My mother passed away recently. I don’t need condolences. Growing up, she worked nights and weekends. I saw more of my aunts, cousins, neighbors, or whatever pseudo babysitter she could find than her, and I think she preferred it that way. I never would’ve known she was gone if my extended family hadn’t called. She was a very closed-off and secretive woman. However, when going through her things, I found a box tucked away behind a beam in the attic, like a Christmas present your parents didn’t want you to see, and I was drawn to it like a child who couldn’t wait for the 25th. Inside were copies of diary entries from a long time ago. My mom used to work at a kind of museum in the 80s. It was like a company town that had closed down in the 1940s, and they turned the whole thing into a giant museum. Apparently, the company had asked the workers to keep diaries to boost morale. When I initially found these, it felt like when you’re the first person to find a secret in a video game, the idea of being the guy to bring these to the public was irresistible. Now, I see how selfish I was. Allowing what these people went through to be buried in cobwebs and dust is the cruelest thing my mother has ever done. I’m here to fix that. What you’re about to read is a collection of diary entries chronicling the largest case of shared delusion in history.
Date: Mar 17, 1930
Diary: John Evans
I arose at half past five had breakfast at half past six. I went to kiss my wife and thank her for the meal. Then I headed out for the mine. However, I experienced the same phenomena again. I am grateful for being able to live here and having food and shelter for my family, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape the thought that this town is unsafe. I walked down its forked road towards the smokestacks that we’ve grown out of the town’s head. A walk I know all too well. A walk I could make with my eyes closed. Yet, I still found myself turned around heading towards the town’s exit. I lay awake at night with the urge to tell my wife to pack our things so we can leave, but I know not why. I believe my body knows something I do not. That this town isn’t right. I’ve talked to the others. They feel it, too. All except Worth, or “Mr. Murley,” as he asks to be called. The man wants us to treat him as if we’re schoolchildren and he’s our instructor. Like an adult comforting a terrified child, he assured me that everything was fine. I want to believe him; I have no grounding for these thoughts. A logical man such as myself would conclude that this is simply me adjusting to our new home. But I don’t believe that. I know that there’s something that Murley is keeping from us.
Date: June 19th 1936
Diary: George Davis
One year ago, I was celebrating the first anniversary of my pastorate. Now, I work at a coal mine. I can see the sadness in my co-worker’s eyes when they hear this fact. What those who ignorantly pity me don’t understand is that, as a pastor, I never saw the fruits of my labor. I have no evidence that one’s soul has been delivered to Christ. Here, I know that I am a part of Texas’ biggest economic opportunity. I can see how I affect my community. I am still a believer which is why I asked Mr. Murley if he would like me to preach on Sundays. Murley never struck me as a religious man, but he did have a church built. One thing did strike me as odd, though. Whenever he spoke of God, he referred to him as “King.” This isn’t too strange. Many people say this, but typically I find a variety. People would say, Christ, our Lord, the Messiah. I didn’t pay it any mind. Who am I to judge how one worships?
Date: June 20th 1936
Diary: George Davis
Mr. Murley did say he would allow them to preach. So tonight, instead of heading home, I went to prepare for my introductory sermon. It is no secret that we haven’t felt at home in Warnell, but that - Even as I write this, I struggle to call that thing a church. That building was different. At that moment, I thought if I went inside, I would never come out. I had to will my body to even open the doors. My feet quivered as I entered the doors. Aside from my thunderous heartbeat, it was quiet. That’s when I noticed. Something that was so obvious that I should’ve noticed before. In the church, there were pughs and an altar but no crosses. There were stained glass windows, but they depicted signs I’d never seen. In front of the altar was a statue. Not of Jesus, or Mary, or any Saint I know. Just a man whose eyes stared through me from across the room. I didn’t even notice, but I was stepping backward. When my heel hit the floor, a voice echoed throughout the room. They screamed for me to leave. My feet moved without me thinking, and I ran home. I do not know what “king” Worth worships, but it is not my God.
Date: June 21st 1936
Diary: Jackson Murley
As it was Sunday, we went to church. This time, we were promised a sermon from Davis. He seemed so excited when he told us about it so I was shocked to find out he wouldn’t be doing it. In fact, he left in the middle of the night. So, instead, we did what we normally do. We prayed, and then we went home. I stayed a little longer than the others, and that’s when I heard something that I hadn’t heard since I was a boy. Something that I was certain was just the imagination of a young child. The statue. The one that sat behind the altar. It spoke. It told me the time was near. I know what it wants. My father told me I was being silly back then, but I know what it wants. I will lock my door and answer it for no one tonight. I would rather die by my own hand than give it what it wants.
Date: June 21st 1936
Diary: Worth Murley
This morning, at the crack of dawn, I met with Davis. He told me that he’d be leaving. He accused me of witchcraft. I told him that was groundless. He didn’t listen. That’s fine. With how successful the company is, he will be easily replaced. Hopefully, we’ll bring in workers with proper discipline and moral feeling. Now, I am left with nothing but an unruly flock. I must remember what’s necessary to maintain that success. My dear son Jackson, I apologize for what will happen, but you must understand that it is necessary for our family. We will be able to pass wealth on to generations. Tonight, I will visit you and do what needs to be done. You will not be forgotten.
Date: January 4th 1941
Diary: Amanda Murley
I thought it was appropriate for a husband and wife’s last words to be in the same place. There is no one left in Warnell. Stories spread about a mysterious knocking at night. The next morning, they’d find a stiffened corpse, their skin a sickly white. They begged me to leave as well. They believe there’s nothing left for me here. My husband and son are gone, and the company has collapsed. But I heard it, too. Last night, there was a knocking at my door. In my fear, I asked who it was. My heart dropped when he said he was my husband. The voice on the other side of the door sounded like air escaping from a cadaver, but it was definitely my Worth’s voice. I will never forget it. I covered my mouth to not wake my daughter. My heart broke when he asked to see Jackson. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was gone, too. He begged to be let in. I knew that if I opened the door he would take us with him. I told him that it was late and that if he came the next night, I would let him in. I sent Riley away with everyone else. Tonight, I’ll join my husband and son.
Date: March 17th 1957
Diary: Riley Murley
Dear my late mother and father. There’s so much I wish I could tell you. I kept our town alive. Warnell’s a historic district now. Everyone wants to see Texas’s economic jewel. I won’t let our home die. I won’t let our dream die. I found your things, Dad. I understand now. What you needed to do and what Jackson was too naive to understand. I have two children. Ryan is my first option, but if I fail, I’ll use Eliza. I’m not going to let you down. I will do what’s necessary.
It truly pains me to think about the mental anguish these people were in. I can only imagine that living in such a secluded area caused this.