Those Fine Young Gentlemen, Part Three: Dandy.avi

July 3, 2015 at 12:00 AM

This is part three and the final portion of the Those Fine Young Gentleman series.


First off let me say that I am ok, these past few weeks I’ve been in and out of the hospital. Ever since I spoke to Sarah I’ve been getting sicker and sicker but the doctors say I’m on the up swing. Even though I’m still stuck in this bed I’m feeling well enough to get the word out to you guys. I suppose I should start when I went to go and find the old man that sold Brad the Dell.

I can’t understand what happened but there wasn’t an old man. I don’t think Brad lied to me but when I went to the address where he had said the man had set up his yard sale I found only an empty lot. There wasn’t a house anywhere near it for almost half a block. I went to a few gas stations in the area and asked around about local yard sales or flea markets, thinking that maybe Brad had just gotten confused as to where he picked it up. The only flea market I could find had a strict rule about what as allowed to be sold. No appliances of any kind and the lady stressed that this included used laptops and computer parts. She said it was an attempt to make sure people weren’t ripped off.

No new information on David and when I search for him on sites like facebook I can’t actually find him. Now if I look for him on the Dell it is a different story and one that is really beginning to bother me. I can find his facebook page but the information keeps changing. His address is never the same, neither is his job history. Sometimes he worked as a toll operator for a bridge in Point Pleasant, WV. Other times he was a First Sargent at the Dulce Air Force Base in Dulce, NM. It is like this damn computer is taunting me. Also I see the eye icon now on everything. My own computer, my personal laptop, my tablet, hell even my phone. No viruses are detected when I check, everything is squeaky clean. I even factory reset my main rig and it was still there.

While the search for David didn’t yield much, I did find some information on Sarah. She was the one he was looking for after all but she wasn’t all that hard to find, well what’s left of her anyway. I found her after checking hospitals for women being admitted around the date that is time stamped on dandy.avi. (I will…I will get into that in a minute) A young woman was admitted to Chandler memorial hospital around that time suffering from shock, malnutrition and trauma.

I went there and pretended to be looking for my sister Sarah. Gave the woman at the front desk a sob story about how I had been out of the country for college and my friend told me she had been admitted here a while ago but that I hadn’t been able to contact her or find anything about her location since I got back. She seemed pretty skeptical till I broke down and begged her to help me find my only family left, since our parents were both dead. I laid it on thick and she finally told me that Sarah had been transferred to the Fairchild Treatment Facility for Mental Illness.

Getting in there wasn’t actually as hard as I thought it would be, they allow and seem to encourage 24 hour visitation. I just had to call and explain what the hospital had told me and they said to come down whenever I wanted. They verified she was there and I just walked in, got a badge and found her in the day room. That whole place had that sterile stink to it, like you know that if you breath in deep enough you might get a whiff of the malignancy in the air. One man sat in front of a TV masturbating vigorously, the TV was tuned to a children’s show with hand puppets. The whole time I was there he never once looked away or stopped. Sarah wasn’t very talkative and by that I mean she only said one thing over and over no matter what I asked her. “How’s the weather?”

She looked so thin, like all her meat was gone and all she had left was a little gristle under the skin. She was pretty once but now her face is gaunt and her brown hair, dull and ratty. It was her eyes though that struck me the most. They were orange and I don’t mean the kind of orange-red from irritation, I mean seaside sunset bright. I sat with her for hours, trying anything and everything to get her to say something other than “How’s the weather?”


I think now it is time to talk about what was on dandy.avi and what I think really happened. The video was about her, it was about Sarah.

The video starts in darkness and laughter. The camera focuses in and out, bringing blurred shapes together. Someone says something about low light settings and with some ruffling in the background everything suddenly comes into focus. Sarah and four other people sit around a wooden table covered in beers and glasses. She looks so happy and healthy, one of the men at the table leans over and plants a kiss on her cheek and she swats at him playfully. You can hear over the sounds of the party a loud “HEY! HEY!” and the man puts his hands up smiling.

“Sorry David, I’m just over here trying to steal your girl. No need to get all alpha male on me brah.” He says to the camera.

“Look when I agreed to this whole threesome thing I wasn’t going to be the odd man out behind the camera.” A hand pops out from the side of the screen and gives the guy a light punch.

“Who agreed to a threesome?” Sarah tries to keep a straight face and look upset at them but she constantly cracks a smile.
“Well we were going to tell you see babe but we figured a few beers might help.” David says, his voice distorted.

