My uncle Phil was a detective in Los Angeles. He died last week. Aged 75. He’d been blinded in the line of duty in 1993 and got a sweet payout. Only time I ever saw Uncle Phil get upset was when we asked the details of how he’d lost his sight. He refused to tell us, to even talk about it.
My mom and brother and I spent the weekend clearing out his house. Uncle Phil was a nice guy, overall, but he was also something of a hoarder. It took us fifteen hours to get his place even close to clean. In the basement, we found his file cabinet behind a stack of boxes labeled “men’s adventure bks.” The file cabinet was locked.
After my mom and brother had gone for the night, I got my buddy Ruben to come over and try and get the file cabinet open. Ruben fashions himself a “lock picker.” Took him sixteen tries – I was counting – but he finally got it unlocked. In the bottom drawer, at the back, was a large envelope dated 2008 and marked “DESTROY.” Guess he must’ve forgotten to follow through on it.
Inside was a typed transcript of the very last interrogation my Uncle Phil ever did as a detective. There was also an LP – a slab of black vinyl with no stickers, no markings on it at all. I don’t have a record player but Ruben, he said he “moonlighted” as a DJ and had one at his pad. So, I let him take the record to rip it and send me an MP3. He left and I brought the transcript upstairs. I read it and it scared the shit out of me. I was in a panic afterward. I called Ruben but he didn’t answer. I tried his roommates but they said he hadn’t come home.
That was two days ago. No one’s seen Ruben and his phone’s “no longer in service.” This afternoon, I got an anonymous email with an untitled MP3 file. I have not opened it. I will never open it. I’m posting the transcript of my Uncle Phil’s last interrogation here. I’m doing it as a warning. I know record collectors will call me paranoid, but I’m telling you: avoid unlabeled LPs you find at thrift stores or in old record crates. If you’re sent or somehow come across an untitled MP3, be very careful. If it says anything about “The Drawn King,” delete it immediately.
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California Bureau of Criminal Apprehension
Investigative Supplement 1993-784/09
Transcript (8/6/1993)
PH: The, uh, the coffee… it’s just to your left.
WS: Here…?
PH: I can help you get it if…
WS: No, no. I’m fine. Thank you.
PH: Alright. OK. It is presently 1640 hours on August 6th, 1993. Detective Phil Hernandez, currently at, uh, the Van Nuys Station in Van Nuys, California to interview Captain Wyatt Sheppard. This is for LAPD case number 1993-784. Wyatt, I want to go ahead and get down some basic information for our report. Your first name is spelled W-Y-A-T-T, is that correct?
WS: Yes.
PH: And Sheppard is spelled S-H-E-P-P-A-R-D?
WS: Right.
PH: And your occupation is firefighter?
WS: Yes. A captain. Listen, I- I can explain what happened.
PH: We’re getting to that. First, I just need a little more background information. You told my officers at intake that this began two days ago after an incident.
WS: You have to understand… I tried to stop it.
PH: Wyatt, I need for you to start at the beginning. I need for you to take me back to that fire in Burbank. You just told my officers that all this – everything that went down with Mr. Carson – that it started with the fire. I want to hear why you think that.
WS: OK. OK. It was, uh, the apartments…
PH: This was the fire at the Oakcrest apartments on Myers?
WS: Right. Our engine was the first on the scene. A two alarm on the second floor. Everyone had been evacuated by the time we got there. All but one person, on the third floor. East corner. Manager said his name was Nash. Something Nash. The man was a recluse, hadn’t been out of his room in something like twenty years. Had his food, his clothes, all his stuff delivered to his door. Never stepped a foot outside, so the manager told me.
PH: And you went to Mr. Nash’s door? Brought him out?
WS: Wasn’t that easy. Fire was spreading quick. Me and Tomlinson –
PH: Nadia Tomlinson? Part of your truck company?
WS: Yeah. She and I took the east stairs. It was smoky but we still had visibility at that time. Mr. Nash didn’t respond to our knocks, shouts, so we used a battering ram. Took down the door and then stepped inside and that’s when we noticed it was… weird.
PH: You mentioned this. Weird how?
WS: The whole interior. These were regular apartments. Built in the fifties or so. One or two bedrooms, most of them. Typical layout. But not this guy’s place. His apartment was totally modified. All the walls were rounded out.
