Good people of Reddit, I’ve committed a crime. And by the way, I’m no criminal, usually. I’ve got way too much anxiety for that. Sometimes just calling out sick for work has me reenacting the narrators role in good ol’ Poe’s ‘’The Tell-Tale Heart”. Really, though, I’m just not the type that casually goes burglarizing and thieving at night.
See, there’s this car. Well, Van, actually—the Subaru Domingo. It’s a Japanese import that’s gaining popularity among enthusiasts. For many, it strikes a similar fancy that the VW bus gives so many. These lightweight Japanese vans have become something of an obsession for me. The Domingo, while looking like a Kei van, can actually hit 70mph! Well, if you’re going down a decent hill, at least.
Well, so four nights ago, I decided that the 25-minute walk back home from the bar was better than shelling out fifteen bucks after the eighty-dollar tab I just paid. So I got to walkin’. Within about two blocks, warehouses converted into apartments, restaurants and bars turn into, well, just warehouses, and the train tracks, of course. And it was while walking along those tracks that something caught my eye. Any guesses? Why yes! It was a Subaru Domingo, parked between two large piles of railroad ties.
Even in the dark, I could see its beauty; it’s painted a tasteful burnt umber color that contrasts beautifully against the black aftermarket fenders and bumpers. I walked up a little closer. A chrome “Mark Z” decal sits on the back door, where you’d expect to see ‘Subaru’ on the stock models.
I tugged at the driver’s side door, in this case the right-hand side. I don’t remember planning on breaking into it, but that’s what was happening. Locked. I tried the rear driver side door. No cigar. I walked around the back and to the rear passenger side door; it gave that wonderful ‘kerplunk’ that older doors made when they open.
I crawled in and was overtaken by the beauty and craftsmanship of the interior. The stock Domingo came with a lot of stickered instrument decals and a less-than-beautiful plastic dash that’s very typical for 90’s-era Japanese economy vehicles. But not this Domingo. It looks like a mirrored version of the interior of a 1970’s Daimler-Benz 600. For those who aren’t nerdy car fanatics, just think posh, old-money, old-fashioned luxury. I was blown away. I look around to the back and see a fairly large wooden chest. Leaning over the bench, I reached out to slide it closer to me, but the second I laid my fingers on this thing… I triggered something.
The atmosphere became thick, and I went a weird kind of numb; as if my brain had just lost control of its meat suit and my consciousness required an emergency reboot. Entering the van suddenly seemed like a distant memory. Like clocking in for work three and a half weeks ago distant. I’ve dealt with time blindness, but this was different. My body was locked in the very position I was in when my fingers landed on it. I was keeping myself up, but I couldn’t move a muscle. For some reason, I wasn’t frightened by the fact that I had just gone catatonic for no apparent reason, but I wasn’t feeling or thinking much of anything, to be honest. No fear, joy, pain, or boredom; I was just touching this stupid box and staring at it like it was a good view of the great divide.
It felt like I’d been in that position for an hour, or maybe it was just two minutes, but the interior became flooded with a dazzlingly bright blue light that typically forebodes an approaching police officer. The trance broke just as quickly as it began. I ducked my head low, locked the door I used to get in, slid as far as I could under the bench in the back, and used my jacket to cover my face. ‘Good thing I only wear black’ was the last thing I remember thinking before regaining consciousness. I most definitely passed the fuck out. I move the jacket slightly off of my face to see what the situation is beyond the confines of my jacket. No blue light. I stick my head up a little further, and it looks pretty desolate outside the van from what I could tell. I got the hell out of that thing as fast as I could, unconcerned with how much noise I was making, and resumed the last six-minute leg of my walk home. I pulled my phone out to check the time; it was 2:30 something, and I had a handful of missed calls and texts.