“Dude she is going to kick you in the nuts. I swear it was all a joke Sarah! kill his future children not mine.” The other guy jumps up from the table, making a show of cupping his crotch. He falls over however and everyone howls with laughter. The camera shakes, causing the party on the screen to sort of bleed into each other before it finally cuts out. The date stamp on the bottom reads April 30, 2013.

It cuts away to Sarah’s face. Her eyes open and close, they are bright green and her cheeks are flushed, her lips seem swollen and you can hear small huffs of breath. The camera sways up and down. Her face suddenly tightens and turns red, she whimpers and covers her eyes with her arm. Her breathing comes in strained gasps. “You’re so beautiful.” David whispers above her, “You love me?” Sarah nods, the camera suddenly shoots forward and she yelps. All you can see at this point are parts of colorful pillows and her hair. “Say it.’

“I love you, I love you.” She repeats this over and over, broken only by the sound of lips meeting again and again. The date still says April 30,2013. This carries over to the next part off the video and never changes. It is always frozen at 00:00 April 30, 2013. I can’t find anything really significant about this date. The next scene still gives me chills just thinking about it, not from anything like what I’ve seen so far but more from the realness of it. How raw it looks, how honest.

Sarah turns on the camera and wipes at her face. Her eyes are puffy and wet, it is obvious she’s been crying. Her voice sounds dejected and weak and she keeps looking around the room, which I gather by now must be her bedroom. Some of the pillows on the messy bed look familiar.

“So who would have guessed it would come back. Been in fucking remission for 6 years but now a nice family of tumors has taken up real estate right here.” Sarah digs a finger into the left side of her head. “That’s prime space. Inoperable. I never thought I wouldn’t understand a word until Doctor Heiz said that. Inoperable. Why not just say ‘Your dead Sarah’ or hand me a pamphlet for ‘Which Coffin is Right for You?’ ” She breaks down at this point, I watched her sob and rage and scream for ten minutes. I don’t know why she decided to record herself, what it was meant to be. Maybe some sort of video blog or a message for someone, I really don’t know.

It hit me hard when I watched it for the first time. I lost my grandmother to cancer and she put out a video card for Christmas. That’s how she told everyone. Watching Sarah fall apart made me think of how my grandma must have handled the news. Did she cry and scream? Did she laugh maybe , unable to process it all? Did she just sit there in the doctors office and think that there wouldn’t be any more Christmases? Even though I’ve watched this video a hundred times, that part always tugs at me.

A good chunk of the rest of the video is corrupted. All you can see every now and then are flashes of a candle lit circle made out of what might be chalk, close up shots of a chicken’s head speckled in blood with one of its eyes poking out. The audio is a strange mix of low chanting in some language I’ve never heard before and the calls of animals; Dogs growl and monkeys scream, sometimes a loud gnashing drowns everything out. This goes on and on for almost another two hours before things finally even out in a jarring cut away to David yelling at some Asian man in a door way.

“Where the hell is she you fuck?!” David shouts at the small man from behind the video camera. He is old and balding, with his skin having an unnatural sheen to it, as if he had covered himself in baby oil. He sulks back against the door as David continues to yell at him but doesn’t turn and go inside. The man looks distressed and badly shaken. “Just tell me, I know she saw you every day. Did you hurt her? get her all doped out on this new age medicine shit and touch her? you fucking piece of shit!” David pushes the man back into the dark room and the camera goes crazy.

Flashes of every color you could imagine in shapes I don’t have names for fill the screen and all you can hear is a high pitched scream. Then that eye icon flashes for a second and the old man comes into view, sitting in the floor bathed in the stark green of night vision. David keeps shouting “Oh shit” over and over while swinging the camera around the room. There must have been dozens of small heads on the wall. Some were just skulls, others with bits of flesh still on them and a few looked horrifyingly fresh. Babies. The old man starts to yell.

“It was supposed to work. They lie, the four, not the ones I called for help. They lie, bringing it over. It over. It.” The man springs up and points at David. “They lie.” He shouts one last time before the camera is suddenly in a park. Just like that. One minute the frame shows the old man in the room and the next a sunny park. David’s ragged breathing can be heard and his shocked curses. The camera topples to the ground and I catch a glimpse of him with his head in his hands sobbing. Then the video ends, simply cutting out.

When I first saw this I decided to do some digging. If Sarah really had been seeing someone who had the dead heads of children on his walls things must have a tangible trail. That isn’t something you just keep hidden. Sure enough I poked around and found a news report about a Doctor Syun and the closing of his “Natural Healing for a Better You” clinic. There wasn’t any mention of dead babies but the place closed down around the time stamp and I found out that Doctor Syun had committed suicide right after. That little discovery turned out to lead to something unbelievable and my take on what must have happened.