PH: Rounded out. What’s that mean?
WS: That he’d smoothed them all down to remove the corners. There were no corners in his place. No windows either. It was like being inside a big egg. And painted white too. Wasn’t done professionally, if you know what I mean. It was clearly the work of one person over years and years. Just filling in the corners, smoothing them all out.
PH: And the furniture was like this as well…
WS: Yes. All the chairs were bean bags. The tables were slices of tree stumps. It was crazy but we weren’t in there to examine his decor. We were there to get Mr. Nash out. But he, uh, he wasn’t going to come easy. He was guarding this wall full of records –
PH: Like the record you smashed at the station.
WS: The record I smashed and scattered across the field behind the station…
PH: Yes, we found the pieces—
WS: But you didn’t put them together, right? You couldn’t do that?
PH: No, we haven’t pieced them together.
WS: You need to burn them. Melt them down.
PH: Wyatt, we’ve gotten off track. Tell me about the apartment.
WS: Nash had tons of those records. Easily a thousand. All stacked up and he was holding one of them, sitting on his futon mattress, and yelling this crazy stuff about how he couldn’t leave. How if he left that apartment, he’d die. You gotta understand, the building was heating up, smoke filling the hallways. We had to get out. So, we went to grab him and that’s when he pulled the revolver. He put to it to his head, said he’d rather have control over his own death. As me and Tomlinson were getting close, trying to calm him down, he pulled the trigger. And… and it didn’t fire. It was an old firearm. I didn’t get a real good look. Maybe it was busted. Anyway, I was able to smack the gun out of his hand and we got him up and out.
PH: And that’s when you lost him?
WS: I didn’t—We didn’t lose him. We got out into the hallway and he was carrying on. Acting crazy. The smoke was real bad. We had respirators on, put one on him. Had the added benefit of keeping him quiet. We moved fast. Down the hall towards the stairs but the flames were coming up, right up through the floor. So, we had to pause.
PH: This is right outside apartment three twelve?
WS: Yes. Somewhere near there, I guess. I wasn’t looking.
PH: OK. Go on.
WS: So, I have Mr. Nash back in a corner, right behind me. Tomlinson is radioing down, helping guide the crew. They’ve got the hoses hitting that part of the building, putting down those flames long enough for us to get back. Maybe it’s two minutes. Probably less. Mr. Nash is right behind me, holding one of those records, and mumbling all scared. He’s terrified and pulling on my coat. I turn and look at him, tell him it will only be a few more seconds. That’s when he shouts something freaky. Nash said, “He’s here!” I asked Nash who he was talking about – ‘cause I was worried, you know, did we miss someone? But, at the same time, I had to turn back to Tomlinson ‘cause she was giving the signal that we can move forward. And that’s when I hear it.
PH: You said it was a whistle…
WS: Yeah. Like a little lullaby. Just a few notes, sing-songy, the way you do to a baby.
PH: Someone in the apartment building?
WS: No, it sounded further away than that. Like from outside. Like above the apartment building. But… but that’s just what I heard. A whistling. A tune. The thing is, fires are loud. That’s what most people don’t think about but they sound like tornadoes. Just this blasting, industrial sound. But I could hear that whistle over the flames. It was like… crystal clear.
PH: And it was, what, just the once?
WS: Yes. Just that one time. And this guy Nash, he screams like murder. The worst scream I’ve ever heard. He’s behind me still, right? I haven’t turned around or anything. But I’ve heard people screaming before, in fires. Several times, sadly. Horrible sound. Haunts you. When I tell people that, they say, “Oh, you must hate going to amusement parks.” But that’s… that’s not it.
PH: People screaming on a roller coaster or –
WS: Right but that’s not the same sound. What I’m talking about is… actually, it’s playgrounds. I can’t go to regular parks… it’s, for me… it’s hearing children scream – even if it’s ‘cause they’re playing. Having fun. The pitch is high, piercing, and that’s what someone dying in a fire sounds like. Broken glass screaming as the superheated air hits the lining of the throat… anyway, this, this was worse than that. To be honest, it sounded like Nash was being turned inside out. So, of course, I react. I spin around to him and… and he’s fucking gone… just gone. And the record he was holding is lying there next to a little pool of blood. That’s it. Poof.
