In the winter of 1970, a top secret military experiment was conducted in the Arizona desert. Nearly all records of this project have been destroyed, and what little documentation does survive is frustratingly vague. All that can be gleaned from official documents is that the project was run by a Dr. Edward Gardner, and three conscripts were pulled out of basic training to serve as test subjects. The goal of the experiment cannot be verified from the few remaining official papers, but the code name was determined: Project Tuatara.
The only surviving test subject was tracked down to a retirement home in southern California. In order to protect his privacy, this man shall be referred to by the moniker of “Brian Jameson”, and the retirement home he currently resides in will be left unnamed. What follows is Mr. Jameson’s recollection of events, transcribed from an audio recording.
Statement of Brian Jameson, regarding his involvement with Project Tuatara
I’m only telling you all this because I’m getting old. I can feel death coming like a fog rolling in. I don’t know how much time I have left. Project Tuatara was a tragedy which must never be repeated. Its story needs to be told.
In late 1969 I was drafted to fight in the Vietnam war. I didn’t want to fight, I’m not a violent man, but I passed all the necessary tests and I couldn’t afford to go to prison, it would ruin me for the rest of my life. So I got sent to bootcamp. I was 7 weeks into basic training when the eggheads showed up.
Three men in crisp white lab coats came into the barracks, escorted by armed guards. The drill sergeant told us to obey what they told us. One at a time we were called by name. The man who was called for would be escorted out of the room and come back a bit later, usually looking slightly perplexed before standing back at attention.
My name was called next, and I followed the eggheads and a guard out of the room. I was taken to a small office, and one of the scientists pulled out a pack of playing cards. I raised an eyebrow, understanding now why the other conscripts were confused.
The scientist pulled out a card and held it up in front of him, back facing towards me so I couldn’t see which one it was. “Mr. Jameson”, he said, calmly, “can you please tell me which card I am holding up?”
Now, I’d always had this special gift, I was excellent at guessing things I shouldn’t have any ability to know. It wasn’t perfect, and I had to focus quite a bit, but if you asked me to guess a card or tell whether a coin will flip heads or tails, I’d usually get it right. I don’t know how or why, its not like I got a glimpse of the future or had some superhuman ability to calculate probability, it just came to me, like someone put the knowledge directly in my brain. It didn’t work with gambling though, there’s too many factors there, it made me feel like I was trying to listen in on a conversation from across the room. I figured that out the hard way after I lost nearly my whole paycheck at a casino.
So I gave my answer, I think it was the king of spades. The scientist looked mildly surprised, and pulled out another card, asking me the same question. Then another. And another. This went on for some time, before he put the cards back in his pocket. He motioned for me to follow, and so I did. Except, I didn’t get taken back to the barracks. I was taken to a truck and told to sit. The scientist went back inside, and a guard brought in a small bag with what few personal belongings I had at the base. After about an hour more of waiting, the scientists came back and the truck headed off.
After a bit of driving and a plane flight, I found myself down in Arizona, at a base called Fort Johnston. I was escorted to my living quarters and was pleasantly surprised. Far from the dingy, crowded barracks I’d grown accustomed to over the past 7 weeks, I now essentially had my own hotel room. Sure it was small, and the furniture was barebones, but it felt like heaven compared to basic training. It was much more private, aside from the security camera in the corner of the room.
I was given some food and a bit of time to sleep. In the morning, I was awoken to a rapping on the door. I got up quickly and answered it. The guard on the other end told me gruffly “Dr. Gardner wishes to see you.”
I was escorted through a maze of hallways into a brightly lit office. Anatomical diagrams of the human brain and pieces of psychedelic artwork hung all over the walls, and behind an expensive looking mahogany desk sat a man I would come to fear for the rest of my life..
“Sit down, Mr. Jameson”, he said, smiling politely as he gestured towards a chair in front of him. “My name is Dr. Gardner. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
Gardner was a handsome man, perhaps in his 40s or 50s. He had prominent cheekbones and a widow’s peak of gray hair. He seemed sincere enough, but there was a subtle undercurrent of menace in his voice, something that made me intensely uneasy.
