The Disappearance of Aaron Bohl

There was an interesting item in the East Bay Times some time ago. A young man, Aaron Bohl, had gone missing. Mr. Bohl had been attending the Golden Gate University School of Law in San Francisco and failed to attend his final exams. Some say Mr. Bohl killed himself due to the pressures of law school; such a thing is not uncommon after all. Several of Bohl’s colleagues, however, believe Bohl to have run away; they point to the lack of a body as evidence and the fact that Mr. Bohl’s apartment was left in a state of disarray. There are also the various police departments involved with the case who insist that Mr. Bohl is dead. According to them, an absence of five years is more than enough to presume Mr. Bohl’s unfortunate death.

The subsequent investigation into Mr. Bohl’s disappearance did not turn up much evidence regarding Mr. Bohl’s whereabouts. What is interesting, however, is the catalyst for the investigation. Sometime after Mr. Bohl’s disappearance, a typed letter was discovered. Although typed, the letter did bear a signature which handwriting experts confirmed as Mr. Bohl’s. Where this letter was found is unclear as there are multiple contradictory reports. According to one account, the letter was stashed underneath the seat of a Greyhound bus bound for Salt Lake City. Other accounts insist the letter was found in the remains of a wrecked sedan off the I-5 just past Redding. There are other accounts as well, all of which obscure the circumstances of the letter’s discovery. Nevertheless, it is clear that the letter’s discovery sparked the investigation into Mr. Bohl’s disappearance.

The letter itself is interesting. The writer, presumably Mr. Bohl, insists he is sane; however, this can be reasonably doubted if we assume Mr. Bohl’s letter truthfully reports his behavior. Even if we put aside the fantastical elements of Mr. his narrative, Mr. Bohl was clearly too ashamed to admit the neurotic fixation he had with a certain female professor. His appeal to macabre and diabolical forces are clearly attempts to excuse his inappropriate behavior. Whether any of the events in the letter occurred as Mr. Bohl describes them is open for debate. Below is a reproduction of Mr. Bohl’s letter.

The Letter of Aaron Bohl

My name is Aaron Bohl and I want you to read this letter carefully. I know society will likely label me a paranoid nest of lunacy once this letter is discovered. I’m also well aware of the human tendency to shy away from that which cannot be scientifically or rationally explained. Before dismissing my testimony, keep in mind the following. I have not suffered any childhood trauma that makes me see demons under every rock. Schizophrenia or any other major mental problems do not run in my family. I cannot remember the last time any sort of drug has entered my bloodstream, and I rarely consume alcohol. Furthermore, I’m not a superstitious person. In fact, I started the Freethinkers Club in high school, the first officially atheist club at my school dedicated to rational skepticism. A casual reading my blog should demonstrate clearly my proclivities toward rationalism based on verifiable evidence as opposed to superstition and apophenia. Consider all this as you read below.

Though I’m typing this letter in as detached a manner as I can, do not mistake my clinical tone for my current condition. Truthfully, I’m numb with terror. I no longer sleep with the lights out, nor do I step foot outside my motel room unless absolutely necessary. Eating, writing and social media no longer hold the same appeal they used to. A simple case of falling into the tantalizing temptations of curiosity has reduced me to a shivering, shriveling wreck. Such a turn of events would have been inconceivable when I began my first year in law school, but here I am.

This ordeal began with Civil Procedure, one of the required classes for first year law students. Civil Procedure concerns itself with the mechanics of a lawsuit, from the initial complaint through final judgment. The class is infamous among law students for being extremely tiresome and uninteresting. The joke among the students is that someone could patent the class as a cure for insomnia. My own class began, oddly enough, at 8:00 in the evening every Tuesday and Thursday.

Of course, spending my Tuesday and Thursday evenings discussing personal jurisdiction, proper venue and discovery limitations was not the most exciting use of my time. As such, I found it hard to pay any attention in class. I browsed the internet, instead. The professor, Jamie R. Dunn, posted whatever slides used in class online. This allowed me to get away with paying little attention in class.