PH: And Mr. Nash couldn’t have snuck past you?
WS: How? I had him in a corner. My back pressed up against him. I would have felt him push past. Would have seen him going down the hall. No. No, he was just gone. Vanished.
PH: OK. Alright, you can’t find him. You get back outside.
WS: We looked. Looked hard but… but the fire was growing and the other engine hadn’t showed up yet. So, we had to leave the building. I took the record and we exited. Next three hours we fought that fire. Didn’t put it out until near two in the morning.
PH: The record was supposed to be handed to the officer on scene…
WS: I know that but, in the chaos, it ended up with us. In the engine, and then back at the station. As soon I noticed we had it, I called in to Stefan.
PH: Officer Di Novi.
WS: Yes. He’s a friend. We belong to the same gym, know a couple of the same people. So, when I saw I had the record, I called him. He said I should hang on to it and he’d swing by the station to grab it the next day. It wasn’t… wasn’t like we considered the damn thing evidence or… right then, it was just that Nash was missing.
PH: The record have a sleeve or jacket or whatever?
WS: No. No, it was just the disc. Corners, right? A sleeve would have corners.
PH: Your truck company consisted of five firefighters. You, captain. Nadia Tomlinson, lieutenant. Dave Carson, driver and Jalen Ordahl and Grace Zhang, firefighters.
WS: Yes.
PH: And they all saw the record?
WS: We looked it over together.
PH: Was there anything written on it or…?
WS: Yeah. The label, it was printed. Like this thing was pressed and… legit. I don’t know much about vinyl but it, uh, it didn’t look homemade or anything.
PH: And what did the label say?
WS: It had some numbers and then just this one phrase. Not like a song list or a band name or anything. Just this one phrase printed on it. It said, “Play me and I’ll come to you.”
PH: And did you?
WS: Yeah. We did. We put it on the turn table in the break room and, uh, all of us sat around and listened to it for a few minutes. First fifteen seconds were just tones. Like electronic noises. And then there was… I don’t know, like a field recording. Like someone was outside with a microphone. There was wind and chimes and maybe trees rustling. And then footsteps, crunching on rocks or pebbles. Then, then a voice came on. It was Nash.
PH: You’re saying he made this record?
WS: It was his voice for sure. But like, a lot younger. I’m guessing it was recorded twenty years ago at least. Maybe longer.
PH: And what was he saying?
WS: It’s like a spell. Near as I can describe it. It’s him, speaking English and chanting stuff. I can’t recall all the words but the phrases were a bunch of craziness. The weirdest ones were like… “cysts with twins outside the edge of light” and “praise the blood-written splinters in the hands of sepulchral seers….” All of it garbage, right? I thought so. At the time, I really thought so. But at the end of the record, it was just ten minutes long of the chanting, Nash says, “I conjure you, you are sown, you are here, you are grown, the Drawn King… come to me.”
PH: The Drawn King?
WS: Right. That was the name. What he called it. The talking stopped there. Then, we’re all sitting in the rec room, right? We’ve all just come from this fire and we’re cooling down and getting some much-needed downtime but… but that record, all of us, we were on edge. I looked around the room and, even Jalen, the coolest cat, he was looking anxious as all hell. Grace wanted to just shut it off right then and there but… we didn’t. That’s the thing I most regret, we didn’t…
PH: OK. So, what happened?
WS: The record kept going. Those sounds of the wind and the chimes and the rustling of the trees and then… then the whistling. It drifted in. Soft at first and then, louder, closer. It was the same whistle that I heard at the Oakcrest Apartments. Same exact one. I got chills, my whole body just felt… electric in the worst way. Like that inbuilt threat system we have, that primal one, it was going crazy warning me.
PH: Warning you about what?
WS: That bad shit was going down. The whistling drifted away again and then Nash came onto the microphone and he… I’m just recalling this from memory, OK? He said, “I have done the conjuring. You’ve heard it with me. Now, you are tuned. Tuned today, tuned ten years from now.” That was the word, “Tuned.” Then he said, “And if you want the Drawn King to come to you, look in the nearest corner and let him in. He is always watching you from the corners, always waiting to come through. Stare back at him, stare into the corner, then count to six, very slowly, saying his name each time… do not blink… do not turn away… you will hear the whistle and that means he is approaching. From then on, when you see him, he will come to you and he will set you free.” That’s what Nash said and that’s when the record ended.