Slightly nervous, I swallowed before saying, “Yes sir, I haven’t really been told any reason why I’m all the way out here.”
Gardner chuckled softly, interlacing his fingers and looking intently at me. “You have a very special gift Mr. Jameson. Very special indeed. I’d say you’re one in a million, at least. We’ve only managed to find two other espers with your talents.”
I blinked, confused. “Espers?”
Gardner closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling to himself. “My apologies Mr. Jameson, I sometimes forget how specialized my field of study is. It is an acronym. E-S-P-ers, or those who possess extrasensory perception. To use a more colloquial term; psychics.”
I burst out laughing, I couldn’t help it. Though his expression didn’t change, I could see something harden in Dr. Gardner’s eyes, so I tried to calm down. “I’m sorry doc, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m just a little bit lucky is all.”
With a slightly more serious tone, Gardner said “I don’t make mistakes Mr. Jameson, and neither, seemingly, do you. Out of the 20 cards we had you ‘guess’, do you know how many you got incorrect?”
I shook my head.
“None. Every single card was guessed correctly.”
I was silent, not knowing what to say. Dr. Gardner continued talking, not giving me time to respond.
“Approximately one percent of human beings possess some level of extrasensory perception, though usually it only comes in brief flashes. Of those one percent, only a further one percent are capable of using ESP consistently. And of that one percent, only one percent get anything more than vague ideas, like telling if a card is black or red. Do you have any idea how absurdly rare someone with your talents is Mr. Jameson? The odds are astronomically against you.”
“You’re making it sound like some sort of superpower.” I muttered, starting to sweat a little.
At this, Gardner laughed uproariously, almost doubling over in his chair. After he’d calmed down a bit, he wiped a tear from his eye and said, “I wouldn’t call it a superpower Mr. Jameson, at least not yet.”
He stood up, striding over to one of the anatomical posters and pointing at a small, pea-sized object located roughly in the center of the brain. “Do you know what this part of the brain is for?”
I shook my head.
Gardner threw his hands in the air laughing. “Neither do I! At least, not precisely. It is called the pineal gland, and it has been the subject of some debate for centuries. Rene Descartes thought it to be the seat of the human soul, and both George Batailles and Helena Blavatsky referred to it as a third eye. I believe that this tiny gland is in fact the vestigial remnant of some form of extrasensory organ, one which allows for the development of psychic abilities.”
I nodded nervously, becoming concerned as to what I was getting involved in. “And uh, where do I fit into this doc?”
He paused for a moment, staring at me. His eyes seemed hungry, predatory, like I was just a choice piece of meat. A second later, the look was gone. “Why, we’re going to try to stimulate your pineal gland young man. If the pineal gland is, in most people, a vestigial organ, then with you it must be at least half functioning. I believe that with the proper help, we can activate it fully, allowing you full access to telepathy, telekinesis, precognition, all sorts of things! Why, if all goes to plan you could gain powers man has never even dreamed of!”
I sat there, thinking for a few seconds. I asked, “And what if I refuse? To go through with the experiment I mean.”
Dr. Gardner leaned over me, still smiling. He must have been at least 6’6”. “Well, the infantry always needs more fodder for the meat grinder, don’t they?” He slid a non-disclosure agreement across the desk towards me.
I signed it on the spot.
The next few days passed in a blur. I was given x-rays, physical examinations, blood tests, placed into sensory deprivation tanks with electrodes on my temples, the works. I felt like I was a lab rat. During this time I met the other two test subjects, Robert Stetson and Hank Dillinger.
Stetson was a mountain of a man, over 200 pounds of muscle. Before he was drafted he was employed as a construction worker, and it showed. Despite his immense size, he was a bit shy and very polite. He kept mostly to himself, and spoke softly. I got the feeling that he was nervous about the whole situation.
Dillinger, in contrast, was very small. I have no idea how he made it past the weight and height requirements, he must have been 5 feet tall at the most, and thin as a board. He talked a lot, mainly just to hear himself I think. If there were any worries or doubts in Dillinger’s mind, he certainly didn’t show it. Dillinger often talked about how he was going to be a “superhero”, and that once he was done with the project he would be some sort of famous celebrity. I envied his naivete.