My current situation began in late September when I heard other students chattering about Professor Dunn. I was walking out of the second floor student lounge where other students would socialize, read for class and eat the occasional lunch. Just as I grabbed the metal door handle, I heard the insufferable voice of Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn was the sort of girl who tormented the entire class with the sound of her voice while she attempted to impress the professor with her own vapidity. She spouted out nothing but meaningless drivel every time she raised her hand. She clearly enjoyed the sound of her own voice, nevermind that this was the voice of a high-pitched three-year-old.

In this instance, I managed to catch Kaitlyn in the middle of a conversation with her group of equally insufferable friends. Their conversation concerned Professor Dunn. Kaitlyn had one hand up to her mouth and constantly glanced around to make sure no one could hear her. Clearly, this was a secretive sort of conversation. I let the door handle go and leaned against the wall within audible distance of the group. I also pulled out my phone and attempted to look preoccupied. Kaitlyn was in the middle of some fanciful description of Professor Dunn. She talked about Dunn’s eyes, hair and voice with a breathy whisper while constantly mentioning how amazing a teacher Dunn was. Another member of the group, a brown-haired, shorter girl with mouse-like features, nodded in agreement. This mouse-like girl, I’ve forgotten her name, then mentioned that other students felt the same way. She giggled, but was quickly silenced by a dirty look from Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn seemed annoyed at the thought of competing for Dunn’s attention.

Something about that scene that still chills me, like cold fingers touching my spine. Perhaps it was the way the murderous look distorted Kaitlyn’s face for a split-second. Or maybe, it was the way Kaitlyn tightened her grip on her pen and held it like a knife under the table. It was… ghoulish. I looked up again from my phone only to find the group of girls glaring at me. I feigned nonchalance while the girls jerked up, grabbed their things and marched toward the exit on the other side of the room. Once they were gone, I pushed myself away from the wall and continued on with my day, depositing that scene into the back of my mind as merely odd. I quickly forgot about it until later.

A few weeks later I was subjected to another equally bizarre incident, this time involving two friends. The three of us booked a room in the library to study for the upcoming midterms. I was walking down the hall with dark, empty study rooms on both sides toward  the only lit one at the end. As I neared the room, I began to hear the voices of Jason and Connor. I then heard Dunn’s name mentioned. My feet suddenly froze as my back pressed up against glass of the adjacent room. Every study room in the library was fronted by glass window enabling those within to see out. For some reason, I did not want to betray my presence to either of them. Both Jason and Connor were discussing Dunn’s eyes, hair and voice in a manner reminiscent of Kaitlyn’s conversation a few weeks earlier.

For some reason, I dismissed the obsessive tone of the conversation and decided to barge into the room. I put on a gentle smile in order to conceal my unease. Connor and Jason’s heads jolted up as their hands fell from their mouths. They scrambled to flip open their textbooks and quickly changed the subject to felony murder. I noticed the change and casually mentioned that I overheard their conversation. I joked about not judging their taste in women. While neither of them denied the conversation, they hesitated to admit to it as well. Jason just sat there shaking his head while Connor fumbled over his words before finally asking me to let it go.

Having not paid any attention in class, I never gave Dunn’s appearance much thought. Though not hideous, she was not going to be featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated either. I saw no harm in revealing these opinions. Both Connor and Jason just stared at me without blinking as frowns spread across their faces. I sat across the table, the tension choking the words out of me. Jason and Connor glowered silently. I took a deep breath, then squeezed out a weak laugh as I told them it was all just a joke. I’m unsure as to whether they believed me, but both of Jason and Connor visibly relaxed. I told them to forget about it and asked that we continue studying. I tried not to notice both Jason and Connor unclench their fists as the creases on their foreheads disappeared…

It was after this incident that the peculiarities began to accumulate. The student lounge began featuring hushed conversations with the occasional glance thrown in my direction. There were times where I would pretend not to notice the odd finger or two pointing at me while students exchanged knowing looks. I later realized that only Professor Dunn’s students displayed these peculiarities; other students seemed largely unaffected. The strangest observation came to me while sitting in Professor Dunn’s class. I stood up and walked toward the back of the lecture hall. I was on my way to the bathroom and when I reached the back door, a sudden realization hit me. For days, I had not seen a single student getting up to use the restroom during Professor Dunn’s class. I turned around and saw that every single student sat in rapt attention, hanging on Dunn’s every word. Needless to say, the sight disturbed me.