Doctor Syun had been a popular man and several memorial pages were set up for him. Former patients talked bout how his treatments had managed to cure diseases other doctors has deemed terminal. Reading through his biography I became more and more intrigued. He had studied medicine at Tulane University and graduated with honors but then he went on to run a fee clinic in the French Quarter of New Orleans. It was a few years later that the good doctor went on to open a holistic center where he began to practice alternative medicine and build his reputation.

Some of David’s searches and notes were starting to make sense but it was only after I managed to track down Doctor Syun’s assistant on his memorial page did things start to fall into place. When I finally got in contact with the assistant I decided to throw caution to the wind and tell her everything. I explained the Dell, the chat logs, the Gentlemen, everything. She didn’t reply to me for a long time and I figured I might have just blown it by running her off but then she sent me this email. I’ll post the body of the text, so you can make what you want from it. This is the only thing she ever sent me.

~I don’t pretend to know everything doc was doing and I don’t believe half of it. You would have better luck telling your story to one of his root doctor friends in that bayou he loved so much. All I know is what I’ve seen and what I’ve seen is enough for me to give you this advice. Burn that computer. Burn your computer. Burn everything. I was with him when he had his sessions with Sarah and what happened was like nothing I had ever seen before. They went into her, out of her, they shone out of her eyes so bright I didn’t think I would ever see again. But they were calling something. Bringing it with them. That’s what he said anyway. I’ll never know what I saw that day and I’ll never forget it. You don’t want that. Burn it all.~

I feel I’ve managed to piece together an idea of what happened. I’m not a praying man, I don’t make many waves when it comes to faith but I do believe that something is out there. We are floating in a vast darkness, only able to see a thread of the tapestry of the universe. Who knows what wonders are out there, who knows what horrors. I think the doctor found a way to see a little bit more of our world and the things in it and he used that to help people.

Voodoo actively encourages possession by spirits, so that they might heal the body. I think Sarah was desperate enough to try anything and when Doctor Syun tried to heal her something took a turn and the wrong kind of spirits entered her. Now if these spirits are the Gentlemen I don’t know. How David got in contact with them is anyone’s guess at this point. I think something with that eye icon might be a connection and if that is the case then I’m torching every last scrap of tech when I get home.

For right now though these meds are kicking my ass and I’ve got to lay down. I’ll keep you all posted should anything else happen.

Credit To – R.A Brewster

Those Fine Young Gentlemen, Part Two: Cavity.jpg & Belphegor.txt

July 2, 2015 at 12:00 AM

This is part two of the Those Fine Young Gentleman series.


A further update on those fine young gentleman. This OS is, well, OK let me say it like this. If I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of my own network security I would say someone else was in control of it. I’ve only ever taken it online to do these posts and for the most part I’ve kept it unconnected from the web but it is the damnedest thing. It’s almost as if someone is giving it permission to run programs that I can’t find anywhere on the system. When I search processes running I’m met with a slew of odd tasks. Things like whitewhite.mid or alhazred.d64, and other files that shouldn’t be running on a Linux system and when I try to track them down or gain any more info on them they just aren’t there.

This hunt for phantom programs did however lead me to a whole bunch of new files. I found them inside the S.N.I.P.E.R programs queue, David must have been trying to delete them en mass but the program overwrote so much that just one file would take it hours. I managed to pull 14 out of the queue. A few were taxes and others were just single pages filled with dots and dashes, I spotted a few videos that probably came from that p0rnz folder. Two files caught my eye however.

The first was a picture slide show of a family of four in front of a white, ranch style house. This photo was simply called cavity. The family wasn’t anything special; just a thin husband with short, almost crew cut hair, a pretty wife with a big smile and two twin boys. The boys seemed off but that might have something to do with the fact that I find twins unsettling. In the photo they all wore matching red shirts and black pants, maybe Christmas but I didn’t see any snow.

The next photo was exactly the same but this time someone had circled the front window behind the family and written out beside it “PROOF”. There in the glass was what might have been the caught image of a hand in motion. Next there was the same family but this time at a water park, the wife wore a t-shirt that said “Hot momma” with a pair of big red lips and the father and sons wore matching palm tree swim trunks. Everyone looked happy but I noticed a bruise on the chest of one of the boys. The next photo was that same boy only blown up triple its size. Written out from the bruise it said “DON’T YOU SEE!!??” and looking at it much closer the bruise did have an odd shape. I swear the more I look at it the more it looks like an eye.