The eggheads started giving us pills after they’d figured out all our vitals. Little white lozenges, with no markings or anything like that. They never told us what the damn drug was, just made sure that we took it regularly.
It was Stetson who started complaining first, about a week and a half after we started taking the little white pills. We were eating our physician prescribed dinner in the cafeteria, lots of fruits and vegetables, when Stetson put down his fork and looked over at Dillinger and I, solemnly.
“What’s that matter big guy, this rabbit food not filling enough for you?” said Dillinger, twirling a piece of lettuce on his fork.
“I wanted to ask you two something, but it might sound a bit… strange.” There was hesitancy in Stetson’s voice, he seemed worried that we would laugh at him.
“Hey as long as you’re not gonna propose to us I think we’ll keep an open mind,” Dillinger quipped, giggling to himself. I punched him on the shoulder slightly, shooting him a cold look.
Stetson’s sober expression didn’t change, and he spoke softly. “Have either of you been hearing things?”
I leaned closer. “What kind of things Stetson?”
He sighed, sagging a little bit. I noticed dark bags under his eyes. “I don’t really know how to put it into words.” he murmured, “Its like whispering in my ears, it gets louder whenever I’m near people, and quieter when I’m alone. To be honest I’ve been worried I’m going nuts”
We were all quiet for a few seconds, just looking at each other. I don’t think either of us quite knew what to say. I spoke up first. “Have you talked to the doc about this Stetson? Maybe its some sort of side effect of the pills he should know about.”
Stetson shook his head. “I haven’t told him. I have this feeling that it might not be a side effect at all. I’m worried this is what is supposed to happen. Maybe this is just the first step.”
Dillinger and I looked at each other nervously before changing the subject. We finished our meal without mentioning the voices, and left to go to bed. I was just about to fall asleep when I started hearing them too.
They were quiet, barely audible, like wind rustling through the breeze. I couldn’t even make out specific words, just a faint buzzing. It was almost soothing in some ways, but the fear that I was losing my grip on reality kept me awake for the rest of the night.
I went to tell Dr. Gardner what was happening first thing in the morning. I was scared something had gone wrong, that I was having a bad interaction with the drug. As I walked through the halls to his office, I could hear the voices getting louder whenever I passed near people, like how TV static begins to form into coherent images as you adjust the antenna.
Dr. Gardner greeted me with a wide smile as I entered the office. “Ah, Mr. Jameson, what can I do for you?” he asked cheerfully.
“Doc, I’m worried that there could be something wrong with the pills I’ve been taking. I keep hearing these faint voices, its like constant buzzing in my head.” I sat down in a chair, rubbing my temples. I was beginning to feel nauseous from the constant white noise and lack of sleep.
Dr. Gardner immediately rushed over to me, examining me like an amoeba in a petri dish. “Voices? What do they say? When did this start?”
I winced as he shone a flashlight in my face to test my eye’s dilation. “I don’t know, they’re too quiet and too many to make out words. I only started hearing them last night, but Stetson told me he was hearing them yesterday.”
Dr. Gardner’s face hardened as he flicked off the flashlight. All of his joviality and excitement seemed gone, replaced with anger. “Stetson’s been hearing things too? Why didn’t he inform me immediately?”
I started to answer, but I was cut off. “That stupid, idiotic neanderthal! Doesn’t he know what we’re doing here? What I’m doing here? We are on the verge of the greatest scientific development since the discovery of fire and this moronic lummox won’t tell his damn doctor what is happening?” Dr. Gardner was nearly shrieking. He had stopped examining me and was now pacing around the room like a caged tiger.
I sat completely still, feeling like I was going to vomit. There was a strange tingling that felt like it was coming from inside my head. The voices I heard were still cacophonous, but through the chaos I could hear the faintest hint of a distinct voice. I could hear Dr. Gardner, echoing in my head just as I could hear him across the room.
“Doc, I think- I think I’m hearing your thoughts.”
Cutting himself off from his ranting, Dr. Gardner rapidly crossed the room, staring at me intensely. “What did you say?”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Just now, when you were angry, I heard a voice louder than the others. I couldn’t make out what it was saying but it sounded like you.”