PH: Him being…?
WS: The Drawn King.
PH: Does that mean anything to you?
WS: No. Never heard of it. Of him.
PH: And this whole thing about corners? You’re talking regular corners? Like the walls here?
WS: Yes. Any corner. Any three edges meeting. I suppose it could be as small as the corner of a cereal box or as big as the corner of a building.
PH: I never really thought of corners as being particularly scary…
WS: That’s because corners aren’t a thing you usually think about, right? Like on a daily basis or anything. But if you do think about them, if you really focus on the idea, you’ll feel this tremor in your gut. And you’ll realize that corners, they’re something you’ve always been uneasy looking at. That’s why Nash’s place was the way it was. See, that’s what I realized.
PH: His apartment?
WS: Nash got rid of all the corners in his place because he conjured up the Drawn King and… and he wasn’t safe. Like the record said, you call him, you see him, and he comes to you. Maybe… maybe Nash thought it was a good idea at first, you know? People who are into magic, they use it to try and summon… spirits, things, whatever, to become rich or find love or get power. But… but this thing, the Drawn King, I’m guessing Nash wasn’t prepared…
PH: You told Officer Rollins that you think Mr. Nash was taken by this, uh, Drawn King?
WS: Yes.
PH: And you also said that he or… it… took Dave Carson?
WS: Yes. Dave disappeared. Same way as Nash.
PH: Well, most of him disappeared. Officers recovered Dave’s lungs and larynx at your fire station.
WS: You have to understand…
PH: I’m trying to, Wyatt. To be frank, it sounds crazy.
WS: I know that. But you didn’t see what I’ve seen.
PH: Explain to me what exactly happened to Mr. Carson.
WS: After we listened to the record, everyone was upset. Creeped out. Tomlinson, Jalen, and Grace, they went upstairs. To bed. To tune out. Me and Dave, we went to the kitchen. Late night meal. Dave used to whip up these meatball sandwiches that… Anyway, he was one of those tough, city kids. Kicked out of his house when he was in high school. Minor miracle he made it to twenty-one. Even bigger miracle he got into the academy. Dave and I had our run-ins. A few tussles. But he was a good firefighter. Laser focused when he was on the job and a total clown when he wasn’t. That clown side, the joker, it’s why he decided to try it. To prove that it was bullshit. That the apartment, the record, the Drawn King, all were just products of Nash’s sick mind.
PH: OK. So, what happened?
WS: Well, Dave and I… we tried it.
PH: Tried what?
WS: Like I said, we were in the kitchen. At the table. Dave turned his chair around and pointed to a corner. It was across the room. I think we kept some gear there at one time but it was empty. Only dust and shadows. And, so, he stares at it and starts to count. With each number, he says the name. The Drawn King. We’re laughing at first. But we can’t… we both can’t help but feel this pressure. I don’t know how to explain it… like when storm is approaching and you can feel the heaviness come down, fill the air with electricity. Soon we’re both counting, slow and saying his name and our eyes are locked on the corner. We couldn’t look away. So, we get to six and that’s when we hear it. The whistle.
PH: Like at the apartment fire?
WS: Yes. Just the same. Just as haunting as on the record. A lullaby. Just a few notes.
PH: And this was coming from outside?
WS: It was distant, just like on the edge of hearing. But it wasn’t outside. It sounded exactly like it was coming from behind the corner. Like right inside of it.
PH: And you went and looked?
WS: I jumped up with my flashlight and walked over, keeping the beam on the corner. There was nothing there. Just dust. Me and Dave were both shaken though. Had that rubber-legged feeling you get when you step off a roller coaster. Adrenaline pumping. As we went upstairs, we came up with all sorts of ways to dismiss what had happened.
PH: And the rest of your company, they were—
WS: Asleep.
PH: And none of them heard the whistle?
WS: No.
PH: Alright, go on.
WS: I was in the bathroom, washing my face, when I heard it again. The whistle. Only it was real close this time. Too close. Like right there in the room with me. So, I look up, into the mirror and I see the corner of the bathroom behind me and I see him… swear to God… I see him coming out of the corner, staring right at me.