“Levi, Johnny told me you stormed out of the bar, wasted, and now nobody can find you. We know you’ve been working on it, but I still worry about you. Just talk to us and let us know you’re okay. Remember, you promised to be my date at my cousin’s wedding this summer. Please don’t make it so that I have to take Johnny; you know my family already thinks we have something going on between us.” -Amy; 1:23AM
1 missed call: Amy; 1:20 AM
“I better not find out that your corpse has been discovered in the morning news after I insisted you take a cab home. Don’t be that asshole.” -Johnny; 1:13AM
“I woke Amy up to take me by your apartment to check if you made it, but you aren’t there… Where the hell did you go, man? Don’t make me call your mother.” -Johnny; 1:04AM
2 missed calls: Johnny; 12:52 AM
“I’m guessing you forgot to let me know you made it home. Just give me a thumbs up if you’re good.” -Johnny; 11:33 PM
Damn, you’ve got good friends if they’re worried enough to go and physically check if you made it home safe… I texted them both back and told them I had fallen asleep on the way home and would explain next time I saw them. I definitely owe them an explanation, and while I’m not the tinfoil hat wearing “the government is reading all of my text messages” type, I wasn’t about to put in writing that I had broken into and fallen asleep in someone’s car—well, not yet anyway.
I woke up to my German shepherd dog, Maple, tugging on my sleeve. I didn’t make it any further than the couch. I still had my shoes and jacket on. After I fed Maple, I took her on a walk to get my truck. As I was crossing over the train tracks, I avoided looking at the Domingo as if it were a tinder date who ghosted me after our first time meeting, standing at the other end of a grocery store isle. But just like someone who is ghosting me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
That trance-like state I was in—I’m having a hard time blaming the alcohol for that. I had been drinking for a couple hours, and my drunken stupor just changed conveniently at the exact moment I touched the chest? I don’t think so. I would even chalk it up to anxiety the moment I opened the car door, but my drunk ass wasn’t nervous at all; consequences were the last thing on my mind.
Maybe the van was stolen, and this was where the thief dropped it off. But I don’t think a car thief would be stupid enough to take what is one of the most conspicuous-looking vehicles in the city, but be respectful enough to leave it perfectly clean and pristine.
Maple and I made it to my truck in the bar’s parking lot, and we went back home. Though my panties were thoroughly in a bunch, I went on and continued my life. The next day, before work, I decided to lead Maple’s walk towards the train tracks; it was still there. Nor had it moved the next day or the day after that.
I started to get more worried about the owner of the vehicle, like, what if the guy was chopped up into pieces and locked up in that trunk? Or what if it really was stolen and I could help return it to its rightful owner? I needed to go back in the van and check out the contents of that trunk and see if I can’t figure out a thing or two about who left it. I reckoned 8 p.m. was as good a time as any to return to the ‘Mark Z’ Domingo. It’s probably too early, but it should be dark enough for what I planned to do. I’d drive up, pull whatever contents might be in the glove box, put the trunk in my truck, and go through it all at home.
Several hours later, I drove up and parked next to the van. I got out with the truck still running, I crawled in, leaving the door open. I opened up the glove box and found a leather case with ‘Subaru’ embossed on the front and tossed it into my truck. Then I grabbed a moving blanket out of the backseat, threw it over the trunk in the Domingo, and grabbed it from both sides. I was working on getting it into the truck bed when I saw headlights turning the corner just up ahead. I had been caught. I was stuck like a deer in headlights, holding the chest between the two vehicles and staring at the road, not knowing what to do. I could feel my blood turning to battery acid as it was coursing through the veins of my legs. But then the car passed. It ended up being an early 2000’s Civic that came and went without even changing its speed. I guess they were up to something sketchy too. I moved the trunk into the bed of my truck and drove back home.
I brought it all up to my apartment. I downed a beer to relax my nerves and sat down on my couch with everything sitting in front of me. First, I grabbed the leather case that was in the glove box. It contained the registration, proof of insurance, and a photocopy of a Texas driver’s license. Daniel Levski is the apparent owner of the vehicle; he is a white male, 34 years old, and his address seems to be a PO Box in Dallas.
He was about what I was imagining: a not yet middle-aged guy traveling in a vehicle he’s been working on probably during the weekends and paid for with money from a cushy job you only get with a degree. The folder also had the drivers manual in Japanese, but nothing else of any use to me. It’s good to have a face to connect to the vehicle, though. I cut off the padlock on the trunk with bolt cutters, then used them to lift the lid open. Whatever it was that I had thought would be in it before, I don’t think it was that.