The next two photos were distorted, I could make out a chair in one and what might have been a camp fire in another. I figure it was a fire because whoever had been adding the text wrote “BURN” over it. It was the second to last photo that really got me. It was of a birthday party and the boy looked horrible. His face was bloody, his right eye looked as if it had been partially gouged out, his skin was gray and looked cracked in places but he was smiling wide over a spiderman cake with a big wax candle in the shape of a six. In fact everyone was smiling, happy, laughing as if they didn’t see the awful state the boy was in. I didn’t have to click the next photo to know what it would show me, I had seen it already. It was behind the boy, could easily have been his shadow if not for the clear as day teeth. They were long and sharp, like a dog’s and set wide for a big grin. I used to own a German Sheppard and when he would pull his lips back to growl that is how those teeth looked. I can’t stop thinking about that toothy, animal smile set into that shadowed face. No text in the last photo where it had been circled. Maybe who had been writing them was as speechless as me.
The other file was another chat dump this time between David and Gentleman Jeff
G.J: You know David this whole thing is very noble of you but you have heard the old saying about the cat right? If not, long story short it doesn’t end well.
D.O: I don’t understand why you won’t give me a straight answer
G.J: Straight? David I didn’t expect you to be the intolerant type. What if I wanted to give you a gay answer or a bi answer, would you condemn them because they don’t fit your preconceived notions of answer gender?
D.O:… I don’t even, see this is what I’m talking about.
G.J: Oh you are such a delight David. Such good fun we’ve had, such fun we are going to have. I tell you what… and I shouldn’t but well here: dandy.avi
D.O: a video? that is a first.
G.J: you are reallyyyyyy 000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
D.O what? 0.0

~Gentleman Albert (G.A) has entered the group~
~Gentleman Jeff (G.J) has been kicked from the group~

G.A: That just won’t do. What was he sending you anyway, oh I see. We will have to have words.
D.O What just happened, why did my screen go all wonky. Where did Jeff go?
G.A: I will speak to him. cavity.jpeg
D.O: Albert right? I don’t think we’ve talked before
G.A: cavity.jpeg it was her favorite.

~Gentleman Albert (G.A) has left the group~

I clicked the cavity.jpeg file linked in chat and it just opened the one I had already found or at least I thought it did. It looks like the pictures have changed however and my god if this is a Photoshop job it is the best I’ve ever seen.
The family are all corpses now, rotting flesh hanging off of their pearly white bones. Their eyes are gone, one of the mother’s breasts has completely rotted away. In it’s place there is only this hole that looks like it might be oozing a greenish bile. The father seems to be holding part of his own intestines and the boys…. They are each missing opposite arms and their faces look as if the skin has been peeled off to show the skull underneath. They still have their smiles though, big and happy and wide only now the teeth are sharp and glistening.
I… I honestly don’t know what is going on here. At first this was just some creepy stuff I found on an old computer but the more I read and watch and listen,I just don’t know. That file is the exact same one I opened before reading the chat and suddenly afterward it had completely changed. How is that even possible?


Things just keep getting stranger. The more I look into these fine young gentleman the less I find. None of the names show up in a Google search with any real tangible results, I took the chance and checked some of David’s browser history and none of them showed up on any of the sites that he visited. Although some of those sites themselves were pretty out there.

A lot were your typical finds, Facebook, Youtube, David had a thing for rally cars so a few of those enthusiast websites but then there were things like Wikipedia articles about serial killers listed by number of victims.
That article chain and his bookmarks are the only clues I have to the gentleman so far. He bookmarked just four things, an article on Charles Albright, Terry Blair, Jeffrey Dahmer and Albert Fish.

I don’t know how those killers correlate to the gentleman or even if they do but it is the only connection I have been able to find to them. Here and there I would find searches for demonology and witchcraft, he once searched for the connections between Paganism and Catholicism (which yielded some fascinating results btw.)

Someone had mentioned to me that the dots and dashes I’ve been finding in random text files could be Morse code. I’m still working on translating it but one phrase that keeps showing up looks like this:

“.. / .–. .-. .- -.– / ..-. — .-. / -.– — ..- .-. / … — ..- .-..”

Now near as I can tell that says something like: “I pray for your soul”. Which leads me to think that David might have been in a lot of danger. All of his correspondence seems to stop months ago and Brad told me that he never got the old man’s name but pointed me to the place where the yard-sale was set up. I’ve made plans to stop by this weekend and find out what I can.

I traded Brad computers, giving him my old HP in exchange for this Dell. I can’t just give it away, I feel that even if I cleared the drive someone would still find something and, if I’m being honest, part of me doesn’t want to give this up. This might be the most exciting thing that has happened to me, scary sure, unnerving definitely. Especially after what I saw in dandy.avi. I’m…I’m not ready to talk about that just yet. What it lead me to however was another protected folder, this one was called 1000000000000066600000000000001.

