Haunted Cosmos - The Devil's Den, Part I

Episode Date: July 31, 2024

Please enjoy this first inter-season episode of our Patreon exclusive show, The Dusty Tome. In this episode, we begin the story of the Devil's Den!Love Haunted Cosmos? Get access to our exclusive show, The Dusty Tome, early ad-free access to main episodes, monthly AMA's, and livestreams with Ben and Brian by becoming a patron of the show: https://www.patreon.com/c/HauntedCosmosBuy the Haunted Cosmos book: https://www.newchristendompress.com/cosmos PS: It's also available as an audiobook!Want to keep nefarious fairy Bigfoots away and also avoid icky seed oils, preservatives, artificial colorants, and other nasties in your daily shower routine? Then check out the vast array of homemade soaps from our friends at Indigo Sundries Soap Co.! Go to indigosundriessoap.com to learn more—and as our gift to you, use code HAUNTEDCOSMOS for 10% off your whole order!This episode is sponsored by New Dominion Design Co. Visit their website here and learn more!This episode is sponsored by Backwards Planning Financial. Visit Joe's website here or give him a call (615-767-2555).This episode is also sponsored by Stonecrop Wealth Advisors! Go to this link to check out their special offers to Haunted Cosmos listeners today.This episode is sponsored by Squirrelly Joe's Coffee! Visit their website here to get your first bag free!  Share Coffee. Serve Humbly. Live faithfully.Finally, this episode is sponsored by Gray Toad Tallow. Visit their website here and use COSMOS15 at checkout for 15% off your order.Support the show

Welcome, everyone, to this first interseason dusty tome special episode, where we share in between seasons some of our Patreon exclusive shows with you guys. And we're going to start this season break with a series on Devil's Den and The Incident Thereof. And what I mean will be very clear in just a few minutes. But before that, let me say that this episode is sponsored by Indigo Sundry Soap, backwards planning financial, New Dominion Design Co, Grey Toad Tallow,

Stonecrop Wealth Advisors, and Squirley Joe's Coffee. As well, of course, as our supporters at patreon.com. If you listen to the show and you like what you hear, consider becoming a patron. There are over 70 episodes

in the backlog that we would love for you guys to listen to. We'd love to share it with you, get your thoughts on it, see what all you think we should tackle next, and overall just interact with you, guys. We love our patrons. We try to make sure they get top value for all of the great love that they give to us in supporting the show. And so you can expect over the next 10 weeks, each week you'll get a

sneak peek at one of our Patreon exclusive shows, and we hope that you enjoy them. I think if I say anything more, I'll just start rambling. So thanks for supporting the show. We really look forward to season four, already getting stuff underway for that. Now please just sit back, relax, and of course, enjoy the show. There is power in a name. At the beginning of the world, when man could still hear the sons of God singing with the dawned stars,

the marvel of creation, our first father, Adam, was presented with a task. He had recently been tinctured and ordained by the Lord to act as his vice-gerent on the earth, and his first job was to witness the procession of creatures before him

so that he might give them their names. The scriptures say that one of Adam's goals in naming the beasts was to find a helper suitable for him in carrying out his task of dominion. This motivation of his changes how we tend to conceive of a name. In the modern world, names mean at most scientific classification, and at worst, nothing. Many parents today name their children as if they were a novel accessory to their lives, that they wanted to carry the trendiest title they could think of. Neither of these things are what naming actually is. Naming is an act of authority,

wherein the name giver proclaims his rule over the thing named and gives it its telos, its end, its final purpose. It is no accident then that Eve is named Eve. It is not because Adam wanted her to be the mother of all living, it is because she already was. see Genesis 3, 20. It is no accident that Joshua was named Joshua. God was not hoping that he would usher in the salvation of Jehovah.

He had decreed it. It would be. But what about us? Can we still powerfully name things, giving them responsibility and a mission without them ever knowing or consenting to it? Well, yes, of course. And we only pretend that this is not true at our own peril. Did I name my firstborn son Abner because I hope he someday becomes a father of light?