The excited smile returned to Dr. Gardner’s face as he continued to stare. “Excellent,” he said, “now we can move on to the next stage.”
After giving me some water and sleeping pills, Dr. Gardner sent me back to my room to get some rest. With the help of the pills, I was able to fall asleep fairly quickly, despite the voices. I woke up a few hours later to knocking on my door, it was a scientist bringing me a tray of food, along with a pair of the white pills.
“Your dosage has gone up,” she said, handing me a glass of water, “you will be taking 2 pills a day from now on.”
I did as I was told, swallowing the pills and eating my food. The constant murmur of voices made it hard to be rebellious. After my meal I fell asleep again.
The next several days are difficult to remember. I couldn’t think due to the constant sounds of other peoples’ thoughts, I had to take sleeping pills to get rest which made me constantly feel drowsy, and I started to get a horrible migraine at nearly all times.
It was during a physical examination that I had the seizure. One minute I was having my reflexes tested and then suddenly I was on the floor, writhing uncontrollably. I remember smelling something metallic and my vision being filled with strange lights. The voices in my head were getting louder, more difficult to ignore. Eventually, I blacked out.
When I came to I was in the infirmary with gauze wrapped around my head. I started trying to move, to remove the bandages, but I felt an orderly hold me down and the sharp pinch of a needle entering my arm. But as I struggled against my bonds, I remember hearing something very clearly: an oddly distinct voice saying “Goddammit, he must not have been given enough sedatives.”
The next time I woke up, the bandages were off, aside from a small piece of gauze between my eye.. After realizing I was awake, a nurse brought in Dr. Gardner. He sat next to the bed and smiled insincerely, his eyes blazing with curiosity. “How are you feeling, Mr. Jameson?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, and I heard him say “It’s possible that the trepanation may have improved his abilities.”
“What’s trepanation?” I asked, confused as to why he was talking as if I wasn’t in the room.
Dr. Gardner looked surprised. “Why do you ask?” Immediately after, I heard his voice say “He shouldn’t know about the trepanation yet, he’s just woken up. Maybe he heard someone talk about it while he was in and out of consciousness.” But even as I heard Dr. Gardner voice say those words, I realized his lips were not moving.
“You thought about it. You thought something about it improving my abilities.”
Dr. Gardner looked astonished. “You can hear my thoughts? How do you perceive them? Are they images or sounds? How clear are they? Are there different levels of consciousness or just one you are able to perceive?” Even as he spoke aloud, I could also hear his mind racing, coming up with dozens of more questions and theories. It was a little overwhelming, but not painful anymore, not like it was before.
“Slow down, please doctor,” I pleaded, “it is difficult to focus with you asking so many questions while also thinking so fast. And please, tell me, what is trepanation?”
Gardner took a deep breath. “Alright. But you have to promise me to stay calm.” I could hear his voice again in my head, saying “He isn’t going to like this. I hope I don’t need to call security.”
“I’ll be calm,” I said, “just tell me.”
“Trepanation is a medical procedure in which a small hole in the skull is drilled to reduce excess pressure. Your pineal gland has begun to expand rapidly, and as a result we had to drill an opening to release the excess pressure so you don’t have another seizure. It is perfectly safe, and only about a half centimeter diameter was needed. The skin will regrow quickly and it will just be a very slight scar between your eyes.”
I jumped out of bed, trying to strangle him. I was sick and tired of being treated like a lab rat, being monitored and given drugs I wasn’t told the effects of, and receiving a hole in my skull against my will was what made me snap. Immediately two orderlies rushed me and strapped me back down to the bed, a nurse gave me a sedative.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” Gardner said, straightening his tie, “some people just aren’t able to see the big picture. You’re a lucky man Jameson, and one day you’ll thank me.”
With that, I passed out.
I was eventually discharged from the infirmary and brought back to my own room. Now in addition to the examinations for physical health I also was subject to more tests to determine the growth of my psychic abilities. I was asked to guess what someone was thinking, whether they were lying, etc. They put my “target” behind sheets of glass, steel, concrete, even lead. But every time I was still able to tell. It seemed like thought could pass through any substance. I didn’t have to worry too much about getting overwhelmed by other people’s thoughts either, I was now able to focus on one mind at a time, or block them all out if I wanted to.
