Part 1 of this story here.
Now, I questioned if I was really a follower.
It was a potentially dangerous idea. The other end of the line brings about more mysteries than I was already comfortable with. I think one could observe I was knee-deep by now.
The work day felt agonisingly slow. Each hour felt as though it was ten, and I found myself constantly examining the clock, and was always disappointed by the muck of time that was holding me hostage at my desk. 5 PM was a blessing when it arrived.
I began to recall a conversation I had with my mother at her home a few days before. I could not recall what was actually being said - some filler about the weather, my sister, other random topics. But what I could fully embrace was the feeling of that conversation. It felt warm. That hadn’t happened in some time.
I don’t know, I just felt like adding that.
It took until around 8:30 when I had mustered the courage to call the number on the card. A stupid decision, one out of morbid curiosity, and with a deep hope that I would nerve up and notify the police afterwards. To be frank, I would have believed that I would have done so by that point - yet I hadn’t. My curiosity was not only guiding me, it was deceiving me.
I sat there, on the couch. My door was locked. The curtains were closed. I then called the number.
I heard someone pick up. They did not say anything, perhaps waiting for me first. After some moments of nothing, I uttered a “Hello?”.
“Did you get this number on a card?” It sounded like a man.
“Y- yes, I did.” I was stuttering already out of sheer anticipation.
“Describe it. The card.”
I held it back up in front of me.
“There’s not much to describe, it’s blank on one side, it’s white. The number is in purple.”
A pause again.
“Who gave you the card?”
I now pondered what to say. How should I describe it? Would it be believable? I resolved that none of this situation was very believable to begin with.
“He was wearing all black, he broke into my apartment. He looked dishevelled, kind of.”
Silent. I really could not take this. I said something like:
“I don’t know what it is you want from me. You’ve broken into my home twice. I don’t know what you’re running. I don’t know what this is, but I just want you to please leave me alone.”
Silence again. Then the voice said, “Pen and paper.”
I was confused, but followed his instructions out of sheer wonder of what he could possibly tell me to write. After a minute of scavenging for the items and setting them down (and already regretting that I was complying), I gave him an “Okay”. He then gave me the name of a website, that of which is still active to my knowledge. I will not disclose the name.
I asked, “What is this site?”
“You’ll find out when you go on. There are no viruses or malware on there. You don’t have to worry about that.” My computer already had a bunch of antivirus software on it, but it wasn’t top-of-the-line.
One more silence, then I asked a question that had been burning into my thoughts and clouding them for some time.
“Why me? Have you done this to anyone else?”
Silent.
“You’re (they stated my correct first and last name, and my middle initial), is that right?”
I didn’t even know what to think at that point.
“If that’s correct, you’ll understand. Thank you for your time.”
They hung up. I felt like crying my eyes out again, but I was rendered into this speechless, emotionless state of shock that I can only describe as a fearful dissociation. I felt that I was viewing myself from another perspective.
It was Friday, I only worked some Saturdays, the next day was not one of them. I let myself traverse into whatever rabbit hole I would find.
The website claimed a secure connection. Immediately upon entering, I would find myself scrolling through video players, clicking on a few hesitantly. They were seemingly advertisements to a location near my residence - only a mile away, closer to the heart of the city. They would feature all kinds of people, young and old, some looking a tad more loved than others. Prominently, someone would usually be speaking to the camera about the wonders of this place (extremely vaguely), sounding like a junk-driven hippie. I recall one in particular that I revisited a few times, typed here:
“Time is ticking. Everybody always likes to make up what they can. This world isn’t going to be easy for us. But we can make it together. Our community, at the tip of Illinois, comes together as one - when life has discredited us, when life has desecrated us. We always have each other.”
Then the address popped up on the screen as the video ended. I now pondered what I was told on the phone. How would this apply to me, so they said? I would understand? I scrolled down further and found a link at the bottom of the page, titled “Flag to Be”. Here went nothing, then.
Clicking on it, I was taken to a screenshot of a strange-looking poem on a white screen in large font. It read:
“The foundation of society is built on the riches.All riches started from rags.Our bodies flail with flinches,Our skin met with pinches,But none can disgrace the colours of our flag.
Our pride and joy not deep in drought,Our bones of steel are hardenedBy discontent from bargains.They state we are a cretin,But yet we are allowed.”
In the bottom right of the screen, I could see it was written by “Fantaspider”. Allow me to explain why this shook me further.
When I was in high school, I had this friend, for the sake of this story, that we will call Lance. He was born in Australia, and lived there for the first ten-ish years of his life. He once gave me and our mutual friends this trivia-esque fact that in Australia only, there was this short-lived soda product called Fanta Spider. For some reason, they found that absurdly hilarious because of Australia’s reputation as spider territory. Plus, he was the type to host parties in his senior year, at which he would always noticeably serve a lot of Fanta. So his friends gave him the name “Fanta Spider”, and it spread like wildfire.