PH: Who was staring at you, Wyatt?
WS: The Drawn King. I… I just knew it was him…
PH: This was a person?
WS: Maybe, once, but something horrible had happened. He… he was on the floor, crouched down like an animal, peeking out from the corner at me. Face all… all twisted…
PH: Twisted? How?
WS: A couple years ago, we were called to a food processing plant. Guy there, he fell into one of those industrial mixers. The kind with the massive stainless-steel whisks. It pulled him like taffy. Taffy with bones in it. And that’s what the Drawn King looked like, only… only he was moving. Alive. Staring at me. I closed my eyes and when I opened them… he was gone. That’s when I heard something, downstairs.
PH: And Dave Carson, was he upstairs with you still or…?
WS: He was in the bay, holding an axe and a flashlight. Looking under the engines. All panicked and sweating. Dave nearly cut me in half when I came up on him. I’d said his name, loud, but he… he was too far gone. I asked him what he was doing and he told me someone was after him. Someone all bent, warped out of shape. And I knew… I knew he’d caught a glimpse of him too. We searched the garage, every inch. Didn’t find anything.
PH: Did you rouse the others or—
WS: No. We were… we were feeling foolish. Neither of us wanted to admit we were seeing things. And the same thing at that. We figured we were just exhausted. Stressed out. We talked about it being PTSD from the encounter with Nash but… but Dave hadn’t been inside the apartment. So, we turned on all the lights in the kitchen. Sat there. Tried to calm down. Had some tea. Dave said he thought it could be something he’d read about in a book when he was taking classes at the community college. Something called folie à deux.
PH: That’s a mental condition, correct?
WS: Yes. It’s where two or more people share the same psychotic delusion. Like seeing something following you, something coming out from the corners. I mean, I’d never heard of it before but it made sense, right? We both had listened to the record. Stared at the corner. Counted and said his name. We heard the whistle. Maybe we both had a mental break at the same time, you know? Stranger things have happened, right? Anyway, that kind of calmed me down a bit. Calmed us both down.
PH: Alright…
WS: There was no way we were going back to sleep. Dawn was close. Lights were all on. And, after an hour of quiet, of not seeing anything, we felt kinda stupid. Like kids who scare themselves telling ghost stories or trying to freak each other out. Nash, the record, it had all gotten under our skin. Dave, he wanted to smoke. He’d do it in the parking lot out back. This time though, we kept the door open, just in case. I don’t know if it was so that he could keep an eye on me. Or for me to keep tabs on him. Again, our nerves had gotten fried and our minds were getting the best of us. So, Dave goes over to the door, pushes it open, and steps out. But he keeps his foot there so, you know, I can see him. And it’s dark out but there’s a light in the lot so it’s not like… Anyway, he lights up a smoke. Takes a couple drags. Kinda laughs. I remember that… and then, we hear it again. The whistle. Only this time… this time… this…
PH: It’s OK. Take a breath. What’d you hear?
WS: The whistle… it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t off in the distance or above us or inside the corner. It was loud. Loud like fucking thunder. Enough to make us want to cover our ears. Like an air-raid siren. And… and Dave turned and looked at me… and we both knew. My God… in that split second, we both knew and… I don’t know to describe it but it was like our souls just shattered. He knew it was the end… his eyes locked on me and… and…
PH: Take your time.
WS: He screamed. Dave screamed the same as Nash. The same as someone being burned alive. And as he screamed, his eyes just boring holes into mine, his pain and fear and… he turned to look, outside, at the corner of the station, and… and the Drawn King grabbed Dave, dragged him outside on his belly. Dave’s nails grinding desperately into the asphalt. And the door slammed shut.
PH: You saw this?
WS: Yes. I… I saw the Drawn King’s arms. His hands. Those fingers were too long… too sharp. He had Dave by the back and… and there was blood… blood spraying everywhere…
PH: And you…
WS: I ran out there after him. Yelling his name. And, I kicked open the door and… there was his cigarette there. Still lit. Still smoking. And… and there was a big puddle of thick blood… it had body parts in it… pieces…
PH: And no sign of the rest Dave Carson?
WS: No sign. I swear to God. He was gone and…
PH: And this Drawn King took him?
WS: I know how it sounds, OK? I do.
