01 Feb The Treatment of Aaron Nelms
My name is Marcus Taylor. I work, or rather I worked, as a research assistant to Dr. Elizibeth Ford here at the Colton Institute. If you are listening to this, then you either work for the hospital as I do, or you came across this recording by some other means. Either by chance or on purpose, it really doesn’t matter. At least I got it out. If you know Aaron Nelms or have heard of him, please let his family know what I am about to tell you. In fact, if you know any of the patients at the Colton Institute, please…get them out. Talk to their families if they have any. They should know the danger that these people are in. The danger I am in.
It’s half-past nine and the rain outside is coming down hard tonight. I wanted to have more time to explain things properly, to really make you believe what I have to say. Yet, with things as they are, these scraps of notes are all I can offer. The power will be going out again soon with the storm moving in. Once that happens, I can’t really say if I will be able to get more than this out. This message will have to do.
I have locked myself in one of the empty office rooms. I pushed some of the furniture by the door as a makeshift barrier. If I am wrong, then everything should be fine for me by morning. However, I can hear something down the hall that makes me think I am far from wrong. I don’t exactly know what is in the hall right now, it could just be another person. Yet no one else is supposed to be in this area at night. It’s true, it could just be one of the doctors coming into the office late. Yet, it’s not likely in this weather. Not to mention, the sound of movement is off. It’s like there is only one person out there…but it sounds like movement from far too many sets of legs. Too many footfalls and much too quickly.
Alright, I think things are quiet now for the most part. The rain is hitting pretty hard now. Some places get snow in January, but not here in Louisiana. We get this cold torrent of rain instead. I never did get accustomed to this state’s weather. I only moved here because I thought I could really make a change for the better with the work they were doing here at Colton. I thought I could change the world someday. I was wrong.
I worked with a grad team on a project dealing with Alzheimer’s prior to this. We thought we had found promising results that would let us slow down the effects brought about by the disease. It was not a cure, but something that could buy time for someone suffering from it. Here at the Colton institute, I was advised they were working on something even more profoundly progressive. Something even better than a cure to stop the process. There was talk of a method that was able to actually reverse the effects even in people that were on the final spirals of the illness. That sounded nearly impossible to me at first, but I was definitely interested in the prospect of being involved with such possible groundbreaking research.
Thus, I pushed and fought for the right contacts and security clearances to make myself available for a chance at the job. The Colton Institute is a privately run medical research facility that lived off government contract money. Eventually, I greased the right wheels and showed enough talent to get a shot at the job, which I obviously got. God, what mistake that was. If I had known then what I do now, I would have probably given up on life itself.
I have worked here for the past two years and generally enjoyed that time in strides. I was able to learn more in that time than all of my previous academic or professional pursuits. It was only in the past few months however that I became privy to the more “drastic” research being conducted under the building. If you don’t know anything about Louisiana, then only half of that might seem odd. You see here on the outskirts of New Orleans, where the Colton Institute is located, there are no underground facilities. Or rather, they are very rare. The soil is too damp and the water table too high to actually make a basement or anything like it a feasible design.
Yet, here at Colton, there is a fully operational research facility underneath the main building. It’s not particularly large in reference to the main site, but it has enough to get work done away from the light of prying eyes. I made a good name for myself and was also known for keeping my nose clear of problems. This bought me a golden ticket so to say with Dr. Ford who ran the lower facility. I still remember being so proud of myself when she asked me to join her personal research staff. I didn’t know what they were working on at the time, but the woman was a rock star in the building. A spectacularly brilliant asset to her field. I was overjoyed to have a chance to learn from her.
I did find it odd back then when she stated I had to come back in after-hours to tour her lab. It was around seven at night when I came in. Just about everyone had gone home right at five so it was pretty much empty. Doctor Ford met me in the main lobby and walked me to a room that seemed to be set aside for spare parts and other maintenance needs. Near the back of the room stood a large walk-in storage container that had three locks on the front, (one of which was a fingerprint reader). I watched as she provided all the needed security measures asked to clear the door. I was rather impressed by the whole thing, to be honest. I felt like I was more important simply by just being asked to walk through a door with such fancy mechanics. I was a smiling idiot.
