I’ve reposted this file here because I was hoping some of you would have any information on the events described below. I’ve been hired by the Franklin family to investigate the disappearance of their son Alexander in the Northern Ontario wilderness. This excerpt posted on a private forum was the last recorded activity from Alexander’s cell phone before it went dark.
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If this eventually posts, take it as a warning. My days in the Canadian wilderness are over. There are too many things that can go wrong. Too many things out THERE that are just plain wrong. The sun’s setting now and I just want a bed and a handle of bourbon. I told the woman when she picked me up on the side of the road to take me to town. She asked which and I said any one I didn’t care, just get me out of these woods.
Shit. My hand is sticky with blood from cupping the oozing wound that has a part of my eyebrow peeling off my head. Sorry, a bump in the road just caused a painful jolt that snapped me out of my thoughts. I’m writing this on my phone, my shaky, blood-slicked hands clenching tight onto what I feel is my lifeline in the passenger seat of a small blue shitbox of a pickup. The middle-aged woman in the driver’s seat has been glancing at me at a rate of about 10 stares per minute. I probably look and smell like garbage but the lady’s stupid gaping mouth and judging eyes cast in my direction is not helping the residue of panic and primal frenzy that vibrates in my bones. I have to deliberately control myself to not snap at her, ‘Keep your eyes on the damn road! I didn’t and look what happened to me…’ what I found… and what has most likely found me…
Something’s keeping pace with us in the trees that border the road. I frequently stop my frantic typing to glimpse empty highway behind us and the thick, infinite forest parallel to the highway. The speedometer says 100 km. I ask the driver if she can go any faster… 110 km now. My eyes can’t focus on much out there, but they don’t need to. I can see how the jack pines shiver a few meters into the forest next to us, deep enough that the dense shrubs and greenery veil it from sight. But I can feel it. A chill hovers over my skin, the invisible but very real source of my goose pimples. No matter our speed, it easily shadows our small truck.
I think I’m going to vomit. I need to focus on something else.
I’ll write down what happened and by the time I’m done we should be at the nearest town….
I took a week off work and underwent the three-hour drive to my isolated cabin in the woods. It’s cliché, I know, but the place is far enough away from civilization that there’s no service, and I like that. I view my trips up there as a detox from internet and other stressors of daily life. After getting out of town, and about an hour and a half stretch on a two-lane highway deep in the northwoods of Ontario, I turned off onto an unmarked dirt road and followed it for about five miles into the heart of the forest. The dirt road opens up into a clearing and there I was greeted by a large, mostly uninhabited lake and the log cabin my great-grandfather built in the ‘50s.
I arrived around 8:30PM with the sun setting and spent the rest of the night unpacking and taking in the atmosphere of silence and tranquility. The vacation would start in earnest tomorrow.
The day started on the lake, and by noon the sun’s heat was beating down on me from above. I’ve found that fishing’s always been the best antidote for nagging thoughts and the overbearing weight of the world. I lifted my rod to recast my line and would’ve completed the action without incident if a surprisingly loud wail of a loon in the waters behind me hadn’t shattered the silence of the lake and my concentration with it. My body reflexively jumped and the shift in weight sent my small boat careening. I lost my balance and collapsed atop my fishing pole.
What felt like a million bee-stings assaulted my right eyebrow, and I felt the skin tear in blinding agony, pulling and ripping like a shirt would. I gasped a breath of sharp air and let loose a snarl of pain, my hands scrabbling for the reel. My fingers quickly found and pressed the release button, removing the tension that the line was creating between my forehead and the rod.
Bringing my breathing somewhat under control, and after a pair of shaky breaths, I probed cautiously with my fingers, starting at my eyes and reaching up towards my scalp. My nail flicked the lure that had two of its hooks buried deep into my flesh, sending a lightning bolt of pain through my skull. Lurching back and pulling my hand away I saw blood adorning my fingers and knew that the day was officially ruined.
I hastily, but also carefully, settled into my seat, started the boat motor and made a beeline for the shore. I knew there was no way I could just yank the hooks out of me - not with the barbs lodged in there - without causing more damage to my face.
Reaching the shore, I cut the line as close to the hook as possible and then lept onto the dock, quickly tying lazy knots on both ends of boat. I raced past my cabin and down the dirt road where my car was parked for the week, carefully stripping the shirt off my head as blood poured like a faucet out of me.
My wallet was still inside in the cabin but I doubt a cop would’ve cared if one happened to pull me over. I started the car and drove the 5 miles of dirt road and forest before turning onto the highway.
