Last edited Today
camera on my phone keeps crashing but I need to record this somehow. idk about going to police, this doesn’t seem like their kind of wheelhouse.
For record: my son Benjamin Farrow has committed no crimes known to me or anyone else. He is a missing person and has been reported. no ongoing effort has been made by law enforcement to locate him as he is not an “at-risk individual.” I am conducting a lawful search of the Madigan Estate, permission granted by Jane Madigan, owner of the property.
my ability to capture photographic evidence of the estate is being hindered by what I believe to be some kind of supernatural phenomena. Instead I will describe details of importance.
the main gates are open, but the overgrowth on the road suggests no vehicle has driven through them recently
entire estate grounds are covered in a species of brittle white tree appx. the size of dogwoods, no leaves
earth is distinctly damp and sticky, like well-fertilized garden soil, and has a salty odor
no birdsong, unusual for this time of day
My son isn’t here. Im standing on the drive and the front doors are standing open. No unbroken windows on the first or second floors, and another white tree, bigger than all the others, growing up through the right wing of the house. No leaves.
Jane described the estate as luxurious, “a turn-of-the-century backwoods resort.” i don’t see luxury. Just wasted indulgence. A plate piled up with too much sugar. Nothing but ben could make me enter that house.
I’m remembering when he was about nine we went to the zoo and they had relief plates you could do rubbings on. Give the kids a crayon and a piece of paper and let them rub out a butterfly or tiger or what have you.ben did about eight of the same plate and they all looked different, depending on what color he used and the strokes he made
That’s as close as i can come to describing the way this house looks. Like a relief plate that’s been gone over and over in so many colors and directions that it doesn’t have a sense of itself anymore. And maybe like there’s details on the plate itself that the rubbings don’t pick up because they weren’t pressing hard enough.
My son isn’t here, but his car is. Except from the looks of it, ben’s car has been here for about fifteen years. Overgrown, rusted, things living in the tire wells, etc. I ain’t stupid - that car is haunted as shit. Maybe it’s really his, maybe it isn’t, I’m not getting close enough to find out.
More weirdness. Things keep flickering in my peripheral vision. I turn and dont see anything. Like there’s a bunch of different images laid on top of each other, and any of them could be what’s really there. Animals know when to hide from prying eyes. Maybe ghosts do, too.
It’s like there’s signs here and I just need to figure out how to read them.
Why is the ground so fertile if the trees are all dead?
Why are the front doors open?
Why is Ben’s car overgrown?
Feels like a warning, like a
Chernobyl. That’s what this place makes me think of. You see those pictures and you can’t tell by looking that something’s wrong with the place, except for the animals picking around places where humans should be. But the poison is hidden deeper and it can leech right into your bones and kill you, even as you stand around wondering what all the big deal is.
The way this house stands all alone in the backwoods with nothing else around, it’s out of place. Some kind of tumor. And there’s things here that aren’t visible right on the surface, not to someone like me.
My son is here.
I just can’t see him yet.