Well, I hope he does become that, but no, I named him that because he already turned me into one. The first cries he took were daggers of blessing that found their target in my heart. And this is, even in a fallen world, the goal that man has in all of his name giving. We want to name things in line with the grain of what they are, to be. Everyone, God-fearer or not, used to know this was true. In fact, it wasn't until recently that we forgot about it. Now, not only are we slow to be bold in naming, we will even let a child tell us their own sex, how far the mighty have fallen into the pit of ruin and despair. But I'll stop my rant and get to the point. All of this business about naming means that when we

are curious about the point of a thing, or why a thing is the way that it is, it's not fruitless to take a look at its name and see what can be gleaned, if anything, in our hard-hearted world. In 1880, a U.S. post office was established in a small and newly official township called Anna on the far western border of Arkansas. The land had already been the stage of countless dramas in its unnamed history. Everything from Civil War, espionage and bloody battles to Native American curses were well known to have found their home in this soil before. But with the christening of Anna, the hope was that a page might be turned for the better. It wasn't. Less than 90 years after its founding, the entire town was destroyed by a flood.

It limped along for another decade or so before the state finally threw in the poor little infant towns towel in 1905. All that was left standing, all that is still left of Anna today, is a cemetery, a well, and some sandstone building foundations. Maybe, just maybe, some of the tragedy could have been avoided had the city fathers paid some mind to what the land was already called. You see, those Native American curses were not for nothing. A cave existed, and what would one day become Anna that harbored a venomous evil for any who stepped foot inside of it were lingered in its outskirts for too long, or so it was said. The natives scorned of this place and avoided it like the beast it was. They called it the devil's den. Thirty years after Anna had been extinct and the dread

cave had sat empty and quiet, the U.S. Civilian Conservation Corps filed into the area and started work on what would be officially named in Arkansas State Park soon thereafter. It was a beautiful nature reserve of lakes and rivers, waterfalls and canyons, sandstone gullies and lush, forested plateaus. It was begging to be cherished for the rich heritage of geography and geology and ancient history that it was. Nestled into a fertile valley deep in the belly of the Ozarks. The frequent clouds of fog and sprays of mist granted an almost haunting atmosphere to the place.

This feature greatly encouraged the men and what to choose when it came time to name it. They knew of the cave and the curses and the legends already surrounding everything there and were willing, unlike Anna's founders, to defer to what the natives have long called it, seeing in their name a striking resemblance

to the place's reality. Thus, Devil's Den State Park was opened. For almost a century now, the park has maintained its status as one of the greatest conservation core operations in the country, and is a frequent favorite of Arkansas natives and her visitors. It really is, and I mean this, a lovely place. But stalking just under the surface of tranquility and mirth

that this place gives to so many, there remains a dark side. The Devil's Den, you see, is a place where many people go to disappear. Brian, I got bad news. The other day I was using one of the big box soap products to wash myself. And I got this weird urge to go buy a Stanley cup and fill it with iced coffee. And it started to feel a little cold in the house. I just wanted to wrap myself up in like a heavy wool blanket. And then also, I started Googling ticket prices to Taylor Swift concerts. Ben, what are you doing? Don't you know that these big box soap companies just jam all their

soaps full of hormone disrupting chemicals? They're probably turning you into a girl. Well, I know that now, but what am I supposed to do about it? Ben, you ignorant, me. All you've needed to do is go to indigo sundry soap.com and support a great Christian family business that's making all sorts of soaps that are completely free of hormone-disrupting chemicals and other nasties. Okay, I am literally going to indigosundrysoap.com right now. Tell me what to buy. Ben, what I would recommend doing is clicking on bundles and then selecting the best one for you. You could get the men's six-pack. You could get my favorite, the clay bundle. Ooh, I like the pipe and jug bundle. That seems cool. Or a men's six-pack.

that'll make me feel like I have something that I actually don't. So true, King. And you know what else I heard? Because they're such good friends of the show, Indigo Sundry Soap Company is offering 10% off your order. If you just use all caps, discount code, haunted Cosmos, no spaces. Wait, Brian, you're going way too fast.