I probably looked like a raving lunatic. Zipping along with a neon orange lure jangling against the side of my brow, leaking blood from my temple and down my bare abdomen to finally pool about my waistband. Right around where I guessed was the halfway point between my remote cabin and the nearest town, Atikokan, the rivulet of scarlet liquid slowly began to dry, a bright red contrasting against my ivory skin. Involuntarily, feeding into the magnetic pull that my bloodied forehead seemed to emit, my eyes persisted in flickering to the rearview mirror of my Sentra.
By God, listen to them when they say head wounds bleed buckets. A few more glances confirmed the gash wasn’t too serious, but I started to feel a moist intrusion begin to creep into my eye socket. Fueled by adrenaline, my muscles strained through my calf as I pushed the accelerator to the carpet of my car. Closing my eye, I twisted and shook my head to redirect the blood away from the edge of my eyelids but it seemed futile as the red wetness continued on its path. Once more I gave into the urge and glanced up into the mirror again.
I had the chance to watch the blood overtake my lashes and finally seep into the whiteness of my eye before my nerves blinded my brain with an intense stinging which instantly overwhelmed my thoughts. The muscles throughout my body spasmed, and enough so, that when my focus returned to the highway I was speeding down, the world exploded.
The only sense that didn’t fail me in the proceeding 5 seconds was my audition. Four windows simultaneously shattering and the mind-numbing screeching, screaming, shredding of metal were all that existed in that sliver of memory I carry. And then, just the wind…
Someone had turned all the lights in the world off and I couldn’t see. Darkness soon melted and shaped into pixels, like the retro Mario games on the original Nintendo. Blinking lights and shapes; rectangles, cylinders, circles. These shapes slowly resolved themselves into a truck, the surrounding trees, and a lone deflated tire in the middle of the road.
I slowly regained my bearings, coming out of an almost trance-like state, staring through my half-intact windshield.
Glass, car fluid, and automobile scrap bridged the space between where my totaled car rested and the uneven semi that leaned onto the shoulder of the road. My car had spun around in the high-speed wreck, and I could see the ass-end of a truck along with its’ license plate: BOOZCRUZ.
‘Dumb sonofab-’, was all I had time to think before the door swung open.
A hole-spotted and discolored boot that probably was chestnut at purchase, but now showing varying shades of disuse and neglect descended lethargically from the interior of the driver seat. The heel clicked onto the step-rail between the truck door and the pavement and his pants were as promising as his boots; mud-caked black cargos, with rips and tears adorning the length of them vertically.
Before the rest of him was made visible from my position – still dazed and seated in my own wrecked car, absent-mindedly fumbling with my seatbelt – a small brown blur dropped from the open door, bounced off the step-rail and burst onto the ground in an array of glass shards. I didn’t have my contacts on at the time but it was no doubt a bottle of liquor, and being familiar with area, I guessed whiskey.
I cursed the stupid bastard in my head but also felt relief begin to well up inside me as I realized my part and blame in the happening of this wreck had suddenly evaporated. I stopped my attempts to free myself from my seatbelt and instead looked around for my iPhone, which I found after a few seconds under the pedals at my feet.
I was able to retrieve it, leaning down, but not without feeling the signs of cracked ribs present in my abdomen. Better to call emergency services. Let them do their jobs instead of moving around and risking worsening my injuries. I held my phone up in front of me and noticed in my reflection that the lure had tore itself free from my forehead. Half of my eyebrow now hung an inch off my skull. However, the dozens of aches and sharp pains throughout my body drowned out any feeling I had from the now gaping wound.
A crunch of glass made me lift my eyes back to the road to see the driver out of his truck, clumsily turning in place to survey the scene. He was about 15 to 20 meters away, and as the man turned his face toward me, I spotted a scraggly and unkept beard occupying his middle-aged face and along his neck. He sported a camo long-sleeve which struggled to cover a protruding beer-belly and a matching camo cap covering a mess of greasy black hair which reached past his ears and matted to the front of his forehead. The camouflaged man looked as if a picture of him could be next to the definition of the terms ‘hick’ or ‘repeat offender’ in a dictionary. He swayed and teetered with the trees around the highway as a gust of wind blew across the forest.
It honestly brought a smile to my face and a giggle creeping up my throat as I watched Camo windmill his arms attempting to maintain his balance. He succeeded. After steadying himself, Camo’s head swiveled over to my car, his dark eyes darting erratically about it before finally meeting mine. He squinted as if he saw three of me and was desperately trying to figure out which one was real. I must’ve been in shock because I had to stifle a chuckle, still caked in my own blood.
