Document 2: The First Box
VIDEO RESUMES TRANSCRIBING — — —
“One heck of a letter,” Judy lowers the page, “At first I didn’t believe it. I thought some family member was just going for one last cruel joke.”
She looks into the camera with a serious face. “I considered It being a subscriber too, you guys have ways of knowing things you shouldn't, and it wouldn't be the first time one of my viewers took me on a wild goose chase.”
“But no such luck, I called grandma's lawyer. The house is mine, and the letter is real. Anyway, it tells me to start with the golden box.”
Judy turns around and lifts a small plastic tote into view, placing it on a table just in front of the box chair she had been sitting on. “Now I would say this more yellow than gold, but grandma did always have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Now I haven’t opened the box yet, so this will be a surprise for us both. Actually..." Judy pauses for effect, "Jujubees let's play a game, pause the video and leave a comment about what you think will be in the golden box. I'll pin the best guess.”
She gives a second for people to pause, then unclips the tote’s lid.
The first Item out of the box is an old-battered leather-bound journal. It's splotched and dirty, nearly falling apart. A large section of the pages in the beginning of the notebook have been ripped out, leaving nothing more than tiny remnants of the pages close to the spine. Judy holds up a few pages to the camera, they'rehandwritten in a cheap blue pen ink.
"Let's see... looks like grandma's diary. The first entries, after the ripped out bit, are from... 1985. Wow, old, I think grandma would be about my age at this point No... she's talking about kids here, she's a bit older I am. I'll, read aloud."
END TRANSCRIPTION — — —
March 5, 1985
Today was another quiet day, Gordon promised me he will be finding a new job soon, and Jessica’s teacher sent home a note advising I 'consider some accelerated options' for Jessica's classes in the future. I am quite proud of my eldest's ability in academics—even if it is only 2nd grade. I hope Preston can compare when he begins schooling next year. In other news, I have become quite proficient in crocheting while watching the two of them grow. Preston managed to keep himself busy and quiet all today—the second day in a row! That finally let me finish the blanket, It looks quite good on the bed, I hope Gordon comes home early enough to appreciate it.
March 6, 1985
I do not know where I am. I am in danger. I am hiding from the green demons. I was home and then I was here. I cannot find Preston. I cannot find Jessica. I do not know if I wish to have left them at home or hope to find them here. If I cannot, I pray Gordon keeps them safe.
March 8? 9? 1985
I do not know how long it has been, I guess two days. Safety is hard to find. The green demons are everywhere, their red eyes and shrieking keep me awake at all hours. I now pray my children or husband have not followed me here. If they did, I fear they are dead.
I do not know how I came here, or what manner of sin I committed to be tormented so. The green demons travel together in packs, ripping apart anything that moves, shredding it with sharp teeth and clawed fingers. There are hundreds, I think—they are hard to tell apart.
I am lucky. I arrived inside some kind of ruins, surrounded by the green demons. The evil creatures were just as shocked to see me as I was to see them. They gave me time to bolt out of the room and deeper into the ruins. Wherever this is, it is unexplored by civilized people, if such a grand castle occupied by little green bipeds had been found, I would have heard it on the radio. I am hiding in some long-forgotten library for now. It has a door, one of few. I have blocked that off, and there is no other way in or out that I could find.
March 10?, 1985
Where is this? The books are written in some foreign language, I have never seen the like before. It's not pictographic, logographic, or syllabary. With nothing to do but listen for demons and stare at the books, I have deduced it is an unrecognizable alphabet. But there are no farther clues, no recognizable roots, not Aramaic or Cyrillic or even Punjabi. Have I been transported so far away from Boston? How?
March 11?, 1985
I found a secret stair today behind an old rotting shelf deep in the back corner of the library. In it, I found salvation!!! Ten jars of honey, about the size of my fist around and two fists high. I will be able to live hidden away here for a little longer.
Alongside the honey was a massive tome, truly the best way to describe the book. The thing was as tall as I, a size meant for a giant. It rested on a metal stand made to support its bulk, taking up the whole rest of the small tower's base. I assume it was hidden away here because it was important. I will start real efforts in translation here first.