Now that can’t be binary and honestly I thought it would just end up being one of those random folders programs make for temp files but why was it protected? I tried to open it using the program my friend sent me but that was a bust, so I went out to lunch and came back to find that the folder was suddenly unprotected. I have no idea how, that program failed and the dell isn’t connected to the net but there it was ready to be opened. The only file inside was a text document called Belphegor. After reading it I don’t… I don’t know what to think.
(posted below is it in it’s entirety)

There once was a man. That is a fine way to start things off isn’t it? Once, past tense. I feel that’s pretty accurate since they are getting closer. Past tense is whats coming, no point in denying that. I was always big on denial, helped me make sense of things. It was always someone or something elves fault, I had no idea the concept of self sabotage. How could someone understand that the devil in the story was themselves all along? Can’t really make sense of that. Looking at everything now, here at the end, I can see all the broken connections. All my failures, all my mistakes and I can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe I had set myself up for this my whole life. That I was meant to die here in this dirty bedroom in my fathers house. Surrounded by other old, broken, forgotten bits of family history.

I dropped out of college after one year, gaining a heap of good memories and ten thousand dollars of debt. I washed out of the army in basic training, just didn’t have the stuff they said. I then ghosted around my old haunts, doing odd jobs and odd women and just barely getting by. Until my uncle called me and told me that my dad had died, hunting accident.

They said he was found stuck up his tree stand in the woods. He was old and must have gotten hitched to something and couldn’t get off. I over heard one of the deputies at his funeral talking about the look he had, as if he had been staring at something from hell itself. If that was true then the undertaker had done a heck of a job however now that I think back on it the old man did sort of look pained as he laid there in his new pine bed. I hadn’t talked to him in twenty years, maybe I’ll see him again in a bit if there is an afterlife. My uncle told me that dad left me the farm and I had thought man, my luck had changed. Until I got to the place and saw what a mess had been made of it.

Those fields hadn’t seen a plow in years, part of the upstairs was just rotted away and dad must have lost it a little in the home defense department. Every window was nailed shut, the doors were locked and bolted and then locked again. Chains around the cellar door and the only usable upstairs room, the master bedroom, was locked up tighter than a vault. I nearly sliced my hands on the barbed wire along the stair railing. That wasn’t the oddest part however. Now as out there as all that was it was the smell that dis-concerned me the most.


It smelled like honey everywhere in that house. As if it was part of the decaying wood, mixed into the paint on the walls, somehow infused in the very air. I found the source of the smell that first night in the kitchen. Dozens of jars of honey were opened on the counters. They filled the table, pots and pans of it along the floor and on the stove were two great big cast iron pots filled with it. There wasn’t however a single fly or ant or any insect for that matter. There also wasn’t a scrap of food in the whole place save for one can of potted meat. I went out and picked up a pizza and started to go through dads things.

I felt a pang of regret when I found the pictures that had once been on every wall stuffed into a pillow case in his room. How had he ended up like this and I not have known? Twenty years was a long time sure but hadn’t someone seen him like this , wouldn’t they have said something to me? At the time I had thought he had just been slowly loosing it, I guess now I do know the truth. Why couldn’t it have been altimeter? That first night I heard them outside. At first I thought it was just raccoons or maybe deer but when they smashed a window downstairs I took one of dad’s old rifles and went to investigate. As I carefully navigated the stairs I heard muffled numbers. ONE, TWO, THREE…ONE,TWO,THREE. I flipped the lights on and found the window by the front door busted but nothing there. Same with the next room and the next. I came back to the window and noticed for the first time the lines on the floor.

Chalk lines in groups of three lead out from the door to the stairs. They continued up, one group on each step, all the way to the bedroom door. I looked from all the windows and it was the same, all leading back to the stairs and up to the bedroom. I sat at the top step, just like I did when I was a child and cried for my father. Our falling out hadn’t really been a very upsetting one for me but it must have been for him. To think he wouldn’t even have bothered to call me when things started to slip away from him. That no one would. I wondered if I really had burned that bridge as bad as it seemed or maybe he helped burn it too. I was so caught up in this thought, that maybe my dad had hated me more than I hated him, that the loud crash from the kitchen startled me more that it should have.

I nearly jumped out of my skin and did in fact end up tumbling down a few of the steps before I caught myself. Once there I found all of the honey pots on the floor over turned but not a drop of the sticky stuff on the floor. They were empty and judging by the slight sheen along the rims, licked clean. Confused I picked a few of them up and placed them on the table. I heard a scuttling behind me and then the lights went out. After I found the switch, more bottles toppled from where I had just been at the table. I flicked on the light and screamed. There leaning off the table was something out of my nightmares.