As I followed the Doctor through the container door, I was at once surprised to see we were heading towards a stairwell and a deep one at that. Again, this is not a common option here in New Orleans at all where even the dead are entombed above ground. We descended the stairs to her lab and I was amazed by what she had down there. On one side of the room was a set of three operating tables along with two very advanced micro MRI machines. A various assortment of surgical tools dotted the area ready to be used. There was also a set of flat-screen monitors set up as a monitoring station as well. From here Dr. Ford could see the entire above-ground facility as well as out into the parking lot. I never asked about it at the time, but I think there were even cameras setup at some residences as well. Now I am under the impression they were set up without the knowledge of anyone living in those homes. Almost like she was checking up on released projects.
Good God, her “projects”. I told you the Colton Institute was gearing up for advanced medical breakthroughs in Alzheimer’s but that was just the softcover for everything else. The “real” work being done here is quite altogether apart from that.
You see, the other side of her room downstairs held something else. There were five holding pens or cages really. At that time, there was nothing inside of them. I asked right away, more with my eyes than my voice really. Doctor Ford said they were just temporary arrangements until other more comfortable methods could be utilized. I wanted to ask more questions about what I was seeing. I thought I spotted something like dried blood in one of the cages. Right there, right then I could have spoken up or gone to someone. Yet, instead, I let it fall back into the naive ideals of dreams to come.
In the weeks to come, I was asked to work on various aspects of her research. The other members of her staff were welcoming and kind in all regards. Yet, somehow they all seemed to be keeping their collective distance from me in some way. I could not pin it down at the time, but there was definitely something there under the surface of it all. Still, I kept on with my work as nothing was wrong. Initially, I was only going over progress reports of patients that were undergoing special treatment from Doctor Ford’s advanced therapy process. From what I was putting together, some of the patients were doing remarkably well. One, in particular, a woman named Cara Holmes had even seemed to be a prominent case for possible full regression.
I had never seen any work being done on these patients up to that point. Then, two weeks ago we had some sort of accident. Matthew, one of the other members of Ford’s staff was badly hurt. From what I was told, he was in a car wreck on the way to work and was injured quite badly. I had never met him but was advised he worked late shifts for Ford. This unexpected accident left her short-handed. As such, Doctor Ford wanted to bring me closer to direct work with a procedure she was conducting that night. She said that this was earlier than she expected to bring me to this stage. I was not sure what to expect but I was more than a little excited to be closer to the action as it were. As I went down the same set of stairs again, I could feel this rush of hot fetid air rolling over me. There was a loud set of clicking noises as I got to the bottom. When I walked into that research room I nearly threw up right away. I was not ready for that sight on the floor.
Doctor Ford yelled at me to run over and help one of the other staff members. He was trying to get a harness of some sort clasped onto this man on the floor. The man, he was a mess. His arms and legs were bent backward into a mockery of the human form. His neck bulged at the base with a violent force. It looked like something was about to burst forth. His face was a mass of reddish flesh with dark veins showing prominently. His auburn beard seemed singed and curled in some spots. The heat, good lord the heat. The closer I got to the man the more I could feel the air heat up. It was like every bit of the man was emanating a deep heat from within. The staff member with the restraints in hand, John, looked at me to help. I did what I could, but damn if that whole scene didn’t have me shaking.
Eventually, we got the heated contorted man into one of the holding cages. John went to shut the door to the holding cage. As he did, one of the odd limbs of the patient shot out with terrible force and grabbed onto his arm. The patient let out a gurgled slog of spit and thick mucus all over John’s uniform. He let out a scream as the patient seemingly crushed his wrist. He pushed with all his weight and slammed the door closed on the man’s arm. I was too scared to do anything but watch. John slammed the door over and over on the ugly extremity latched on to him.
Finally, it let go and slunk back into the confines of the cage. All the while spitting out wet stinking clots of vile fluid onto the floor. John locked the door with multiple mechanisms to ensure the patient would not get out. Even so, he backed away quickly as to not risk another attack. After seeing this event and how mangled John’s arm was, I quickly began to doubt the nature of the car accident I was fed earlier. Somehow it seemed much more plausible that this “patient” was the cause of whatever damage befell Matthew.