In addition to disturbing me, these observations intrigued me greatly. Who was Professor Dunn and what made her so enthralling? Against my better judgment, I resolved to find out. I decided to spend the following class observing both Dunn and the other students.

The following class, I came in earlier and refrained from bringing my laptop, opting, instead, for a pen and a notebook. Professor Dunn swaggered into class at exactly 8:30. She calmly set her notes down, turned on the projector and began her lecture. Even though I sat in the last row, I attempted to observe Professor Dunn as closely as I could. My earlier thoughts on her looks were confirmed. Not a model, but not ugly either. I believe plain-looking is the best description. She was fairly skinny without any noticeable curves, and her straight brown hair seemed a bit too straight.

Without pausing her lecture, she then began walking toward the back of the lecture hall. This was not unusual for her as she enjoyed walking around while lecturing, but I wondered if she noticed me observing her. She stopped a few feet from where I was sitting and continued her lecture uninterrupted. From this distance, I observed a curious lack of any skin blemishes. Not a zit, freckle, mole, or anything else marred Dunn’s skin. It seemed almost inhuman, as if she were a living barbie doll. In addition, Dunn’s face was free of any makeup. Everything seemed to be naturally flawless, not simply hiding behind sheen of makeup.

I almost didn’t realize I was staring until Dunn looked straight at me. Her lecture continued uninterrupted while her eyes inspected me. It was a cold stare, completely devoid of life. Her eyes were practically glassy and unblinking. My head twitched violently as I turned back toward my notes; I held my breath as I still felt Dunn’s dead stare blaring down on me. Only when she finally turned away and started back to the front of the class did I breathe out in relief. My hands began to quiver while beads of sweat formed on my forehead. It was only with great effort that I managed to stand up and stagger out of the back door toward the restroom.

I opened the door, stood in front of the mirror, and steadied myself against the counter. I attempted to collect my thoughts and solve the enigma that was Professor Dunn. There was something magnetic about Professor Dunn that, to this day, I cannot put into words. I checked the time and saw that I walked out a few minutes before the end of class. I waited until the end of class before deciding to walk back in. I marched towards the class, opened the door, picked up my backpack and nearly raced out of the classroom. It as a Thursday and I sighed in relief as I realized that I had five days until I had class with Professor Dunn. I walked out of the building and onto the darkened streets of San Francisco with Dunn’s unblinking eyes invading every thought.

On Saturday, two days later, I sat for my civil procedure mid-term. I believe Dunn had a far greater affect on my mental stability than I cared to admit as I found myself distracted and confused. I walked out of the test believing I failed only to be surprised when grades were posted the following Tuesday. Golden Gate University worked quickly. I managed to score a C on the test. It wasn’t what I wanted but far better than what I thought I had scored. I decided to skip Professor Dunn’s class that as I was still shaken my experience previously.

After a week of not seeing her, my skepticism dismissed any fears I had regarding Professor Dunn. In addition, I decided to visit her during office hours for some help. Unfortunately, her only office hours were Monday evening, same time as our class met on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I again wondered why both Professor Dunn’s classes and office hours were held so late in the evening. These thoughts were pushed out by concern for my grades. About a third of the students would fail the first semester; I didn’t want to be one of them. In addition, my scholarship required that I maintain a B average.

It is now that my recollection begins to fail me. I simply cannot remember what happened the night I first visited Professor Dunn during her office hours. However, I’m not referring to simple memory loss. I actually remember many things from that night. I remember walking up to Dunn’s office, knocking on the door and being invited in. I remember having a pleasant conversation. I can still recall what her office looks like, the law books lining the shelf behind her and even the clothing Dunn wore that night. However, I cannot tell you what happened that night other than say that I had a pleasant conversation with Professor Dunn.