It was roughly the size of a small dog, like a corgi, but it looked like a man. Hairless and gray but with legs and arms and a thin chest. It’s hands were small but it’s claws were not. They were easily half it’s length, like steak knives attached to a baby doll. It felt so unnatural, as if I was looking behind the curtain of the world at one of the actors out of make up. I was looking at something that shouldn’t be, something from the dark places that the would had tried to stamp out. I stood there, frozen in place as it’s head began to raise up. It looked at me and I could feel it, actually feel it slither across my skin and as if against my will I met it’s gaze.

Empty pits blinked to focus, gave the impression of holes being filled and dug. It’s mouth was jagged and torn as if it had used one of those claws to carve it into it’s own head. I screamed and it lunged, digging one of those claws into my shoulder as it launched off of the table. I grabbed it and pushed back as hard as I could. Touching it felt like holding a fish fresh from the freezer. I manged to fling it back but my arm was ruined, it felt like pins and needles all down my left side. Looking at it turned my stomach, I’ve never been good with blood and there was a lot of it. I stumbled backward, frantic to find the way out.

From somewhere across the room “Come and Get Your Love” started to play, it must have hit the radio. I heard the rushed pattering of feet heading toward me and I ran as fast as I could back up the stairs. At the top of the stairs I stopped to breath. My arm burned and bolts of pain from the cuts kept stuttering my lungs. “ONE, TWO,THREE.” I could see it at the bottom step thanks to the upper hallway light. Those empty eyes looked hatefully up at me, I know that’s an odd thing to say since it didn’t seem to have an expression but that is what I felt from it’s dark gaze. It moved to the next step. “ONE, TWO, THREE”. Frantic I ran back to the bed room and bolted the door shut.

And that is where I am now, listening to that thing counting closer. I’m sitting at dad’s old desk, putting this down in the last few pages of his journal. I read his last entries, he talked about this thing a lot. Said he found a tree out in the woods filled with honeycomb but not a single bee. The wood looked blood red and he figured it would make a nice table. As he was cutting it dad felt something watching him. This thing attacked a few days latter. He called it the “Sweet Eater” because the only thing he had found that kept it away was honey and sweet things. He discovered the counting as it was chasing him through the house. Nothing he tried killed it, dashing my hopes in the rifle. His last line talks about how it manged to get a taste of his blood and the honey stopped working. All it seemed to want then was him. “ONE, TWO, THREE.” I hear it outside the door now. “ONE, TWO,THREE.” I’m sorry da…

\Translated from French papers found in the Nord-Pas-de-Calais region. Translator Sarah Bergman. Year: Not before 1974, exact date unknown\

(After that this repeats over and over for pages and pages: “… …. . .—-. … / –. — -. .” I think it says “She’s Gone”)

Credit To – R.A Brewster

Those Fine Young Gentlemen, Part One: Cottoneye.rtf

July 1, 2015 at 12:00 AM

This is part one of the Those Fine Young Gentleman series.


Before I get started here let me say that I have to post this. That I need to share what I’ve found. It’s the same feeling you get when you drive by a car crash and have to look in horror at the mangled bodies of metal and flesh. I have to show you, you have to see, you need to see. I’ve only begun to sort through all the files but I’ll put them up…I have to. I like to fix computers in my free time, kinda like adult Legos. I’ve built quite a few of them for myself and friends and whenever something goes wrong I am the first person they call. Now most of the time it’s just user error or a bad antivirus letting some worm or other nefarious program munch on root files. Nothing I couldn’t handle and nothing really strange. That is until Brad brought me this laptop he bought at a flea market. It was some old world Dell, the monolith sized ones and just looking at it made me feel like an archaeologist finding some ancient relic.

He told me that he hadn’t had a chance to play around with it yet but the old guy had sold it to him for 15 bucks so he wasn’t expecting a miracle. He just wanted me to clean it out, do what I could to speed it up and load up some programs his daughter could use for school. If it was a wash oh well but he had complete faith in me. Now I told him I was a computer god but some things are beyond my powers, I promised to do what I could. As soon as I turned it on I knew I was in for hell. Just the load time to boot was snail slow. Once there I made an odd discovery, the computer wasn’t running Windows. It was using some home-brewed Linux OS called AsmoDos, I figured that this would actually save me some time, just wipe the drive and do a fresh install from one of the Windows 7 jump drives I had laying around. But I was pretty curious.