Minutes later Doctor Ford took me into her upstairs office to talk as John went to patch himself up. She tried her best to calm me down with rational logical explanations for everything. To her credit, it was working but only on the surface. She explained to me that the man in confinement below was a special case and they were tasked with trying to help him out of his delusions brought about by various defects in his brain. His odd appearance was due to the unfortunate side effects of previous treatments at another facility. At some level, past her calm demeanor and educated poise, I could feel the insulting amount of crap she was shoveling at me. Yet, again I just sat there and smiled as I ate it up. Everything about that room downstairs screamed at my conscience. She seemed happy with my perceived obedience and told me that we would do our best to help everyone here.
All the while she was talking, all I could think about was that grotesque thing spilling onto the floor below us. I drove home that night trying to understand what I was supposed to do. What did I actually see down there? It was just a sick man I told myself. I tried to keep it together in my head. I had after all seen deeply disturbed patients at other facilities before. Nothing like what I saw that night of course. I went to bed that night staring into the television trying to tell myself that it was nothing. It was just a sick man, nothing else. I tried to keep that lie strong. It worked for a few days but it wasn’t meant to last.
Doctor Ford had me working more and more in her lower lab after that. Every day I went down those stairs felt horrible. Each step down closer and closer to that man in the cage. He seemed to become more and more docile each time, yet that made him seem even worse. The bulge in his neck had become more of a strange depression under his skin. It glowed slightly with a dim yellow light. His arms and legs were still set in their ugly disjointed orientation. It never got better to look at those faulted things. I would help John take a blood test from the man at times and at others try to get him to talk to us. He never did say anything aside from that nasty gurgles. Then one day, he was just gone. John told me he had been moved to somewhere more secure. I didn’t question it as I was relieved to be apart from that nightmare.
John didn’t seem to care one way or another. John…something about him didn’t sit right with me either. He was a research assistant for Doctor Ford, like me. Yet, he looked like he was built for war and ready for it at all times. I don’t just mean he worked out a lot. It was something in his mannerism, the look in his eyes, or the way he moved. If I didn’t know any better I would say the man was hired more for muscle than science. This is just speculation on my part, but I am confident that John is current or prior military of some sort. Guess speculation does not matter now though. Not at this point.
Two days ago I was asked to evaluate the status of a new patient that was being admitted. Doctor Ford said she wanted me to observe the man to see how severe his condition was. I would be using a quiz to try and get analytical data to use for my research. Just a bit past noon on Tuesday this gentleman arrived into processing. He was restrained and confined to a room in the upper facility at once. I asked about the restraints and was advised he was being very cooperative but it was a simple preventative measure. Seemingly, the gentleman in question had been experiencing hallucinations that caused him to have violent outbursts. This man’s name was Aaron Nelms. This man is the reason I can no longer take part in the work being done here at the Colton Institute. His treatment, his “medicine” as the good doctor called it, is what might be moving around in the halls tonight.
I went to see Aaron too interview him and gather notes for the trails to come. Doctor Ford had provided me with a set of questions she wanted me to go through with him. I was put off by the idea of talking to him on account of the possible outburst, but he was unable to move past his bed. Not to mention his arms were strapped down. I walked into the room and took a seat at a table. I was only about five feet from the gentleman. He looked at me with tired eyes and sighed as I sat down. He knew I was there to ask him questions that he must have already answered over and over with other professionals. I introduced myself and made it clear I was not there to judge, only to try and understand what he was going through.
It took some time for him to start talking to me. It almost seemed like he was trying to verify if I was real before allowing himself to talk. Eventually, he started to answer my questions with increasing comfort. The starting questions were all very basic. What was his name, who are his parents, how old he was? I then started to probe deeper into his issues to see what the extent of his hallucinations might be. Aaron looked at me with an almost fearful expression like the concept of talking about them would bring them upon us.
I directly asked him what he would see when they came. He looked dead into my eyes and said that they don’t come anymore. He said they stopped leaving. That they were always here now. This cryptic answer didn’t tell me much, but It did pique my interest as to what was triggering the violence noted in his file. I wanted to go a bit off the notes and ask him more about his personal life, family, work, ambitions. I was looking for something that could tell me more as to what caused the episodes in the first place.