There is something else that bothers me about this “pleasant conversation” that took place. I have no images or memories of that evening that I can associate with “pleasant conversation”, as if someone implanted those exact words into my mind. Though I still feel a sense of euphoria as I think back to that evening even now, my mind is completely absent of any memories as to the events of that evening.

One thing I do remember is a twinge of disappointment as I walked out into the hall after the meeting. I wished for the “pleasant conversation” to continue. Furthermore, I began to salivate at the thought of going to Civil Procedure the following day. The thought of seeing Professor Dunn in class, as well as in office hours, filled me with inexplicable joy. After that first meeting with Professor Dunn, I never missed another class. I also met with Professor Dunn every time she had office hours. I can assure you that this desire to meet with Professor Dunn did not arise from carnal lust but rather from a deep sense of euphoria that I felt every time I was in Dunn’s presence. I craved that euphoria more than anything else in my life. It had gotten to the point that I would dread the very thought of being late for class. There is one incident, among others, that I can recall as an example.

I was riding BART into the city and was completely unnerved because I thought I was going to be late. The train was experiencing a minor technical malfunction and was not moving at full speed. I remember constantly checking the time, my fingers twitching as the possibility of being late become more concrete

Upon arrival at the station. I shot up to my feet and attempted to stand in front of the exit doors. There was an old man in a wheelchair blocking the door. When the door opened, the man then began to pick up the shopping bags off the floor. I watched his trembling hands move slowly as they picked up one bag, made sure nothing was missing, set it onto his lap and moved back down to pick up the other bag. I checked the time and saw that I was very likely to miss the first couple minutes of class. That produced a huge lump in my throat.

It is difficult to explain what happened next. Without thinking, I latched onto the man’s wheelchair, shoved it to the side, and then kicked it away. I felt the collective gasp of the onlookers as I raced out of the train and onto the platform. Without wasting a single second, I ran up the escalator, and only then did I notice the old man sprawled out on the floor of the train, vile epithets shooting out of his mouth. Though I view the situation differently now, I did not view my actions as inappropriate at that time. In fact, I believed the elderly man to be at fault for his predicament. He was keeping me from seeing Professor Dunn: he had no right to do such a thing.

I hope that event perfectly captures the state-of-mind I was in toward the end of November. After weeks of pleasant conversation with Dunn, the end of the semester was approaching and it terrified me. What was I going to do without Dunn? I became more obsessive, to the point of printing out a picture of her and attaching it to the ceiling right above my bed. I cringe when I think about it now, but it seemed completely normal, necessary even, at the time. God knows what would have happened if my own obsessiveness didn’t save me later.

About a week ago, I walked out of Professor Dunn’s office for what would have been the last time that semester. I positively beaming after one final round of “pleasant conversation” with Dunn. However, what truly elevated my spirits was an odd, though welcoming implication that this relationship wouldn’t end with the semester. I cannot remember what Dunn said or did to imply such a thing, but that thought was firmly in my mind as I walked out of her office that evening.

I stopped to use the restroom before going home. Once finished, I washed my hands and opened the restroom door only to see Professor Dunn walking toward the exit. Sometimes, our decisions are made within fractions of a second, decisions that carry enormous consequences. The decision to follow Dunn was just that sort of decision; it likely saved my life. Of course, I didn’t see it that way at the time. I simply wanted to follow Professor Dunn home and find out where she lived. It sounds far worse now, with the words typed out onscreen, than it did during the heights of my fanatical obsession with Dunn.

I pushed the bathroom door wider and walked out leaving globs of sweat on the door handle. I crept out of the bathroom in the same direction, trying to stay in the shadows. I followed Dunn in this manner out of the building and into the BART station near my school. I trailed her at a distance until she arrived at the tracks. She stood some distance away on the side of the tracks leading out of the city. I had always assumed Dunn lived within San Francisco, so I was surprised to see her taking BART out of the city. A young woman walked up to Professor Dunn and waved hello. It was the insufferable Kaitlyn. She was bundle of cheer at the moment having bumped into Dunn and they began an animated conversation, though I was too far to hear anything.