PH: But you didn’t wake the others or call the cops, right? You did something else…
WS: Yes. I went back inside. Into the kitchen. The record that Nash had made, it was sitting there on the counter and… and I smashed it. Then as the sun was coming up, I threw the pieces in the field. That’s when I realized that Nash, he’d defeated the Drawn King by rounding off all the corners in his apartment, right? It… it kept him safe for decades. I… I couldn’t do that. How was I going to do that? So, I realized there was another way…
PH: You cut your eyes out.
WS: With a potato peeler. I suppose a knife or a pen would have been easier.
PH: And why did you do that, Wyatt?
WS: It was the thing I remembered Nash saying on the record. I guess maybe he didn’t think of it or he didn’t have the guts to go through with it. Me, I didn’t want to be trapped like a zoo animal the way he was. So… so I figured I’d do the other thing. If I can’t see the Drawn King, then he can’t come to me.
PH: I’m pretty sure my five-year-old nephew thinks the same way.
WS: Obviously it worked. I’m here, aren’t I?
PH: Yeah, you’re here.
WS: It’s a good thing those records burned. That I smashed up the very last one.
PH: Dave Carson’s dead, Wyatt. Torn to pieces, basically. And you’re the last person seen with him. I should remind you that, according to your company, Nadia Tomlinson, Grace Zhang, when they came downstairs at the station, they found quite a scene. Your eyeballs on the kitchen counter. Dave Carson missing. Big puddle of blood. You babbling about things coming out of corners. It’s a bad look. Mrs. Tomlinson, she says you were acting strange after the fire. After listening to the record. And, as you said, you and Dave had run-ins before.
WS: I didn’t kill him.
PH: Your fingerprints were on Dave Carson’s windpipe. His blood was also all over your hands.
WS: I told you how I found him.
PH: You’re going to be charged with Mr. Carson’s murder, Wyatt.
WS: Well, I won’t be convicted. I didn’t do it. I’ll prove it in court.
PH: We have a lot of evidence to the contrary. And besides, I’ve heard the record.
WS: What…?
PH: Sit down. Now. Listen to me… in the basement of the Oakcrest apartments, there’s a storage room that survived the fire. And the water. We did a thorough investigation, found two boxes of the Nash records. I listened to one of them last night. Your description is very accurate. In fact, I have the record right here on the table in front of you.
WS: So, you know…
PH: It’s just a creepy novelty record is all. A joke. The contents of the boxes, the other records, we dropped them off at a donation center.
WS: Please… please… I don’t want to do this…
PH: Do what, Wyatt? Confess to killing Mr. Carson?
WS: No.
PH: Wyatt… Wyatt, you’re kidding me, right? You think that if I look at a corner right now. If I, what…? Count to six and say the Drawn King over and over that… that he’ll appear? Like Mephistopheles?
WS: Please… I’m begging you… you heard the record.
PH: I’m going to prove to you that the Drawn King doesn’t exist. That you’ve been… tainted by that record. By your own mental illness. Your deep-seated hatred for Mr. Carson.
PH: Don’t…
PH. For the record, no pun intended, I’m, uh… I’m turning to the corner to my left. On the floor. It is empty. Maybe a dust bunny or two. Certainly nothing scary or twisted there. And I am staring at the corner. Here we go. One… the Drawn King… two… the Drawn King… three…
WS: Don’t do this, detective! PLEASE!
PH: Three… the Drawn King… four… the Drawn King… five… the Drawn King…
WS: I’m begging you. I’m begging you.
PH: Six… the Drawn King and… and now. How long, Wyatt?
WS: No…
PH: I don’t hear anything. No whistle. No creepy noises at all. And, I’m looking, and… nope. There’s no person hiding in the corner. But I was right about the dust bunny.
(Note: An audible whistling is heard on the tape recording. It is of medium volume. Melodic.)
WS: Oh my God…
PH: Don’t fuck with me, Wyatt.
WS: You heard it! YOU HEARD IT! He’s coming…
PH: I will be back in a minute. You stay seated and… Jesus… what is…?
WS: You see him! I KNOW YOU SEE HIM!
PH: What is… No… no, no, no…
WS: Use your pen! USE YOUR PEN!
(There is a garbled scream. Believed to be from Detective Hernandez.)
Tape cuts out.