As I did, John came into the room. He looked a bit riled. He asked me why I was asking so many personal questions for the subject. I spoke up saying that I was trying to get more information for the Doctor, as well as advising John that the “subject” had a name. John’s attitude was almost combative at my response. He told me that I needed to stick to the allowed notes and do as commanded. He used that term, “commanded”. I can’t lie, John scared me a bit already but something in his movements there made me feel like I was in real danger. I gave a sheepish apology and told him I would try to keep it directly on the book from now on. He told me to take a break and head out for lunch. I told him I could continue, that I wasn’t even hungry. Yet, as he looked back at me I could tell it was not a suggestion. I gathered my things and left the room. As I did, there was a sinking feeling in my gut that something foul was happening.
Walking out of the building another thought hit me. John’s arm was bare and exposed in that room. The same arm that the gnarled looking patient below had ripped at just a few nights ago. It was clean. No sign of damage at all. How was that possible I thought? I remember the blood and rent flesh I saw that night. That mess was clear now. There was just no way he could have healed that fast. There would be scars from that. I tried to make sense of it by telling myself that he must have used some kind makeup to cover it…but no, that just didn’t seem right either. It was just another in a series of doubts and lies that I was pushing down.
Later that day, I went to see Dr. Ford about the matter. I spoke up about how John seemed to be rather aggressive and forceful in his approach. She told me that I should not worry about it. Instead, she suggested that I be appreciative of his strength as it comes in handy with some of the more “unruly” individuals that come here. She quickly moved the matter to another subject. Dr. Ford advised me that Aaron was scheduled for a screening to be a new test subject for her therapy method. I was told that I needed to prep the lab below with John that night for the process. I wanted to ask more, but she took a call and asked me to leave the office.
As soon as I stepped outside of her office, John was there waiting for me. He told me to follow him and we went down to the lab. Once there he had me do some menial cleaning duties. I was wiping off what seemed like freshly dropped fluid spills. I asked John what happened and his reply was simply a series of mutterings. With that, I understood that we would be talking much at all. I was a bit annoyed to be used as a janitorial service considering my position, but considering the secrecy of the lab, I understood the “why” behind it. John didn’t help much with the cleaning. He worked on adding a reinforced steel lining to one of the containment cells. I could see what looked like claw marks on parts he was replacing. I shuddered to think of what else was held in these cells I was not privy to.
I was almost done with the final cleaning needs when I found it. I bent down to wipe out some hard to reach gunk from underneath the surgical table. The spot had an odd bend to it that made reaching the mess a chore. I grabbed a screwdriver to help move a panel aside to make it easier. As I did, something fell down onto the floor. At first, I thought it was just another bit of gunk like the rest. Yet, this was a dried and brittle piece. It must have been there for a while. When I went to collect with my gloved hands, it broke apart. I then found that the brittle outer layer was coating something underneath. It was a badge. An ID badge for use here at Colton!
I inspected the badge and saw it belonged to one Matthew L. Anderberry. The ID picture was of a young man with a gleaming smile, maybe in his late 20’s. He had reddish hair and a bushy auburn beard. Within seconds of seeing the badge, the realization of what I was looking at dawned on me. The contorted abomination of a man that I had seen down in the same lab before. The thing that spat up this viscous fluid. The ugly image that carried the same auburn beard. That patient in the cage those few nights ago. It was Matthew, Dr. Ford’s staff member that was hurt in the car accident. I didn’t even see John come up to me. He grabbed the badge out of my hand and stuffed it into his back pocket. He looked at me like he was considering if he should do something, say something. Instead, he just told me to go back upstairs and wait for him by Aaron’s room. I did as he asked and nearly as soon as I made it outside of the security doors..I sank against a wall and fell apart for a moment.
I was nearly certain there was something wrong going on, something foul. Now I knew it. Matthew certainly looked like he might have been in a car wreck, but was that before or after they decided he needed to be part of Dr. Ford’s treatment work? I gathered my mental faculties and made my way to the second floor where Aaron’s room was located. However, before I made it there I stopped by the bathroom and isolated myself in a stall. I opened my browser and did a search for Aaron Nelms. I don’t know why I suddenly thought to do so, but something was tugging at my head for it.