Many loose photographs and Polaroids,
about a dozen composition books,
maps you’d more likely find in a glovebox that hasn’t been touched in twenty years,
a flask and metal cup,
A book called “The Wanderer’s Havamal”
A silver figurine of a buffalo,
Earrings and several pieces of wrist jewelry in a native-American style,
Several dried blue columbine flowers,
Among other things,.
One of the composition books had “READ ME” sharpied on the cover. I was happy to oblige. Written with pretty awful penmanship, it said:
“If you are reading this before February 16th, please let my belongings be; I should be back soon.”
It’s definitely February 17th. I kept reading.
“I’m writing this in case I don’t make it back. Today is February 13th, and I’m stashing my van and hoping we will reunite with both of us in one piece. I think I’ve gone absolutely insane, and I’m writing down the steps I took that led me here to see if checking into an institution would be a better bet than what I’m about to do. Either way, I need to share my story in case I die or be cast into a rubber room.
My name is Dani Levski. I was born and raised in Flower Mound, Texas, and I’m 35 as I’m writing this. Nineteen years ago, my parents and little brother died in a car accident on their way to get me from school. Ever since then, I have had nightmares almost every night.
The day they died, I had been waiting until well past dark and most everyone was gone, until eventually Miss Snyder, my teacher, who lived a few houses down from mine, offered to take me home. I accepted gladly. When I got home and nobody was there, she allowed me to stay at her place. She was my neighbor before she was my teacher, so there was no hesitation in accepting. I didn’t know it was what she was doing at the time, but I realize now that she had been calling hospitals after she had made me something to eat. That poor woman ended up being the one to tell me my family had died that afternoon. Could you imagine having to do that? There are rules that teachers have to follow lest they lose their job, so the next day she had someone over who took me and put me into the system for parentless teens.
I had a good head on my shoulders even then, but I knew what happened to people with traumatic childhoods like mine—going crazy, then becoming homeless or felons—and I was going to do whatever it took to not let my life get any worse. And well, I felt a little guilty for using my family’s deaths to take advantage of people, but it made people feel bad enough to give me counseling and therapy for free for a long time. I made good grades and got a scholarship that included bed and board. I worked hard and was able to make a comfortable life for myself. Comfortable, besides the nightmares, of course.
Sometimes I get these dreams that don’t initially seem like nightmares, but I’ll wake up from them having to mourn my family all over again. I’ll come across my family. I tell them I thought they were dead, and they explain that something happened and they needed to fake their deaths, but they’re back now, and we can all resume our lives. In the earlier days, it would take me a really long time to realize I had only dreamt it. Thankfully, those have since become easier to deal with. I eventually learned to take it as a sign to help me realize that I’m dreaming, at which point I could fly away and have a fairly normal dream.
Other times, though, it’s so much worse. I’m just standing there and staring at my parents’ car on fire. I’ll try to move but can’t, at which point I’ll sense some figure standing right behind me. It has never done anything but stand there, but whatever it is feels evil. Its only desire is to fill people with dread and torment. The rest of the dream will consist of me trying to turn my head to get a look at it, but as much as I try, I can’t seem to turn my head far enough to see it. Have you ever heard of a Shepard tone? It’s a kind of auditory illusion: the sound seems to keep ascending or descending in pitch, yet never actually gets any higher or lower. I just keep turning my head, but I never get to see what’s behind me. I start sweating profusely once I try to start looking around. The fear grows so intense that I start crying. It will feel like hours and hours have passed just while turning my head. As the dream goes on, or rather, as I get closer to actually seeing this thing, the panic and fear get so intense that I can’t hold back from screaming. It will feel like I’ve been given a fatal dose of adrenaline, with my heart beating so damn fast that I know it’s only seconds away from totally giving out. Sometimes I see more of the entity than other times, just part of it lurking in my periphery—but before I ever get to see this thing’s face, I’ll wake up screaming and drenched in sweat.