Dillinger and Stetson were involved in these experiments too. It turns out that we all suffered seizures at about the same time, and they were also trepanned. We were asked to try and carry out conversations exclusively via thought, and to try and speak out loud as little as possible to one another. It was kind of interesting, communicating via thought. There is no lying with telepathy, no emotional barriers. The once shy Stetson was suddenly incredibly talkative and friendly, while it turned out Dillinger was extremely insecure about himself, masking it with mockery and humor.
We were honest with each other, and in the weeks when we developed our abilities I felt closer to them than anyone else in my entire life. Eventually we figured out how to view mental images and feel remembered sensations too, not just hear words. Dillinger told us about his childhood as the youngest of five siblings, about how hard it was growing up needing to fight for his parents’ attention. I saw the grimy apartment he shared with seven others, and could smell the smog from the street below his window. Stetson told us about his passion for nature, and I could feel the wind and smell the grass as he recalled hikes through national parks.
Everything seemed to be going better. Dr. Gardner still hadn’t apologized for drilling holes in our heads, but at the very least he seemed not to hold it against me for attacking him. We were constantly improving in our skills, becoming stronger. At this point we were taking 3 pills a day now. Then the incident with Dillinger happened.
We were each in our rooms, but were communicating telepathically nonetheless. Dillinger was in the middle of showing us a memory about his first pet, a kitten named Hotdog, when his pleasant recollection was shattered with thoughts of panic and terror. “What in the Hell is that?” I heard him think, fear radiating through his mind.
“What is it, what do you see?” Stetson inquired, attempting to soothe him with calm thoughts. We couldn’t get a clear picture of what was going on in Dillinger’s mind due to the panic, so we were cut off aside from hearing what he was thinking.
“It’s horrible! Oh God, why is it moving like that! Is that its face? Does it even have a face? Maybe if I don’t move it will go away.” I could hear Dillinger’s mind racing, I could feel the terror shooting through his thoughts like icy daggers.
Both Stetson and I ran out of our rooms, calling for guards to help Dillinger. He hadn’t screamed, apparently he was absolutely petrified with horror. By the time we reached him, he was unconscious, but unharmed. Some of the medical staff wheeled him away in a stretcher over to the infirmary, while the guards searched his room to see if anyone or anything could be hiding there.
As the guards ransacked Dillinger’s quarters, I began to get this really uneasy feeling, like someone just stepped on my grave. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I felt like something was watching me. Stetson put a hand on my shoulder to calm me, and I heard his voice speak in my mind. “I feel it too.”
The next day, Dillinger was still in the infirmary, nearly catatonic, but alive. He was conscious, but whenever Stetson or I tried to reach him, it was like the telepathic equivalent of radio static. The man had retreated so deeply into his mind that he’d effectively blocked us out. Dr. Gardner gathered Stetson and I in the main laboratory, somewhere we’d never been allowed access to. All of the Bunsen burners, microscopes and other scientific instruments had been moved off to the side, to make room for some strange electronic device at the center of the lab. I’d seen electroshock devices in the movies, and it looks like this thing was Frankensteined together from a couple of them, along with some other odds and ends here and there. Three chairs sat nearby, with what looked like tiaras made of circuits and electrodes sitting on top of them. The unusual headpieces were connected to the main machine by a tangled mess of wires.
“Doc, you’re not going to electroshock us, are you?” I asked, eyeing Dr. Gardner wearily.
He smirked, but shook his head. “Not quite, Mr. Jameson. The amount of voltage will be quite low, and much more precise. This machine is designed to stimulate the pineal gland gently, which should hopefully further amplify your abilities.”
“Hopefully?”, inquired Stetson, nervously.
Dr. Gardner ignored his query, and instructed us to sit in the chairs. I hesitated at first, but then became acutely aware of the guards with rifles standing by the door. I sat down, nervous about what would happen next. Two technicians restrained us with tough leather straps, before placing the circlets of electronics on our heads, making sure that each individual part lined up perfectly.