When Professor Dunn’s train arrived, Kaitlyn followed her onto the train. I threw caution to the wind and boarded the train car behind theirs. I looked through into the next car and saw both Kaitlyn and Dunn sit down next to each other. They were facing away from me, so I took a risk and boarded their train and sat some distance behind them. Though I couldn’t hear much of anything, I did have a good view of them.

The train began to move and we were off to Berkeley. The BART ride itself was fairly uneventful. As the train neared the third Berkeley stop, I watched Professor Dunn stand up. She and Kaitlyn finished their conversation and said their goodbyes as the doors opened. At this point, Dunn gave Kaitlyn a pat on the shoulder and, almost immediately, Kaitlyn shot to her feet and trailed Dunn out of the car. Either no one else on the train observed this, or no one else cared. I waited a few moments before quickly exiting the car and following the pair out into the station and onto the streets of Berkeley.

I had no idea what I was doing. I simply thought I’d follow this interesting pair and see what becomes of them. As I trailed them through darkened streets, I saw Kaitlyn was not her usual gregarious self. She simply walked without any emotion and followed Dunn quietly. Dunn, seemingly aware of this, just walked on uncaring.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a house. The pair walked up the stairs and halted before the front door. If not for that obsession I had toward Professor Dunn at that time, I would not have done what I did. I ducked behind a parked car, gathered my bearings and memorized the address of what I presumed to be Dunn’s residence. I knelt down and peeked through the car windows to observe the pair. At this point, it was late in the evening, about half past 10. There was no moon and the streets were absent of any streetlights. If not for the occasional lit house, everything would have been shrouded in darkness.

The sparse lighting, did allow me to see the pair standing together on the threshold of Dunn’s residence. Kaitlyn looked mesmerized, and, except for a slight smile, her face was blank. Normally, such a scene would have thrown me into a jealous fury, but that night, the impropriety of my actions kept me from making a fuss. Dunn’s arms then wrapped themselves around Kaitlyn, and she began to kiss Kaitlyn.  Or at least, that was what it was intended to looked like. From my vantage point, the Kaitlyn’s head was turned at too awkward an angle for a kiss, but any other person walking past Dunn’s home would have only seen two women enjoying each other’s company. The odd angle of Kaitlyn’s neck made me wonder if it had been snapped. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought the sudden urge the jump up and run. They stood in that position for a few seconds before Dunn finally opened the door and walked in, dragging in an almost comatose Kaitlyn behind her.

At this point, I was intrigued beyond anything else. Kaitlyn had looked unconscious, and I wondered if she had been drugged as I snuck up to the house. I walked around to the side until I found a small sturdy crate that I could climb on top of in order to peek inside the home. Once on top of the crate, I stood on my toes and saw Kaitlyn sprawled upon a black leather couch with plastic covering. Although she wasn’t moving, her chest rose and fell. Dunn was nowhere to be seen. The house itself was furnished just like any other house. Nothing set it apart beyond the ubiquitous plastic covering. Everything was covered in clear plastic wrapping, even the floor.

While standing on crate, a bizarre sound brushed up against the back of my head. It was extremely faint, almost a whisper. I’m surprised I heard it at all. To describe the sound as a fusion of chanting and moaning would not be inaccurate. I couldn’t pinpoint the direction as the sound seemed to from all around me. I wondered if Dunn was playing some kind of exotic music somewhere in the house. Whatever the source was, the sound made me shiver as images of black masses and pagan temples raced across my mind’s eye.

I was shaken out of my thoughts when I saw Dunn saunter back down the stairs and approach Kaitlyn. Dunn’s cold, dead eyes inspected Kaitlyn the way a grocer inspects his produce for blemishes. She sat beside Kaitlyn and I saw Dunn smile for the first time, although this wasn’t an ordinary smile. A serrated grin is perhaps a more accurate description. Then, without warning, Dunn shifted her position in a manner that blocked my view of Kaitlyn. I saw blood drip down the couch. Dunn then pressed herself onto Kaitlyn’s thrashing body; her other hand sealed Kaitlyn’s mouth shut. Kaitlyn’s legs flailed around helplessly. I immediately began to gag and quickly ducked under the window. I sat there panting, fear cementing me to the spot. Whatever spell Dunn had weaved over me the past couple months had snapped under the weight of what I had just witnessed. For the first time, Dunn completely terrified me.