Making your own flavor of Linux was something I had tried to play around with but I was garbage at coding and working with kernels and all those sudo edits made my head hurt. Here this guy made his own, seemingly, working OS and it was running on this artifact from another time. I was impressed and wanted to see how the whole thing ran.There wasn’t a password on the home screen just a black and red tinted background with an enter icon. That was pretty odd but I clicked it and was immediately disappointed.

There wasn’t anything fancy about the UI at all, looked like a carbon copy of Ubuntu from way back in the day. Browsing around I found the normal saved pages, obligatory funny photos, a few tax papers (I resisted the urge to swipe the SSN…those days are over). Found out the guy who owned this heap of junk before was named David Osa. David wasn’t a very adventures guy, even his porn was pretty generic stuff, and also I found it in a folder labeled P0rnz. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Then I ran into some odd stuff.

The first thing that I found was a program called S.N.I.P.E.R. It turned out to be a file over-writer, like a super trash can. However where a computer would normally write over a deleted file once, this program wrote over it 47 times. That’s more than the CIA. That is what you run when you want something GONE. Why on earth would he have something as heavy duty as that? I went back over the image files again, won’t lie I figured he must have some CP on here to warrant such a program but there was nothing, zip, nada. I did find the next unsettling thing however and boy did it lead to some unnerving shit.

It was a password protected folder called FYG, hidden inside a folder for Celtic soundscapes. Now bear in mind this is the first password protected anything I had come across. P0rnz, tax papers, hell the system itself, wide open but not this one folder. What was he hiding? I tried to crack it the normal way, guessing. Last name didn’t work, password didn’t work, neither did password spelled backward, David was at least smarter than that. I looked through some of my own programs but none of them could help me crack something on a Linux OS, they just weren’t set up for it.

On a hunch I got in touch with a buddy of mine who had been an avid Linux fan since I first met him. It didn’t take long to convince him that I was thinking about making the switch and was in need of his help with a pesky password problem. He sent me something he said should help and stressed to me that I was making the right choice, that windows was doomed, open source was the best yadda yadda yadda. Whatever he sent me opened up the terminal and apparently had super cow powers. I still don’t understand but it worked and I was able to open the folder. It held dozens of text files, chat logs, AVIs but nothing seemed that out there. Until I started reading.

I can’t tell you how odd and disturbing these things are. It seems David was talking with a group of people he called “Those Fine Young Gentlemen”, he kept a sort of journal on his thoughts about them. From those and what I’ve read so far it seems there are four of them, a Gentleman Charles, Gentleman Terry, Gentleman Jeff and Gentleman Albert. The first bit I came across started in a chat dump between David and Gentleman Terry.

D.O: Come on, you really expect me to believe that just because of some local news link.
G.T: U did waNt proof diDn’T you?
D.O: I wouldn’t call that proof G.T: what would u call it? u mitE Really want to OPEN this then(cottoneye.rtf) EnJoY -.-

~Gentleman Jeff (G.J) has joined the group~

G.J: Come now ol’ boys don’t you think that’s a little much, he’s been fun so far. Think he is really ready to leave the kiddie table?
G.T: wonT matter, He’s going to opEn it can’t help himsElf.
D.O: What the hell is this anyway?
G.T: What you wAnted, that pesky truth Remember?
D.O: I don’t get why you guys keep saying that’s what I wanted, I just want to know about Sarah. I know she was talking to you damn it, WHERE IS SHE!?
G.T: Truth comes in guarded Halves. Keep reading.
G.J: Don’t be such a bad show David, we’ve only been trying to help.

~David Osa (D.O) has left the group~

I tracked down the cottoneye.rtf file. Draw what you will from it but this whole thing just keeps getting more and more unsettling. (There is one photo embedded in the document, it’s of a beautiful sunset, broken up by dark jagged pines.)
———–Transcript of papers found in patient 0043’s room, after third escape attempt. ———–FWD to Doc. West along with suggestion to increase tridextropane by at least half, if not doubling the dose all together. ——————————————–
My name is Mark Chapman and I am not crazy. I know that’s not something a sane person would say but what sane person would believe me? I’ve told this, god, a thousand times and no one believes. My parents, their parents, my girlfriend, my own fucking brother! They won’t even come to visit me anymore. They don’t believe but I do. I believe in the man in the woods and the awful things he did to them.
Cops always wanted me to start at the beginning but they don’t have a god damn clue when that was. The camping trip? Nope! The flat tires before we even sat out? Try again! No this whole thing went back so much further. I had seen him before….we all had.

(There are pages and pages after this that just say “SPRINGVALE” in erratic, almost frantic lines.)