After the technicians moved away from the machine, Dr. Gardner looked at us with a smile, his hand on a large metal lever. “You have absolutely nothing to fear, gentlemen. This shouldn’t take long.”
With that, he pulled the switch.
Instantly I could hear a gentle humming emanate from the machine, and I felt a faint tingle on my temples. It felt rather like having a fuzzy caterpillar crawl across my forehead, not necessarily unpleasant, but an unusual sensation nonetheless. I asked Stetson, mentally “Do you feel that?” I heard him start to respond telepathically before I felt a sudden burning sensation against my skull and heard a loud crackling noise. Everything went dark for a moment, and a ringing sound filled my ears. As my vision and hearing returned, I heard one of the technicians yell “Overload!”
I could tell that my headpiece had burnt out, I didn’t feel any tingling anymore. Strangely, I could no longer hear Stetson either. I saw the technicians rush over to pull us out of the chairs. One of them was quickly able to undo my straps and rip the burnt out electrodes off my head, but the other was thrown backwards upon touching Stetson with a crack like thunder. I was dragged out of the chair, startled but alive.
While I was pulled to safety, I watched as Stetson began to scream. Without anything touching him, the straps undid themselves, and he began to slowly levitate upwards, the electronic headpiece tethering him to the machine. Deep cuts appeared by themselves across his body, slashing through clothes and skin, leaving a rainfall of blood upon the cold linoleum.
We all watched in stunned silence as the last of his skin and clothes were peeled away, tossed on to the floor carelessly. The muscles were next, being pulled apart like a butcher carefully slicing up a carcass. All the while he kept screaming, even after his lungs were exposed. He should have died long before then, but something was keeping him alive.
After the muscles were gone came the bones, clattering to the ground, gleaming white in the fluorescent light. Then went the digestive tract, and the circulatory system. Only after the lungs fell to the floor in a wet heap did we finally cease hearing that blood curdling scream. All that remained was his central nervous system, suspended in mid air like a marionette. I could see the surface of his brain pulsate wetly, causing me to realize that even now he was still alive. There was a final, devastating crack of electricity, and the machine blew out completely. Stetson’s remains slopped onto the floor, a quivering pile of nerves and gray matter. I pray that the impact finally killed him.
The next few days kind of blur together in my memory. I can’t tell if its from the trauma or the mild brain damage I suffered due to the overload. I recall they tested my abilities, had me try to guess what someone was thinking of, tell what card they were holding, etc. I failed every test. Whatever I once had was gone. The shock I experienced fried my pineal gland, probably would have killed me if it wasn’t already so enlarged from the medical treatments.
They told me the official story I should tell was that I got wounded in combat and honorably discharged. They gave me enough money to take care of my needs for quite a long time, with the understanding that it would all go away the second the truth got out. I’ve long since used it up by now, and even if I hadn’t I don’t think I’d need it much longer, hence why I’m telling you all this.
Dillinger never fully recovered. He was eventually able to regain the ability to move and eat on his own, but he never spoke a word after what he saw. He stayed in a mental institution for the rest of his life, until his eventual suicide about a couple decades back. Poor bastard.
I don’t know exactly what killed Stetson or shattered Dillinger’s mind, but I have a theory. Dr. Gardner said some believe the pineal gland is a third eye, what if they’re right? I’ve done reading about higher dimensions, about parallel worlds that could coexist in the same physical space but on some higher plane. What if that is what Dillinger saw, once his pineal gland was advanced enough to function as a sensory organ? He looked upon being from another reality, overlapping with our own, so utterly alien and different from what we understand that just looking at it is enough to annihilate a man’s sanity. I think that when the overload flooded Stetson’s brain, it let him see fully into their world, and they pulled him apart just to see what made him tick.
As for what happened to Dr. Gardner, I don’t know. In a just world, he would be tried for murder, but I know this isn’t a just world. Perhaps he retired in disgrace, relying on government blood money to live out the rest of his days. I don’t think so. I hope they closed down Project Tuatara, but sometimes I worry they just moved it. The advances they made were far too great to care about the harm caused to three conscripts. I sometimes lie awake at night, thinking about the possibility they could still be working on it somewhere, at an even more remote facility. If they are, I pray that they never succeed.
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