It was a stupid nickname and I wasn’t sure why it stuck, but he told them he liked it. Now I’m questioning.. is this the same guy? He told me years back that he had wanted to move back home when he finished college, which would have probably been a couple of years ago. Did he just stick around in freezing Illinois? Glenview isn’t that bad, I suppose.
I no longer had his phone number, so I asked another kind-of-old-friend of mine. Sure enough, on the first try, she had it far in her contacts list. She did question why I was asking for it - to which I only responded that it had been a while and I’d wanted to reach out again. A tiny bit unnatural for me, but she had obliged regardless.
I called the number, and it went straight to voicemail, an automated message. I scoured the website for anything else, but it was bare as bones, with nothing else to find. I went to bed that evening only to fall asleep deep into the morning. When I woke up and checked my phone immediately - albeit, a bad habit of mine - I found a missed call (my phone’s ringer was not on) from around 5 AM. From the exact same number I had dialed the night before.
I called it again, and the other end picked up, saying nothing.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, who is this?” That was his voice.
“Lance, hi, it’s Jen.” (Jen is a placeholder here for my real name)
“Seriously?” He sounded gobsmacked. “Wow, you still had my number?”
I had deleted it a while back. I was going through something.
We then went over the rudimentary how-have-you-been-doing type of questions before I addressed the ‘Fantaspider’ alias I saw last night.
“That.. yeah. Listen, I actually still live in the area, so we could meet up and discuss.”
He gave a location and a time for later that day, and I agreed to it. We met at 7:00 PM at a cafe in Cicero.
I observed that the place seemed pretty well-kept, then walked in to find he was sitting down at a corner table. We waved and I sat.
Throughout our conversation, I told him about my job, my family, my father passing. He told me he had dropped out of Columbia College after a year. His single mother died of pneumonia, and he was growing increasingly lonely and depressed on campus. He gave up on his bachelor’s after his grades dropped drastically, he lost his apartment, was essentially rendered homeless, and quickly developed a drinking habit. He explained that he still drank occasionally, but it was no longer an issue.
But then, his enthusiasm seemed to rise as he went about the group he encountered. It was named “Chicago’s Ark”. He mentioned someone on the street meeting him while he was homeless, and giving him a card with a phone number on it. He knew that it felt shady, but continued on regardless, unfeeling and uncaring.
He continued to describe the eccentric but welcoming nature of the community, living near the middle of the city under an overpass. But I still struggled to believe it. I then described to him the events in my apartment, and he resolved to take me there himself one night to sort things out, in case this was potentially linked to this group, which he had doubted, but still believed as a possibility. He also mentioned that he could link me to this group for some money. He admitted that they engaged in some forms of illegal activity that he could not detail, but nothing serious and nothing violent.
My interests were torn between both sides. I had been struggling to pay the rent already - what with being underpaid to begin with working a monotonous desk job, plus my occasional dash of compulsive spending. I inquired on how I could belong, how I was truly unfortunate at this time, what the videos had claimed to support and uplift. I was doing fine from an outsider’s perspective.
“They know a lot of things around the city, probably stuff you or others would never know.” The connections they had in the city ran deep.
Well, that was reassuring.
I noticed throughout our conversation that a man was constantly entering and exiting the store to go inside the bathroom. He was wearing dark clothing and a pork pie hat, and I was rarely able to see any of his face. It pestered me throughout our talk. I only saw an eye of his when he glanced over at me for half a second before leaving the store for the final time.
I told him I would think about the offer, he paid for my coffee, and I bid him goodnight. Yet, I could still wonder what he meant when he said this group knew things no one else would know. I was curious as to how far their criminal recreation went (not that I hadn’t been there myself).
The night passes, and Sunday arrives. My mail that day - I rarely had any - included one letter that both perplexed and severely angered me. My work had laid me off out of fucking nowhere. I then got a text from a work friend telling me of the same thing happening to her. Completely blindsided, I called the office, and they confirmed that many employees had been receiving layoffs, but would not give me any details.
The week progressed in a lonely daze, save for one (increasingly rare) conversation with my sister. I received a call on Wednesday - from Lance. He asked if I had considered the offer, to which I confirmed that I had, but had not yet made up my mind. He told me he would respect if I was to decline, but abruptly hung up.
Nothing felt normal. I drank a lot that night and imagined things I don’t wish to describe.
Friday was when I drove around aimlessly. I seemingly had no way of understanding anything now, so the best thing I could do was to let everything go, even just for a moment. Just don’t think about this.
And then I drove past my workplace. Or, what used to be, I suppose.
The building was blackened by an apparent fire that seemed to have coated it, surrounded by yellow caution tape. My vision turned to a deep grey just looking at it. I then drove away.
I think I nearly caused a collision a couple of times as an image repeatedly emerged into my head. The black figure on the subway. The dark shadow that was encroaching my reality almost made me crunch into another vehicle.
My thoughts at this time included, but were not limited to:
“This isn’t happening.”
“It’s a mind warp.”
“This is not real.”
“PLEASE DO NOT BE ALERT.”
At home, I called Lance.
From him, “Hello?”
One may judge, yet I took a deep breath and accepted his offer.
Part 3 of this story here.