Sometime after the 18th anniversary of my family’s passing, the bad dream changed, just a bit. The entity began… whispering. At first, it was indiscernible, especially once I began screaming. But after recurring several times, the messages led me to clues, most of which I collected and kept in my chest, all of which seemed to be telling me I needed to go somewhere. I’m betting on it being at [REDACTED].”
Levi here. I’m not sharing the location with you. The actual location itself is on state-owned land, but there’s no way to get there without passing through private property. I won’t be responsible for disturbing the peace there or getting someone shot for trespassing. The location is a good distance into the mountains and about as remote as it can get in the northern half of the state. I’ll leave it at that.
“If my dream demon is telling me to go somewhere, who am I to refuse? If I go there and nothing at all happens, I’m getting to see some beautiful wilderness and be able to prove these dreams are nonsense, and maybe the nightmares will go away. If I go there and this thing that’s been haunting my dreams shows up in some form, I imagine this thing is going to get me eventually; so why not go on and get it over with?”
The rest of the journal explained what the items were, how they led him to that location, and that he had found someone who was going to rent him their off-road capable truck. It was time to take Maple out and continue this work for another day. After returning from her potty break, I went to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and call it a fucking night. I let the water run to get it warm while I pissed out the beer I had chugged earlier. I washed my hands, then splashed some water in my face. I looked up into the mirror, but I was no longer in my bathroom.
I was standing on rocky soil, and I was surrounded by tall pines. I turned around desperately, hoping I would find I was still in my bathroom. I only saw more pines. I took a step back, and my bare foot landed on a sharp rock. Lightning was sent up my leg from my heel, and I collapsed. I tried to get off the ground, but I couldn’t move. It’s like how it was that first time in the van. There’s nothing wrong with my body, but it won’t listen. I felt my whole body shake with each beat of my heart. Then I felt it. It was standing there, right behind me. My body is begging for more air, but I cannot breathe. I turn my head, but it’s moving so slowly. Part of it begins to show in my peripheral vision. Sweat is dripping down into my eyes, but I don’t dare blink. My heart is thudding so quickly that I’m sure my fated death day has come. I didn’t think I could take it any more, yet I was still gasping for air.
I can’t tell you how long I had been screaming before I realized that sound was coming from me. I had been screaming for so long that I felt blood trickling down my throat. That warm metallic flavor of iron filled my mouth. My heart goes from two hundred and fifty beats per minute to a complete stop. Then, three slow, equidistant thuds.
“BOOM… BOOM… BOOM…”
“BOOM… BOOM… BOOM…“
My eyes opened, and I felt the last scream settle into a sigh. I was still sitting on the couch with the trunk in front of me. Maple was cowering by my feet and
“Knock… knock… knock…“
I glanced at the clock, it was only 12:17. The dull metallic taste lingered in my mouth. I was swallowing pins and needles. I stood up slowly and began walking towards my door.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
I felt like I was just a passenger in my own body, only able to watch as I pulled the door open. I wanted to scream out in terror, but I was so completely drained of energy that I just stood there, staring out into the empty corridor of my apartment. It felt like I ran a marathon and broke up with a lover concurrently. After a minute or two, Maple came up behind me, and started whining. I allowed myself to close the door shut and sit back down on the couch.
I opened up my laptop, and well, here we are now. Despite how tired I was when I started typing, I wasn’t ready to reenter the dream world. After writing it all down, I think it’s time I finally caught some Z’s. Not that I would have actually followed through with stealing this guy’s car, but if he was testing some paranormal security system, consider me deterred. I fully intend to return this nightmare I stole; I want nothing to do with it.
I’m checking the weather; it seems there’s a winter weather warning taking effect in a couple of days that passes through the area he’s in. I’m no hero, nor am I a wilderness ‘expert’, but I do spend a good part of my free time out in the wilderness. I don’t want to put a ranger’s life at risk for something I’m not sure is even real, and sorry, I’m not about to tell a cop, “Hey, you should go check this location out; I reckon he’s out there because of something I found when I broke into his car.” If Dani still breathes, he won’t be after much longer. I’m going to set out to find this guy as safely and quickly as I can.
If I never post again—Mom, Dad, I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t give you any grandchildren.