Camo began to look nervous and fidgeting and looking around wildly, but that added to the hilarity. I may have gotten hit by a truck but at least I had some entertainment.
Then, suddenly, he stumbled backwards, turned, and began to climb back into the truck. I almost panicked, thinking he was about to dip out, but then I remembered his ridiculous license plate and the laughter sprang out freely this time. Dumbass thinks he’s just going to drive home free, incognito and get away with it.
That’s what I thought at the time. I wish I knew better. Isolated out on this lonely highway road, no cars in sight.
I was still laughing when I turned my phone on and saw no service. The laughter died in my throat when I looked back up and saw Camo next to his truck facing me, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and taking deep breaths. He was standing very still, one arm seemingly flexing. My eyes traced down his camo sleeve and found the black, onyx blade extending from his clenched fist.
Drunkenly but with determined purpose he began to walk, slowly covering the distance between us.
It took me a second or two to comprehend what was about to occur, but I know how to take a hint. I lunged for my door handle, immediately being choked by my still fastened seatbelt. I unclipped it and this time threw myself against the door but it wouldn’t budge, most likely jammed shut from the crash.
I shot my eyes back up through the windshield and saw that Camo had covered half of the original distance between us. He most likely could’ve been on me by then if not for his heavy intoxication. He gave his machete a practice swing, the blade whistling as it cleaved through the air.
Wincing and groaning in pain, I maneuvered onto my back, and after three swift and painful kicks to the driver side door, it popped open, and I clambered out. Gravity pulled me to the ground and I desperately pushed myself up onto my feet, my legs shaking and threatening to give out. I risked another look towards Camo.
My car heaved as Camo brought his arm down in a killing blow, burying his weapon into the steel hood of my Sentra.
Frozen in place, I stared for a heartbeat before leaping toward him in a panicked attempt to disarm my assailant. Just as I got close enough to wrap my hands around the hilt of the machete, Camo wrenched it free from the metal. His fist swatted me back a few feet onto my ass and I was shocked by the surprising amount of strength he was able to produce from such a short swing.
I scuttled backwards and jumped to my feet before running towards the forest, abandoning the short-lived bravado that had inspired me to try and take the weapon from him. I broke through the tree line and plunged into the foliage of the deep, dense forest.
The chase had begun.
I could hear Camo in pursuit but I didn’t dare look back, directing all my energy and focus instead on what lay ahead, trying to put as much distance between myself and the drunken maniac behind me. Adrenaline coursed from head to toe fueling my body to fight for its survival. My eyes bounced from rock to branch to tree to root, playing a dangerous, high-speed game of hopscotch knowing any mistake or misplaced foot could cost me a sprained ankle, a broken bone, or my life.
My foot slipped on moss growing over a rock and I stumbled, quickly regained my pace and pushed forward. During that close call I was able to spy Camo a good distance behind me having far more trouble getting around the obstacles of the forest than me.
I must’ve ran for about five more minutes before I could no longer hear or see my pursuer. I bent over, placed my hands on my knees and gulped large mouthfuls of air into my lungs, cooling the fire that had begun to burn inside my chest.
I needed to come up with something fast. Camo clearly had the strength advantage over me so a physical confrontation was not an option. I seemed to be quicker than him, for now at least. I didn’t know how fast the alcohol was wearing off but attempted murder is sobering for everyone involved. For now I had to outthink him.
I surveyed my immediate surroundings looking for anything I could use to give me an opportunity to overwhelm Camo or even better, a chance to escape.
The adrenaline that had been flooding my system seemed to be gradually ebbing. Pain slowly creeped over every aching muscle in my body once again and I had to remind myself I was in a car wreck.
After a few seconds I noticed a rock face covered in branches and leaves further up ahead. I jogged over and after following along the 10-meter-high rock wall I found something I could work with.
An opening stretched wide, allowing entry into the Earth. The ground sloped down a few feet into the blackness that the small cave cast upon the space inside. I stared into the impenetrable void which seemed to smother all light that came near the mouth of the cave. Remembering it now, I swear the hairs all over my body had raised, desperately trying to warn me of… I guess I still don’t know what.
I had forgotten where I was for some time, until I began to hear twigs snapping and leaves rustling in the distance. My brain flared, I needed to move fast. I looked toward the cave and saw rocks littering the ground in front of it. I glanced behind me at the trees leading up to the entrance of it.
I sprang into action.