My hands fumbled around in my pockets until I found my phone and dialed 911. A voice answered the other line and, between stutters, I managed to convey what I had just witnessed. I told them my name and quickly recited the address I had memorized earlier. I stood on the line as the dispatcher attempted to comfort me. Against my better judgment, I stood up and tried to steal a peek inside the house again.

Blood spattered across plastic-covered floor. Dunn was gently wrapping Kaitlyn’s head in gauze. She was no longer squirming about. Dunn’s eyes betrayed no emotion as if she were merely preparing herself a meal. Her clothing was remarkably free of any bloodstains. I tried to quietly narrate all that I was witnessing into the phone; I could hear the dispatcher telling me to get to safety but I couldn’t look nor walk away just yet.

Once she was finished with the gauze, Dunn sat for a few moments looking over her handiwork. Dunn then pulled her head back and I watched her mouth open. And open and open. Her mouth opened far wider than was humanly possible, like a snake with its jaw unhinged. I saw far more teeth than there should have been, sharp, serrated teeth dribbling with animal drool. I stopped talking into the phone and simply stared in horror.

Dunn’s open maw inched closer to one of Kaitlyn’s arms, and I, mesmerized with horror, didn’t notice the cell phone falling out of my hand. It landed with a loud crash upon the crate I was standing on, the back cover and battery clattered out. Dunn’s head jerked in my direction, her jaw still open. Her eyes zeroed in on me with laser precision and quiet rage. Without a moment’s hesitation, I managed to find my legs and jumped off the crate. I grabbed the various parts of my phone and ran faster than I had ever ran before.

The front door slammed open as I ran past driveway and onto the street. I heard Dunn snarling like a rabid dog but was far to scared to look back. I don’t remember actually hearing it, but I have the memory of being threatened, something about my inability to hide from them. Yes them, plural.

Luckily, I heard the sound of sirens nearing my position. I then saw two police cars round the corner and speed past me toward Dunn’s house of horrors. I turned around to see them stop in front of Dunn’s house. I breathed a sigh of relief but didn’t stop running until I was back on BART, riding home. I sat on the train, messaging my knee. My running must have done something to the metal pin in my knee. I sat there reflecting on the occurrences of the past couple months.

There was no hope of me sleeping that night so I ended up staring at the television until the crack of dawn haunted by what I had seen. The next couple of days did not improve my mood, though I eagerly scanned local news every day for any information as to what had happened. My relief at having escaped Dunn quickly soured as the days passed without a single mention of Dunn or Kaitlyn. I could not find a single news item even hinting at the likely confrontation between Dunn and the police. I began to fear that, and still do, that nothing came of my call to the police.

I refused to set foot outside my apartment and missed all my exams. Tortuous dreams filled with serrated teeth and glassy eyes began to haunt me. I began see shadows where there shouldn’t have been anything. I could swear there were people following me. After two weeks of this, in a frenzy of terror, I packed up some things, withdrew my life savings and ran away. I booked a squalid motel far removed from San Francisco. I will not reveal that here. Fortunately, I managed to find one that takes cash. Despite the squalor, I vastly prefer it to leaving a trail. I’ve been staying indoors as much as possible, eating out only when necessary, and relentlessly searching for any news regarding Dunn. There hasn’t been any. The world appears to be completely oblivious to what I’d witnessed.

I haven’t the slightest clue who or what Dunn is. I sit here, in my motel room, typing away at this letter, hoping that the word might get out. I have my doubts, but I’m at a complete loss as to what to do next. Luckily I have enough money to stay where I am for months. I hope that by the time I run out of money, this letter will have found somebody who can investigate what I experienced.