I didn't get all that. Is that information in the show description? Ben, you ignorant normie. It's always in the show description. Okay, so I'm going to go to indigosundrysoap.com. I'm going to pick the men's six-pack bundle, and I'm going to use code Haunted Cosmos at checkout, all caps, no spaces. And if I forgot all that, it's in the description of the show.

Of course, Ben. And if you just do that, then you will stop wanting to do all of those girly things and maybe you'll, I don't know, maybe want to buy a classic car to restore or something dignified. We are living in the beginning of a new reformation. Christian content is being produced at a rapid rate. Art, businesses, publications, ministries, and a thousand other mediums are acting as agents to get us out of our current anti-Christian world. And all of these mediums are going to need marketing

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including their brand new tallow sunscreen. What? Enter code Cosmos 15, that's COSMOS 15, all caps for 15% off your order. In 1946, the Van Alst family heralding from Pittsburgh arrived at the entrance of Devil's Den State Park and reserved a campsite to enjoy during their stay. The Van Alsts were a family of five, mom and dad, two older sons, and an eight-year-old daughter named Catherine. The tent was pitched, chairs were set out, books were cracked over,

open. The grill was stocked with charcoal and everyone was settling in for what was sure to be a great family vacation and the cozy and tucked in beauty of Western Arkansas. And the family stay did began well enough. They enjoyed the feeling of separation, the quiet park afforded them in contrast to the bustling noise and rushed vitality of their big city home. It was the first time and perhaps a very long time that everyone in the family got to deeply connect with everyone else. Who says vacation isn't productive? One morning, an unknown number of days into the trip, the children were playing together in a small creek close to the campsites.

Rock skipping, minnow fishing, maybe even wrestling between the two brothers, while Catherine cheered against whichever one had been mean to her last. The trio was having a simple but nonetheless wonderful time. As the morning wore on, each child filtered into what their personalities most naturally inclined them to do. One brother kept skipping rocks, the other jumped across the creek over and over again, trying to construct a footbridge out of big rocks and felled trees. And Catherine sat still in the wild flower-filled grass, soaking it all in. All three children remained very close together, chatting with one another and looking at each other. But in a single instant, in a quick turn of

the head or blink of the eye, both brothers were startled to see that Catherine was not no longer there. The boys shouted for her, nothing. They searched the immediate area and continued shouting. Nothing. They asked other campers if they had seen their sister. Nothing. What followed was a desperate manhunt that spanned nearly the entire 2,500 acres of the state park. And despite hundreds of volunteer helpers, law enforcement professionals, and search dogs aiding in the search, The vast size of the land swallowed up their efforts, and it all quickly became clearly futile. The frantic parents drove everyone on to continue looking for their little girl, who would have been clad in nothing more than a bathing suit,

and was now forced to face the elements, wildlife, and difficult terrain without even the help of shoes on her feet. Six days into the search, as a volunteer named Chadwick aimlessly wandered near the mouth of a cage, he kept calling out for Catherine. He had long before resigned himself to the fact that she would likely be unable to give any response, and so he didn't expect one. But lo and behold, out of the darkness of the cave came a completely calm and even-toned, Here I am. The little girl had been discovered, against all hope, huddled away in the nook of a cold cave, six days after she had gone missing in the outer wilderness. When asked what the mood of the girl was, Chadwick replied, eerily calm, and Catherine's mother

confirmed that her daughter was utterly serene. The cave Catherine had been found in was seven miles from where she vanished from as the crow flies. It was an additional 600 feet in elevation. It had already been searched twice before, on different days, once on foot and once by air. More recently, in 2017, a 33-year-old man named Rodney Letterman experienced harrowing events of his own at the park. He and a group of friends had booked a campsite along the pristine Butterfield Trail deep in Devil's Den. One day, while his friends packed to enjoy day of hiking along the trail to see what adventures they might be able to find, Rodney informed them that he was not feeling so well.

And so planned to hang back and stay at camp while they went ahead. They implored him to join them, but he insisted. They offered to stay, but he insisted again that they can't let his minor sickness ruin everyone's fun. The friends left Rodney with a promise not to be back too late. Hours passed, and the rest of the group returned to camp to find it empty. No Rodney. Now, first, they figured their friend must have started feeling a bit better, good enough to go for his own little solo hike somewhere close by.

but soon a sense of unease started infecting the group. They all found Rodney's phone just sitting out in the open of the campsite, as if Rodney had only stepped away for a moment to pee or something, but it had already been too long for that to have been the case. It was 2017, just seven years ago. People had already learned the habit of never leaving their phones just lying around out of their pockets or hands. Something wasn't right.

Rodney was from a small town in Oklahoma called Bartlesville. In December of that same year, the local town paper, the Bartlesville Examiner, published an article on the case stating, quote, 2,500 acres were searched, and except for his cell phone, nothing has ever been found of Rodney Letterman. That synopsis remained true for 18 months. On February 25, 2019,

a hiker was exploring an area off the normal trail in a particularly rugged and difficult to access part of the park. It was an area, as was well documented, that searchers had combed so many months earlier in search of Rodney Letterman. They had found no trace of the man then. And yet, as this unnamed outdoorsman scrambled over the harsh terrain, he noticed something that didn't seem to fit in his peripheral vision.

He carefully made his way over the slick winter rock to the pearly smooth object he noticed under a cleft and removed it. It was a human skull. It belonged to Rodney Letterman. But despite these gruesome cases, we must be careful. If we're not, we may gloss over the intervening years between the 1940s world that is now so far gone and the modern day. And it's right near the middle of these middle years

between Catherine and Rodney's disappearances, that the most important and strange events occurred within the boundary of Devil's Den, events that many believe did not even happen at all. How many demons, ghosts, or vampires do you have in your investment portfolio? Well, if you've invested in the S&P 500, it's probably more than you think,

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Let's flip and go. Link in the description below. I'm a poet. Didn't even know it. Terry Lovelace and his best friend Toby were wrapping up paperwork after a night shift when Toby with newfound energy said, hey, I got an idea.

Let's go camping. There's a state park close by Devil's Den. We can go there. Now, right away, please understand, dear listener, that these two friends were not exactly outdoorsy. They were city boys who had joined the Air Force young and were steadily working their way up the ranks of pay. They didn't join with any notion of becoming pilots or actually deploying to the field. They had no interest in survival school or anything like that. Neither of them had ever taken any interest in something that seemed to them so trivial as camping before.

Given this, you can imagine Terry's confusion. You can also imagine his immediate rejection of the whole idea. But with some prodding from his friend, Terry promised to consider the camping idea for a while and see if his tune might change. For a long time, the tune did anything but change. It only solidified. What about their wives? Were they expected to suddenly take a massive interest in camping too? What about Toby's two kids?

What were they supposed to do with a couple of toddlers in a tent? Certainly not sleep. And so it went in Terry's mind for many days before he finally broke the news to Toby that he just didn't think it was a very good idea. After hearing his concerns, Toby clarified, and things started to change. Toby said he had no intention of taking his family with them.

This was going to be a guy's trip. No wives, no kids, no work, just two friends getting away from it all. to enjoy nature and recharge a bit. Toby said that it would be a sort of trial run anyways, since neither of them had done any camping before. And hey, if they liked it, he proposed, maybe they could bring the whole retinue along with them for the next time.

Terry still protested, claiming that the wives would never be down to take care of the kids alone while their husbands went and relaxed for a few days. And what about the bugs? What about other wildlife? They couldn't just learn all of this new stuff in a couple of, days and then trapes into the wild like they own the place. Toby predicted all of these further objections and shifted gears,

trying to help Terry not worry about these little details, and instead think about how great an opportunity it would be for his photography, something Terry was really trying to improve at. Anyways, I think you get the point. The friends went back and forth like this for some time, but deep down, Terry had already known for a while that Toby would win, that he would ultimately concede and pursue this wild idea with his friend. He knew that he also really did want to go, despite all his arguing.

After some more buttering up with the promise of great wildlife photography chances, Terry found himself not only consenting to the plan, but becoming just as zealous for it himself as Toby had already been. He didn't think much about how random it seemed for Toby to suddenly have a deep desire to camp and to do so in this particular spot. maybe he should have. After another couple of weeks, the pair's wives also decided that it did sound like a fun idea for the friends, and they were happy to give them this sort of getaway as a loving gift.

The men were stoked. Every day they both grew more and more excited, obsessed with this camping trip. Terry says that it consumed him until he could hardly focus on work in normal life. Why? The two bright young airmen channeled their obsession, into precise planning for the trip, settling on Devil's Den as the location for the wildlife and remoteness and intricately planning all that they'd need to pack for shelter,

clothes, fire, first aid, food, and other miscellaneous items. It started to become quite the investment, but this didn't bother them in. With how excited they had become at the hobby already, they felt certain this gear would get used time and time again as they took their families out after their maiden voyage, just like Toby had said they would. It all came together, with no shortage of mishaps along the way, and the friends left their homes on base in central Missouri

on a humid morning at 6 a.m. sharp. Once out of the honking and faint but constant sounds of sirens somewhere in the distance that afflicts those of the city, Terry and Toby felt euphoric, as if their lives has suddenly turned from mundane to a utopian dream of untold wonder, possibility and potential for more and more happiness. This may sound hyperbolic,

but we've all experienced this at least once, or something akin to it, something that in the moment has such a strong positive effect on your mood and outlook that after the fact doesn't seem to make much sense. And it usually is never able to be replicated. At this point, part of the friend's plan has to be communicated. In their exponential zeal for camping that they suddenly found in the planning process of the trip,

they both grew a bit overconfident in their completely non-existent outdoorsman skills. They decided that the mainstream and designated camping spots were not what they were after. They wanted backcountry. They wanted true wilderness. The noise of families and dogs and cars that were certain to accompany the primary car campsites would feel far too much akin to city life. which is exactly what this passionate impulse was getting them to avoid at all costs. And so, after they crossed the northern border of Arkansas,

they soon found the main visitor entrance to Devil's Den and presently passed it by. They didn't visit the ranger station to get permits either. Dodging down side roads and through open gates, they avoided any contact with park authorities while they looked for a truly wild place to enjoy their holiday. Toby, thinking soberly about something at least, was also drawing a map of their journey into their spot so that once they were ready to leave they could safely get back home. Soon, the tarmac turned to gravel, and the gravel worsened until it too was gone and the pair was driving on a rough dirt road for the last stretch of their arrival. In a moment of sincerely reckless discernment, they opened a gate to a clearly marked ranger's vehicle-only area and continued on. into the far reaches of the wildlife preserve. Finally, after their trail finished its tight,

winding and steep, unkempt climbs, the tree line gave way to a massive meadow on top of a plateau. The graceful green of the wild grass was only interrupted by the streaks of wildflower adding color throughout. Obviously, they immediately decided this was the spot, and so parked the car. At this point, Terry cursed himself. He had forgotten his camera in their mad dash to leave home early. What an idiot. After staying out exploring beyond the meadow for far too long, the men hurried back from their hike to set up camp, light of fire, and eat some food before a much bigger day of hiking tomorrow. Having only pitched their camp in their minds, the process proved to test their patience both with themselves and even a bit with one another.

To boot, the mosquitoes had come out in full force with the final setting of the sun and were wreaking havoc on what had only just recently been an idyllic place. But Terry and Toby persevered, and with the help of their truck headlights allowing them to see, Toby had soon pitched the tent and the time it took Terry to gather up some horrible excuses for firewood. You see, in the shuffle, he had learned that in addition to his camera, he had also left his axe at home too. Once the kindling was lit, the friends started to feel an overwhelming sense of drowsiness come upon them. The drive-in, the longer-than-expected first-day hike, the forgotten items and hastily built camp,

it all felt like a storm they had just weathered now. The juvenile excitement was gone from the men as they sat, backs to the tent, looking at the fire and the starry sky looming large over their heads. Terry rummaged through their cooler and, slapped together a quick dinner, ate hot dogs over the fire, bag of chips, some cookies, and some beer. It was one of the best meals either of them have ever had. Once it was done and the drowsiness had found renewed strength, they lazily blew up their air mattresses to lounge beside the campfire for a while before turning in for the night.