I stamped and grinded the foliage in a path leading up to the cave. It didn’t matter if it was obvious, as I doubt Camo was in the right state of mind for any sort of critical thinking. After making an impression leading up to the yawning mouth of the cave, I turned in place and hopped, rock to rock, avoiding making any marks leading away from the rock face. I reached the nearest tree and began to climb…
Now perched about 6 meters off the ground I waited.
Not long after, Camo was in view. As I had thought, he was looking at the ground, following the imprint I left as I ran through the forest. His arms swung cheerfully and his machete followed suite, clipping the tops off of nearby plants and branches. Despite this, he looked focused. Determined to find his prey.
As he crept closer I held my breath. I was confident in my position, but there was no room for error.
Finally, Camo stopped. He had reached the mouth of the cave. Standing a couple meters from where the opening began, I could barely see his face from the branch I was sitting in.
Camo was peering into the vacuum that seemed to suck the light away from the day. His brow was furrowed and his face seemed uneasy. It seemed as though he was looking for something in that hole. Searching… I swear I heard noises unnatural to a forest in those seconds. Voices as light as the wind. Whispers from the darkness.
Suddenly, as if tasered, Camo stiffened like a board. His legs straightened and his fist clenched so tight around the machete, his knuckles whitened. His head was locked in place, now staring at the ground, and I could see the vein in his neck bulge, as if he was exerting an extreme amount of energy and concentration.
The hairs all over my body stood up on end, the same as when I had first discovered that God forsaken cave. What was happening? I couldn’t see Camo’s face and I shifted my weight to in an attempt to get a better view.
The snap of the branch underneath me and the immediate weightlessness that followed awakened a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I desperately grabbed at the air around me but it was futile. I bounced off a branch on the way down and, unable to hold onto it, I hit the ground with a thud.
It was over. I’m dead. I could already feel the ice of the blade biting into my neck, splitting tissue and bone. But no. I was not that lucky… I was ignorant then. Now, I just pray for a quick death.
Instead, I look up from the ground. I had landed a few feet from Camo, close enough that I could reach out and touch his boots. However, I had no desire to do this.
Camo was shaking now, tremors wracking his body. The machete had fallen from his death grip and now stuck out of the ground.
And then… and then I looked at his face. And Jesus Christ, he was looking at me. He was looking at me as his body seemed to convulse, and his expression was unlike anything I’ve ever seen nor wish to see again. His eyes bugged out of his head and his mouth hung open. Tears were rolling down his face.
Even as a religious man I have my moments of doubt. But I now know for certainty that there is a Hell out there. Hell must be real, because in that moment Camo had the look of a man who glimpsed into the depths of the abyss and saw what waited for him.
I couldn’t break our eye contact. It felt like doing so would condemn him. Finally, his face contorted into an even more dread-inducing grimace of fear and pain. His mouth stretched and opened. And Camo uttered his first words to me in a whisper that sounded like a scream.
“GOD HELP ME”
Finally, he was still. His jaw slackened and he blankly stared into space, eyes glazed over with a sheet of clear fluid. I was paralyzed in incomprehensible horror. I didn’t feel safe, I had to leave but I couldn’t cause I felt if I moved… something terrible would happen to me.
A line of drool began to grow from Camo’s bottom lip.
I felt as though I was in an ice bath. I was cold, frozen by an all consuming fear. I needed to go. Right now. On the verge of tears I rose on shaky legs and inched backwards. I kept my eyes locked on the machete, upright in the ground.
I whispered a prayer under my breath, repeating words that seemed to have no meaning. I was at what I felt was a safe distance when I turned away.
***“***GAHH PLEASE FOR FUCKS SAKE HELP!!”
I spun around to see Camo, still frozen in the same position facing away from me, but now with his head directed toward the yawning cave.
“I’M DYING HELP ME IM DYING!!!!”
It was Camo’s voice and it was coming from his still figure… but, it’s hard to put into words… He wasn’t giving any physical indications that it was him speaking. Even though I was looking at his back, I could see that his jaw hadn’t moved when he spoke. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.
“PLEASE!!!”
Camo’s foot lifted off the ground, breaking the stillness possessing him.
I bit my tongue in shock, jumping as it jerked in the air. A second later Camo’s leg began to shakily extend and retract, bending at the knee in the air. This slow motion was unsettling almost like a marionette. Like invisible strings were attached to the top of his shoes and were testing how to work the joints…
It was disturbing, and it failed to have any semblance of looking natural. I shudder now thinking about it.
Still frozen in shock and morbid fascination I watched as Camo took a silent step forward.
“I CAN’T STOP. NO!”