The stairs themselves spiraled up and up, maybe twenty or thirty stories all told. It was… challenging to ascend, but well worth the journey. Attached at the top of the tower was a telescope. Somehow still in perfect condition, despite its decrepit surroundings. It felt odd to the touch, abuzz with static, like a balloon that sticks to your hand after you rub it on the carpet. With it, I can watch those green demons in secret from the tower.
It also gave a good view of the lands around this ruin; it is deep in a forest. One that spreads beyond even the telescope's sight, with no hint of civilization in that range. The forest itself is like nothing I have seen. I recognize none of the trees, not a red maple or white pine in sight. Worse, I couldn't begin to compare the trees toanyspecies I know on earth. To reference home, we are not in Kansas anymore. I hope this new land is as kind to me as Oz was for Dorothy.
March 14?, 1985
Those little green demons are not as intimidating as my first impression had made them to be. I believe there are close to two hundred of them around and in the castle, far less than I feared. I have high confidence in those numbers, despite the difficulty in telling the beings apart. Realizing their tribal nature aided that effort greatly. One conclusion has become impossible to ignore, escape without notice will be nigh impossible.
Importantly, they are much less animalistic than my initial impression granted. Just today, I observed them making tools with shocking proficiency and solving complex problems. If we can communicate, perhaps I can negotiatesafe passage.
However, the little green monsters are foolhardy. I watched nearly ten or twenty of them die today. When faced with a new problem, be it terrain or creature, the tribal little demons throw bodies at it until they find a solution. More often than not, it results in the group of the critters—as well as whatever problem they face—being shredded into little pieces. No matter the type of obstacle, wall or wolf.
Despite all that death, I have noticed no decline in population. Wherever the new monsters are coming from, they reproduce at an unprecedented rate.
March?, 1985
The green children posses close to human intelligence. I have spent much of the time in my tower watching them. During my life America had to be taught not to judge the quality of character based on features or skin, I am embarrassed to require a second edition of that lesson. I have been observing the culture of these creatures. Searching for a weakness. It has not made me feel any safer, but has been enlightening. They live by the rule of the jungle, the strong survive, the weak are killed off. Should they learn of my library inside this ruin, I no longer question what will happen. They will fall upon me in a horde, rip me apart, and eat me. Bones and all. As always, certainty brings little comfort.
Their chittering and screeches are absolutely a language of sorts, and they are highly territorial. Each tribe stays in their own areas, with maybe as many as fifty of the critters in each. Fights between the tribes are common, quick, and bloody affairs. I wonder if it might be possible to escape by turning them against each other? I must keep in mind, though; my survival depends on expecting more from these green children than I would from beasts in the forests.
I must make a plan soon, my honey is running low. I can feel myself weakening.
Knowledge is truly the only thing I can trust to keep me alive; my hidden library seems to be determined to keep its grasp on that knowledge entirely hidden. The tome’s language seems to hold no secrets I can penetrate. All is not lost, I have my guesses as to what a few scraps and pages say, but certainty is far beyond me—as is much of the world outside this stone ruin.
I have seen things I cannot describe. Something is happening that breaks fundamental rules, the scientist in me despises this, but I struggle to label it as anything but magic.
March? 1985
Translation is beginning to work. I am delirious, or I begin to understand. It is nothing like earth, these texts of magic. If the translation is real, I fear I am going mad. My hope that this library may be my key to communication with the green ones is beginning to dwindle. What is written here is beyond them.
I am very, very hungry. The honey ran out days ago.… I wonder If I cannot find another use for these books.
DOCUMENT NOTE: The next thing out of the box is an ancient, weathered sheet of paper. The page is massive, it had to be folded into quarters to even fit into the tote, the material nearly disintegrating at the creases as it's unfolded. The page is covered in a huge diagram, with foreign text scrawled about. Each group of text is annotated with the same blue pen as the diary:
