From the journal of Marshall Matthews, Astronomer:
I hope this is the first day of the final reset of this strange place where I and a number of other individuals have found ourselves trapped. I am restarting this journal for what may be the hundredth time.
This place has all the appearance of a small town. The streets, the buildings, the houses… but this is not the world that I grew up in. I hardly know where to start and every reset makes writing things down more difficult. I forget things that I had devoted to my notes for weeks only to lose them all when those notes disappear.
My frustrations aside, In the event that I lose more of my memories, I’ll start with some basic facts about myself as usual:
My name is Marshall Matthews. I am an astronomer and field researcher working for Rainland University located in southern Oregon. I received a master’s degree from the same university and studied the stars and heavenly bodies from an early age. My parents are Jackie and Richard Matthews of Boulder, Colorado. If anyone finds this journal, please contact them and give them the note I have written on the flyleaf of this journal.
Upon arrival to this place, we all seem to have had part of our memories taken from us. That is, everyone seems to have holes in their memories, like I do. I remember a few things, but so much of what I think I should remember isn’t there. I remember that my parents are from Boulder, Colorado, but I don’t remember where I grew up. I know that George Washington was the first president of the United States, but I have no idea who the last 5 were. I’m 32. I should know those things… right? And the last thing that I remember is looking through a telescope somewhere in Florida, but I can’t say where. Everything before that is just mundain memories with details missing. They feel like the indication of something I should remember, but can’t. It was so maddening for the first couple of years here. It was like constantly having a word on the tip of your tongue and not being able to spit it out. Everyone else here complains of the same thing. There are even a few kids who know their name, how to read/write, how to dance, but can’t name a single one of their friends or cousins. They’re certain that they existed and that they knew them, but their names and faces won’t come up. This is why I have been encouraging everyone to keep journals. Since we don’t even remember how we came here in the first place, it’s possible that we are losing memories all the time. We wouldn’t realize it, so these journals will at least give us a reliable record of what we want to remember… as long as we don’t reset again.
I need to write down the measurements that I can recall. I’ve been writing them over and over again. I could probably recite them in my sleep, but every single one of my notes disappears when this place resets and I have to start my research over again with the few things I can commit to memory and write down as soon as we wake back up.
Time elapsed since arrival: 5 years, 7 months, 14 days (estimated error margin of one to two weeks, as of this writing)
Number of resets: 134 (I believe. I can’t be entirely certain about this because some resets happened very close together.)
It took some time to convince the others to stop killing Samuel, the black-haired boy. Every time a person dies here we reset. We’re not even entirely sure anyone can die here. We seem to be functionally immortal. When someone dies for any reason, it happens. We reset when we lynched Samuel. We reset after Amanda overdosed. When that Jenson girl fell off a building…. The method of death does not seem to matter. Even slow, natural deaths cause a reset. We figured that out when they starved poor Samuel to death. The next cycle he stabbed someone in self-defense which caused yet another reset. I don’t blame him. However, that’s when I finally had proof that he wasn’t at the center of this phenomenon. The subsequent suicides and accidental deaths cemented the idea and I was able to make my case more clearly.
This entry is poorly structured. Previous drafts were better, but five years is a long time to remember things. I’ll make some proper notes with more detail shortly. The sum of things is that we are trapped on an island floating in what looks like space. As to whether this is some kind of alien abduction, afterlife, or something else, I have yet to learn that. But we seem to be in a place with the same physics (gravity, heat and cold, etc.) as back home. Even the sun and moon behave the same and appear the same, just… I don’t see how it’s possible that this town sized island is orbiting a star the way a planet does. The moon is an exact replica of our own visually. The gravity should be entirely different than back home, but feels much the same. We all weigh the same as before according to the scales here. Nothing here makes total sense. I’m confusing myself again.
We have everything we need and we don’t appear to age as far as I can tell. But when one of us dies, time goes back to day one. Well, I can’t really confirm that, exactly. I know that the island resumes its starting position every time. I know this because I studied the stars and our position relative to them. We’re moving in a single direction and when someone dies, we move back to our initial position. Plus, we all wake up in a spot individual to us each time, so it feels like time resetting.
I’ll do my best to figure out what I can about this place. If we can keep everyone alive for a few years, I may actually make some headway. Every time I think I’m close to learning something new, they find and kill Samuel. They seem convinced that not only is he responsible, but that killing him is the key to escape. But I’ve convinced them to not kill him again, so, as long as no one kills anyone else or dies of some kind of trauma, poisoning, etc. we should be able to make some progress toward our unknown destination. In the meantime, I hope to learn enough about this place to see if it is possible to escape it.
You’d think I’d have made more progress in 5 years. It’s just been hard to concentrate. My emotions seem to be convinced that I’m mourning someone, but I don’t know who. I wake up and probe the air, feeling for someone at times. I cry but don’t know why. If I can learn why we lost our memories, I may be able to figure out where these emotions are coming from. In the meantime, as long as I don’t look in the mirror too long, I’m fine most days. But sometimes I look at my reflection and the tears just flow. I wonder if I’m going insane.