-End of letter

This comprises the entirety of Mr. Bohl’s letter. With no family or relatives to call for continued investigation, the authorities simply let the matter die of its own accord as interest in Bohl’s disappearance waned. However, about a month ago, internet sleuths discovered an interesting news item. Some of the more conspiratorial followers of the case insist that this incident is linked to the disappearance of Mr. Bohl. Apparently, a motel employee in Alturas, California discovered a collection of bones in the dumpster behind the motel. The bones were said to belong to a young male. According to the finder, these bones were also picked clean and littered with teeth marks. The bones were sent to the local coroner who believed the teeth marks belonged to a wild animal. The coroner then concluded that the victim had a fatal encounter with a bear or some other wild animal. Unfortunately, the bones were somehow lost or misplaced and local rumors mentioning a metal pin lodged in one of the bones could not be substantiated.

The professor, Jamie Rebecca Dunn, was questioned by the police shortly after the letter’s discovery. She was quickly ruled out as a suspect for undisclosed reasons. On visit to Golden Gate University, Dunn moved back to her hometown in Texas at the end of the semester. Further attempts to contact Ms. Dunn have gone unanswered. Interestingly, the Berkeley Police Department, in its final statement to the press about the case, insisted that, while it has pursued every lead possible, there was simply no record of any 911 call Tuesday evening, November 20th, 2012. Furthermore, there is no record of any police officer investigating a call to _____________ St, Berkeley.

And of course, there is the usual group of so-called “paranormal investigators” that draw the worst possible conclusions: Mr. Bohl was either silenced for seeing too much or he had an encounter with some kind of paranormal creature. Of course, there is no evidence of any of this beyond Mr. Bohl’s letter, a young man who clearly suffered from  severe issues. Consequently, these conclusions are best ignored as products of ignorant and overly imaginative minds. Unfortunately for Mr. Bohl, the absence of any evidence regarding his whereabouts will likely doom him to a footnote in the growing list of unsolved missing persons cases.

  • Bella Colgan

    For the love of all that is creepy, please write more! I absolutely adored this one!!!

    • Thank you for the compliment. I definitely will write more.

  • Daniel Di Benedetto

    This was incredible. Beautiful. Staggeringly brilliant. Art, even. In all my time on this website, I have not found a story so masterfully and prodigiously written. I applaud you. Besides the sheer mastery of your writing, I must commend you on the plot of the story as well. It was horrifying. Riveting, too. I was deeply engrossed from the moment I began, and not a distraction in my house could pry my eyes from it. I can’t put into words how astounded I am to have stumbled upon this. All I can say is thank you for enlightening me with it. My only suggestion to you would be to proofread it again. Though very sparse, there were noticeable errors here and there, some of which appeared in awkward places, like the narrator mentioning “messaging” his knee instead of “massaging” it. Still, due to the brilliance of this story, any mistake was easy to overlook. 5/5 stars from me, hands down.

    • Thank you very much for your kind words. These sorts of compliments motivate me to write even more. It never fails. No matter how many times I go through it, I still manage to miss errors. Thanks for pointing that out.

      • Daniel Di Benedetto

        Of course. You earned it. And, yeah, I totally understand, especially with such a large story. I proofread my stories close to ten times before publishing them on here, and had my family and friends read them too, just for safe measure. It can be quite tricky to find every error amid tens of thousands of words. Honestly, don’t sweat it. Like I said, it was exemplary. Thank you for making my night.

  • Rose Morrison

    Very good story, I loved it. Great storyline and plotline, kept me hooked til the end. An edit is needed though. Please keep up the excellent writing.

  • Weeaboo protection chamber

    I liked this a lot. The professional style of writing really made the whole thing a hell of a lot more disturbing than what I’ve found in other stuff. One of the problems I’ve had with other stories is that the reader either get treated to long winded back stories that make you fall asleep before you get to the story or the classic “I’m an average joe.” What I liked about this is that I could tell a lot about the your MC just based the way he wrote his last message. You could tell he was a no nonsense, level headed kind of guy… which made it so much more disturbing when the more macrbe events of the story were described. Great job. And thanks for feeding insomnia.