The scent of the campfire ignited some long-forgotten instinct in each of them, and they were calmed. The sky shone with a symphony of color. Little streaks of fire darted here and there every once in a while. Close calls of an ever-encroaching universe with our little world. The two friends discussed how humbling it is to think of their great ancestors, entertaining themselves by watching this same light show every night, talking about the same things just using older words. There is nothing new under the sun.

Each of them had a final beer as the campfire reduced itself to warm, red coals that appeared like a window showing the center of the world. Presently, though, every sound faded away. The crickets, the frogs, even the wind, they all ceased their evening hymns. A wilderness that had just been teeming with the noises of nightlife was now completely still and silent. In this moment, Terry noticed Toby jerk his head directly towards the west as if he'd caught outside of something. Terry followed the direction he was looking and they saw three identical points of bright light sitting very low to the horizon. Toby marveled at the three brilliant little stars so neatly packed together before finally suggesting, I don't know if those were

there a minute ago. They just stayed there, utterly fixed. After minutes had passed, Terry noted how the three points of light had grown noticeably brighter. There's no airfields. field close by is there? asked Toby. Nope, Terry replied. Suddenly they started to move. They were certainly not moving in any pattern or with any kind of safety light that had been previously known to these airmen. The stars rotated around one another as if some unseen mechanism held them at their center, like a piece of the night itself was what bound them. The men wondered if somehow it was maybe a single massive solid object that was just spinning. The men noticed their fatigue wax in its power. They even commented on how sleepy they felt in that moment after watching these lights

for over an hour. The lights stopped spinning and began a vertical ascent, still in perfect harmony if they weren't all part of the same thing. The peace and carefree tiredness that surrounded them made them very content to just lie there and watch without any comment or action. It was a hypnotizing dance of uncanny light reserved for an audience of two. The object began moving more noticeably quickly. It was flying towards them, blocking out entire regions of stars that would otherwise be visible behind it. It was a single thing. The thing would soon be passing right over the sedated airman, paralyzed by a now inexplicable fatigue.

Toby, are we safe here? Terry asked. I hope so. The object followed its path without fail. Both men knew it would fly over them. All they could do was watch. When it reached a spot directly over their little meadow, it abruptly stopped. The lights spread further apart

until the entire sky was swallowed by the black hunger of the thing. Only three far-removed points of light remained in the universe. The whole meadow glowed silver under them, and the men sat transfixed, completely calm, and fascinated to the core with whatever was happening. Still, they lay prone on the air mattresses beside the black and charred remains of what had been their fire. Toby grogly reached for his small flashlight and pointed it up. He slowly clicked it on and off in a feeble attempt at signaling whatever magical and wondrous thing this was.

In a flash, a narrow beam of bleach-white light shot down from the, the bottom of the craft and landed directly on their dead fire. The two could hardly react. It could only observe. The white light flashed away and a thick blue laser appeared, flashing here and there on different sections of their campsite. It too was hypnotic. It almost seemed to have an intelligence of its own, a frantic whirlwind intelligence that could not focus on a thing for more than a few seconds. The blue light followed the white light and suddenly went away. Terry felt nothing other than sedation and calm. The craft remained hovering over the meadow. Eventually, Toby just shrugged and said, shows over. The two men, without another word spoken for

the rest of the night, an imperfect unison, picked up their air mattresses and crawled into the tent, like drunkards on a park bench. Suffering under the serene apathy of this trance, Terry neither undressed nor even unlaced his boots. He sank into a deep sleep the instant his head touched the cheap, inflatable camping pillow. And he could hear Toby softly snoring. Terry was woken by the brightness of the flashing green, yellow, and white lights that sporadically lit up the inside of his tent from the outside. He blinked and squinted his sleepy eyes against these bright flashes.