From the Journal of Elena Ripley:
Day one again. That boy Samuel was strangled last night in his cell. We all agreed that after this, we would allow him to live. Marshall says that the town is moving and that every time someone dies, we go back to square one. I’m fine with that, in all honesty. Although it’s been five years in the same town, it has also been five years of ease and peace.
We’ve reconstructed a nice little life here. Molly runs the DMV. Phyllis runs town hall. We even pay taxes! I never would have appreciated paying taxes back home, I’ll tell you that. But it’s nice that things can feel normal. Of course, we’ll all have to take our driver’s tests again and restart our check books, but it’s nice to get a fresh start every now and then. I think that’s why I liked the lynchings so much. When things weren’t going just right, it was nice to be able to reset! [the manuscript contained the following symbol: 🙂 ] Especially this time.
John and I were having issues after the last reset. His anger and aggression were out of control. I’d never tell him that, but when he’d strangled the boy, the look in his eyes… it was disturbing. I’d never seen anything like that in him. He was a gentle person when we met. He wouldn’t even spank our… son? I think we had a son anyway. I recall wanting to punish them for something, but the details just aren’t there. Apparently, the “more deaths = more memories” idea didn’t work. We’ve killed that boy so many times and not a single memory has come back yet. [the manuscript contained the following symbol: 😦 ]
But regarding John, he really scared me last time. He would smile while he strangled Samuel the last few times. Some days, he would beat the boy bloody and come home to me with the blood still on his fists. He was always outraged when I insisted he shower and calm down. He loved the rush of the violence, I guess. It’s not like there’s a movie theater in this town and the cable’s been out since we arrived. I can’t blame him for enjoying it, honestly. He’s a man. He needs those sorts of things. Maybe that’s foolish. I encouraged the violent behavior in my husband, but he never laid a hand on me! He’s still a decent man. We just need to work on some things. If we’re lucky, we’ll have all eternity to patch things up between us. I love him and he loves me. I want to make sure it stays that way forever. [the manuscript contained the following symbol: ❤ ]
From the “Shared Journal of the Jackals” [author(s) unknown]:
3: It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair! I need him to hurt! They won’t stop barking at me! I can’t sleep. They bark all the time! They bark in the storms when nobody can see them too. But I see them through the clouds and the rain. Their stars blind me. It’s not fair! They want the black-haired boy to hurt. They want us all to hurt. But his screams make the Jackal gods sleep. When he screams, they stop barking. When they sleep, I get to sleep. I’m so tired! It’s not fair!
2: She’s right. I have never heard them myself, but if the boy is in pain, the stars of the Jackals constellation blink out. I’ve seen it! The day that we had the boy behind closed doors, she was so happy and the sky was so black. For a week after the next reset, she slept nearly every moment. Then the barking started again. She woke up crying and screaming. The Jackals demanded blood and pain from her. They must be the ones who brought us here, so they can have us hurt the boy. We need to please the gods. It’s the only way we can get to Heaven.
1: I only know that I have seen and heard. The other two were happiest when the boy was in chains under my torch. When he was taken from us, it was ugly. We have to get him back. But we’re powerless here. Most days, we are confined. Though we do not share the bodies of the humans around us, we know their minds. They are unable to understand us. They can’t see us! They only see what they want to see! I hear the Jackal gods too, though not as loudly as her. They make us stronger when we give them what they want. One day, we will leave this place. One day we will show them what we are.
From the journal of Samuel (surname unknown):
When I woke up today, they didn’t hurt me. They handed me my pack and told me what street to go to. I took my pack, got on my bike, and went where I was told. I’m terrified. Every time I close my eyes I hear them and I see them. I feel that man’s hands around my throat and I can’t breathe. The scars and burns always go away. They did this time too. But I want so much to sleep. I haven’t slept in years. I just want to sleep. I haven’t slept in years. I just want to sleep. I haven’t slept in years. [the phrases continue to repeat, reaching the end of a page]
I’m going to bed.
…
I woke up when I heard a dog barking. I hid in a closet. I didn’t know what to do. When I came back to myself, it was morning. The sunrise is beautiful here. I haven’t seen it in so long. I’m so glad I’m here. I’m so glad to be alone. I hope they let me have a break here for a while before they kill me again.
…
It’s been three days. No one has come looking for me. Maybe I should go hide in the woods. They might change their minds. I’m still so tired. That dog won’t go away. It’s whimpering and scratching at my door now.
…
I don’t know what that noise was. I heard a rumble and what I think may have been footsteps. Maybe breathing. The dog stopped barking. I think I can finally go to sleep now. I think I’ll sleep in the closet just in case. If they come looking for me, it might buy me a few more minutes of sleep.
…
I hope this is Hell.
Uncertain 