarify and organize my thoughts. in other words, make sense of my (and my son's) predicament. I also apologize in advance for any ramblings that don't make sense.

upfront, I am using an alias (Dillan Kramer) for reasons to be revealed in this diary. I'm currently writing this off line using a laptop which I have finally acquired yesterday. an interesting story in itself. all future (if any) logs will be uploaded from various sources.


Why am I doing this? One week ago, upon returning from work, I found that my house had been searched, (ripped apart, board by board). My wife is missing. I have no idea if she is alive.

Upon retrieving my son from friends house, I learned that my name has appeared on a most wanted list for a crime I had nothing to do with.

I am now on the run with my son trying to put all of the bizarre pieces together.

I am tired.

and I desperately miss my wife.

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