The trip was a bad idea, should have known since it was Jason who suggested it. Nothing went right; the car had problems from the get go and Alex, who had been in charge of the snacks and food and gear just fucking forgot to bring half that shit. In the end we sat out on some janky used tires and one tent to share for three days. The food was an easy fix it turned out and as we headed deeper into the woods toward the campground we were all in high spirits.

Just three old friends getting away for a while, like it used to be. God I miss them. After Jason had regaled us with another tale of how he had single handled helped this cop subdue a 450 pound meth addict, Alex started poking holes in his story. Jason hadn’t subdued anything more violent than a early bird buffet in his whole life but his stories were something else and watching him jump through hoops to keep up the act while Alex tossed question after question at him reminded me of how much things hadn’t changed. It was then, me lost in nostalgia with my head out the window, that I saw him.

It was just a flash, so quick i could almost believe that he was just another tree trunk but a glance into those eyes made me sure it wasn’t. They were so blue. Like a sailor’s dream of crisp Caribbean seas, twin holes of perfect summer Sunday sky set deep into an impossibly smooth face. That face was new born maggot white and looked like it was stretched thin, barely holding something back from busting out like puss from a boil.

Even though I didn’t see it then I knew he would be wearing a ratty old t-shirt that read “Mondays” with a sad cloud on it and no pants. Just long, pencil thin legs stabbing down from the end of the shirt as if it were some sort of dress. It took me a while to realize that the car had stopped and that I’d been screaming the whole time. Jason just looked at me while Alex kept shaking me and asking me if I was alright. Jason’s brown eyes asked one thing? “Mr. Monday?” my sobs must have answered him because he started to break down too. Alex stopped shaking me and curled up in the back seat, his eyes far away.

(At this point the review committee felt it necessary to include an excerpt from patient 0043’s previous therapy sessions with Dr. Amid)

Chapman continues to reference a “Mr. Monday” and while normally leery of discussing this topic, today he was very forthcoming. It would seem this whole construct began far back in his past, sometime in grade school. He talked about how he and the two victims, Alex and Jason, first encountered it one night. The three of them were exploring some abandoned apartment complex behind their school, Springvale if memory serves me right. Inside one of the upstairs rooms the three boys uncovered a dead man.

Chapman claims that the body had been long dead and I suspect that the whole traumatic event caused a lasting, shared delusion among the three. Instead of fleeing the building the three had taken up the idea that they would solve the man’s murder and began looking through the rooms for clues. It is at this point that Chapman varies his story many times. At one point he said they found a room full of candles and skinned cats, later he says that all the rooms were empty but covered in some bluish mold that would “breath”, being alone in the building turned into finding fleeting shadows ducking down halls. As he recounted running down seven flights of stairs only to open the door at the bottom and end up back at the floor they had left on, his mood became violently panicked. Chapman paced, ran his fingers through his hair, and openly sobs as he continued recounting the events in the abandoned apartments.

At some point the corpse started to follow them down the halls. Always just a little behind but getting closer with every turn they made. It wore a shirt that said I hate Mondays which I feel is where they derived the nickname. Finally Chapman, with some aura of triumph, told me how they had ended the nightmare by jumping from the third story window. He showed me the pins in his leg he had gotten after the fall. It was at this time that I managed to steer him to the events of that night in the woods.

His eyes grew far off but for the first time in our sessions he started where “Mr. Monday” found them in their car. Chapman told me how they had been forced to stay the night in their car because the engine wouldn’t turn over. The night didn’t feel as if it would be that cold and Jason had managed to improve their spirits by telling them a stories about his colorful life (I have had to listen to Chapman regale me of his friends exploits enough to know that these stories must have been something special in their friendship.) However as the moon continued to rise he claimed they all grew very aware of something outside the car. Something just outside their area of sight.

It was at 3am that the radio came on all by itself and blasted the music loud enough to wake them, he said the song was some dance mix of “Cotton eye Joe”. Startled Jason tried the engine again and flipped on the headlights. Only to find Mr. Monday there in front of the car. Chapman claimed that the creature just pushed through the window like it was made of water; that he only survived because he ran but when pressed as to why the others didn’t run, why only he saw this Mr. Monday, he became defensive as always. I pressed him with the evidence of his crime, hoping that maybe with his openness today we could have some breakthrough. It was, well less than desired. 0043 will remain in restraints until committee review.

(After this there are only what seem to be crime scene photos. They show a headless body slumped over the steering wheel of a car, another shows a torso without an arm or both legs and the last one shows a young man being pulled from the back seat of a car by police. His eyes are wild, his face covered in blood and he is wearing a shirt with a sad cloud that says “I hate Mondays”)

Credit To – R.A Brewster


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