11-12-90 Home of Dr. Corenthal
5-11-12 Box 6
On May 11, 2012, Unfictioner TheGreenFeathers posted a video of his journey to a cache and his encounter with Evan. The next day, he posted photographs of the cache, amongst which this letter could be found.
The dreams have started again.
Well, the thoughts of my children never cease their torment of my sleeping hours. Seeing their beautiful faces, that's torture enough. But the night-terrors... they've returned.
My dear Linnie was prominent in my most recent nightmare. I could see her, in the clearing of a wood, in the back of a bus, in a post office, on the phone. I could never see her face; my subconscious granted me no such gift. She was grown, an adult now, but I knew it was my Linnie.
I saw the rolling hills of rural Pennsylvania, the dense, beautiful mountain forests where Rosie and William found a comfortable community. Linnie was walking near a creek, holding a letter. As if sensing my non-existent presence, she looked up, as at the sound of a branch breaking, and quickly folded the letter, stuffing it into her gray hooded sweatshirt. She was traveling, away from the forest, away from her adopted home. She arrived at an inn, miles and hours away, and nervously approached the desk. I couldn't hear a discernible word. My world's communication was smothered under what felt and sounded like miles of water. In this dream-lobby, the darkness quickly set in and I felt that the scene was about to change. In a panic, I hurried out into the street and caught a glimpse of a sign on the side of the building: the Logan Inn. The site collapsed and I was suddenly standing at the top of a hill. A dilapidated brick building was before me. I was surrounded by a dead forest. Through the gray trees and brush, I could see a small town at the bottom of the mountain. I had just only asked "where in the hell am I?" when a very frightened, very determined Linnie pushed past the ghost of me and into the building.
It killed me to know that I was completely unable to help this vision, to change the evil that was inevitable.
She disappeared up a dark stairwell. Silence.
Then, I could hear her breathing. She was a floor or two above me, somewhere in this old building, which greatly resembled a school, and I couldn't move my legs.
The hair on the back of my neck rose. Linnie's audible breathing slowed. She was trying to hold her breath, to become quiet, hidden. I became aware of this sensation most peculiar, as if I were physically aware of a lone spider crawling across a partition of glass. Somewhere, amongst the ruins, a creature was stirring.
Linnie stifled a meek cry. She knew this, as well. I was merely an observer in this wretched scene, unable to properly watch. As if I had the stomach to, regardless.
A taunting, hushed, guttural sound began to leak from the walls. Linnie never spoke, but I could feel her defeated thoughts: I'm too late. The sound came and went, varying pitch and volume, teasing my ill-fated daughter. The "spider crawling over glass" sensation manifested itself in a rustling of leaves here and there, a tipping-over of old furniture in a far reach of the school, a shrill craping noise on the brick wall in this corner. Linnie was being stalked.
The terrible growling rapidly increased as it honed in on Linnie's position upstairs. My darling daughter... she didn't give a desperate yell, a dying scream, as her breathing broke, and the inhuman shrill exploded, the world slowed, and I could hear her delicate voice whisper, "I'm sorry."
The scene went blank. I laid in my bed for twenty minutes, my eyes shut tight, not realizing that I was awake, waiting further images, trying to piece together what I could, trying to help, in vain.
That morning, I looked up and tracked down this "Logan Inn" – a small historical hotel in Pennsylvania, apparently –and asked frantically about my daughter, a Linnie, a woman in a gray sweatshirt, anything at all about the woman who was my daughter and their stranger. Absolutely nothing. I spoke with every employee from the previous two weeks over the course of the day. None of them could recall this person. I thanked them for their time.
Just a dream, James.
Perhaps it didn't happen. Maybe Linnie was still alive, just fine, dare I chance the word "happy," with my relatives, living out her life.
Maybe she survived the apparent curse my children held; maybe she outran her demon.
Although it may very well be my own nonsensical dream, I want to know why she was traveling that far east. Who was she looking for?