Camo took another step forward. His movements were beginning to get smoother. Besides his legs the rest of his body remained motionless. Another step and I realized I was so caught up in his inhuman stride I failed to notice he was walked towards the cave.
Camo now stood at the entryway of the pit. Shadows swallowed him and I could barely see his silhouette now.
To everyone who’s wondering why I couldn’t just turn around and leave… you have never experienced the dread I felt then in those moments. I can say confidently it compares to having a gun pointed at your head. You can’t move, instead you shrink into yourself… and you pray the nightmare ends.
The forest was quiet. Like someone had pressed mute on a magic remote. No animals. No insects. No wind.
Camo’s outline inside the cave began to turn in place. It was hard to see him but I swear, his legs didn’t move this time.
It stopped facing me. I couldn’t see his face well, but I could make out that Camo’s eyes were open.
And he was smiling
He spoke for the last time then, from the bowels of the Earth. The voice that echoed out from there was what finally allowed me to turn and run, with tears streaming down my face and a scream erupting from my throat.
Echoing out from the cavern in what I can only describe as hideous mix between a tornado siren and a hyena, it spoke
There is much more for you to see down here. Do come. I’ve been without guests for so long.
As I ran I don’t recall actually hearing it, but the words in the same voice flared in the front of my brain.
I hope to see you very soon Alex. I intend to.
I don’t remember making it back to the road. My mind must’ve gone blank after that attempting to protect the fragile sanity I have left. At some point I realized I had been sprinting down the middle of the two lane highway.
I kept running.
I only stopped twice. Once to puke up what little I had left in my stomach, and finally, as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, I collapsed as a dingy pickup pulled up next to me.
And now we’ve come full circle.
I don’t know how much time has passed since that encounter. Writing this makes me question my memory. My mental state is in shambles and it is very possible that some of this could be delusion. Any signs of pursuit, if there even were any, seem to be gone now.
I need to remind myself that I’ve been in a car crash. My head still stings and aches, a similar feeling to the one I had when I was concussed my freshman year of college. That on top of the stress could explain the possibility that I imagined it all.
The woman in the drivers seat’s name is Margo and she told me that, “there ain’t no damn way I’m gonna leave you out here with night falling in the state you’re in.”
About ten minutes ago while I was writing this Margo said we’d be in town soon. She’s tried making idle conversation a few times, asking about my injuries, but I haven’t been engaging. I’m itching to get out of this car. Off this road.
I’ll make a police report when I get in, and triple book my therapist. I’ll make sense of this later. For now I need to rest. I was in a nasty crash after all. I’m just lucky to be alive.
For some reason we’ve stopped even though there’s no town in site. Margo’s saying there’s something in the way. I can’t make it out from here, but I tell her to drive around it. We’re so close, fuck some roadkill or whatever it is. Honestly, Canadians are a pain in the ass sometimes.
Fucking hell she’s getting out. I might just drive this thing into town myself. My head is still oozing a little and I’m starting to feel dizzy. The pain has returned in full force. I need to see a doctor.
I’m getting the chills and the hairs on my arm are starting to stand up on its end. What is she doing out there? I’m gonna turn the brights on…
Don’t come looking for me
I’ll be fine
Camo’s here
I have to go now
There’s lots to see and do
He’s waiting for me
They’re smiling
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Alexander along with Margo Looney disappeared in the late summer of 2020. The Franklin family has hired numerous PI’s since then in an attempt to find closure after the police investigation failed to discover any leads. These PI’s came back to the Franklins with no consolation to offer. One didn’t return at all.
There has been no information about the man Alex refers to as Camo I could find readily available but I will be sure to investigate him further.
The Franklins reached out to me after hearing from an acquaintance that I offered “special services” and “leaves no stones unturned.”
I am open to investigating more unnatural theories in cases similar to these. This again brings me to why I am here. I was interested to see if any of you had any information about the area I will be visiting soon. It is the region slightly west of Thunderbay in Ontario, Canada occupied by hundreds of square miles of wilderness, lakes, and two lane highways.
I will be driving to Thunderbay tomorrow to meet with the husband of Margo Looney, Don. He has also been left with no information on the disappearance of his wife and I’ve been in contact with him recently, agreeing to meet to discuss the case.
If any individuals know of any local urban legends, folklore, or mythology, as well as any useful information about the wilderness or the area in general it would be extremely helpful and appreciated by the Franklin’s and the Looney’s in their search for answers. Also if anyone has heard of any incidents similar to this, please share below.
I will continue to check back and update my findings here as my investigation continues.
Sincerely,
-JT