He slowly moved onto his knees and almost screamed from the sudden jolts of aches and horrible pains he felt. felt swimming and slipping through his entire body. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His throat was completely dry. But all of this faded into the background when he discovered a new sensation that overwhelmed them all. Terry Lovelace was shaking all over, breathing with complete lack of control and couldn't focus on a single thing even if his life had depended on it. And all of this was because he was completely terrified. He glanced over to Toby. The dreary fog of interrupted sleep now melted away, and found him seated on his knees, shaking and shivering and hyperventilating and sobbing out of control.

Why was his friend so sad? A deep-based droning sound filled their ears. Toby was looking out of a partially lifted flap that served as one of the windows for the tent. He couldn't look away. He was as one glued and forced to observe the worst thing he had ever seen. Terry reached around for the flashlight, but just before he clicked it on, Toby's hand shot over to his wrist and snatched it tightly to make him stop. Without even turning to look at his friend,

and in between tears pouring from his face, Toby said in a panicked voice, be quiet. They're still out there. We conclude part one of our series on the incident at Devil's Den, with a poem written by Terry Lovelace when he was just a lad in high school. He got an A. Shadows from the hallway crept into my room. Longed the monkey men too, I assume. Never before in life had I seen a creature that grinned before I could scream. A candle's flame dances before it grows dim. One monkey man's shadow had slowly crept in. On his knees and with ease he is perched on the edge of my bed, if you please. The silence was broken one inch from my ear as the monkey man whispered, my boy, I'm right here. Now monkeys were four. and were massed to deceive children, or even grown men, if you please. I started to tremble and covered my head, but the monkeys all four crept close to my bed.

Outside of my covers, four peeled with delight, these monkey men here will take me this night? Faces with grins approach me to say, Terry, won't you come with us and play? Come with us now, give us your hand, and we'll take you to an unbelievable land. You may not remember the last time or when, but come with us now and we'll see it again. But I said, I know you are not what you seem, and if you are real, then why can I scream? This night the monkey men take me with ease, and I'm but a terrified child, if you please. These things are not men that are born on this earth, near a star to the west is the place of their birth.

It matters not what I do, or I say, tonight like the others, they'll take me away. Where shall we go, and how long must I stay? Tell me you four, tell me now, I do pray. We're going home, Terry. There's no reason for gloom. See that star over there just east of your moon? We traverse great distance, pick you up, and we're gone to return you to bed before breaks the dawn. We must take from you blood and things we do need.

Many entities one day will be born of your seed. When I'm taken away, can my mom hear my calls? Across all of space through brick and through walls? Will she think that I'm lost or been seized from my bed? Will she worry I suffer or fear I am dead? She'll cry and sob as we go and play if I don't return before dawn brings the day. And when I return, will I come back whole, or will sinister deeds take some terrible toll? We'll soon arrive at the place we do dwell.

You'll see it neither is heaven nor hell. A place with two suns lights our days, a place that is different but also the same. The years have passed quickly as life slips from my grasp. Tell me, why did you hurt me? I ask. From earth you take away women and men to tag us and track us toward what an end. We are sentient beings that feel self-aware, but you are just monkeys and monkeys don't care. As a child, I had no voice to say what may come to pass on some future day. I have the need and right to know what was done to me so many years ago.

Surely you knew that one day I'd be grown, no longer helpless, no longer alone. Did you not believe that I'd live to confess the memories you stole and failed to suppress, So flawed was your sinister plan ill-conceived that others first scoff but then come to believe. I swear by all that is holy and all that is right, the next time you come to take me at night when four little monkeys crouch near my bed, I'll take my revolver and shoot them all dead. Want more hunted cosmos? Then make your way over to Patreon,

where you can get early access to our content as well as exclusive content in regular dusty tomes and monthly live streams with Brian and myself. So go to patreon.com slash haunted cosmos and sign up now.