At first, I didn’t find anything useful or notable, But then I refined my search with added keywords like missing, admitted, or jailed for example. Then I found an article that opened this atrocity up for me. The article spoke about a project in Africa where a group of research scientists had been working on a rare plant specimen. This plant seemed to contain properties that would help reverse blindness in humans, or so the local people said. I looked through the article and found one Dr. Nelms credited with establishing a working dialog with the locals allowing them to make headway.
As I dug deeper into this team I finally came to a group image of the research scientist on location. It was dated over six months ago. In that image, to the top right wearing a casual plaid shirt and jeans was the very same man I was to see on the second floor. No doubt about it, that was Aaron Nelms. I dug deeper and deeper and eventually came to a missing person’s notice posted on two social media sites. Both of them were seemingly posted by Aaron’s wife. She stated that he had been reported missing and that no leads were found. The posts were heartbreaking to read. I knew I had to do something, tell someone.
I thought, was it possible that Dr. Ford didn’t know the history of this man? Maybe I could just talk to her and we could all work it out. I was optimistic and…stupid. I made my way out of the bathroom and over to Aaron’s room. John was not there yet. I think he wanted to make me wait for him on purpose just to assert dominance in some way. Maybe he was just being a jerk. I could not tell with that man.
I went ahead and risked a walk into the room. Aaron was sitting on the bed just as before. He was looking at the wall with a scowl on his face. He did not seem to even register my approach. I was about to say hello when he started to speak. He was not talking to me however, he was speaking to the wall. Aaron was telling something there that he can’t help anymore. He said that no matter what, he can’t let his family get touched by it.
I assumed the man was having one of his hallucinations. I interjected his conversation by asking, “Who are you talking too?”. He turned to face me and I could see there were tears in his eyes. He said it did not matter. It was not a who, but a what and that I surely did not want to know. I was bursting inside to ask him about what I had found. To see if he was indeed the same researcher whose wife is lovingly searching for. I went to open my mouth but he put up a finger to silence me.
“It does not matter”, he told me. He told me that I was there to get him ready for the poison. He told me that the thing on the walls already told him what was going to happen. I asked what the thing on the walls was. He just shook his head saying that I was not there yet. I was not built right to see it. I then asked him about the poison, what he meant by that. He replied that the treatment was more than I could see. He said that Dr. Ford was making sure it pulled all the good parts of a mind away from the bad. It was a caustic venom she was milking from the wall things.
I had no idea what he was talking about, and quite honestly he was playing the part of a lunatic quite well. Aaron looked at me and smiled. He said that the thing she calls John is coming and I should get ready. He told me that Dr. Ford hit it again and it’s in a bad mood. Just then John came through the door and he did have an angry look about him. I pulled back to a corner of the room as he walked in. John simply told Aaron to stand up. Even as he said it, he pulled the man from the bed with one arm and manhandled him. He was checking for something on his back. Seemingly finding whatever his target was, he took a syringe from his pocket and injected Aaron with it. Aaron made no sign that he was in pain, or that he was even totally there with us.
John dropped the man and turned to leave. He threw the syringe on the ground and told me to clean it up. He had an ugly sneer as he did. Walking out the door he told me to finish up my reports and be back by eight to start the process. I spent the rest of the day with mixed feelings of fear, anger, and confusion rolling around my head.
As the time came, I made my way down to the underground lab for the last time. John was waiting for me at the entrance. He unlocked the door without saying a word and we went down together. Making our way down the stairs, I could smell a faint stink in the air. Something I was not familiar with. It had hints of feces or strong bitterness to it. Whatever it was, the scent was building by the moment. Dr. Ford was by some of the monitors below with her scrubs on. I was already wearing a set in preparation as well. John had a pair on as well, but his seemed bulky and heavy. I was sure that he was wearing something hard underneath.
Finally, down there on the surgical table was Aaron himself. He was awake but seemed quite apart from the situation going on around him. He was making small movements with his lips like he was whispering something. I followed his eyes and he was staring at a far-right wall. As I did, for just the faintest of moments, I swore I could see something there. I blinked and looked again nothing. I let that moment fall away as just being tired, seeing things in shadows. Looking back at Aaron, He was still looking at the wall. Yet, with his right eye still in place, his left rolled around and looked at me. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and I asked Dr. Ford as to the man’s ocular strangeness. She just laughed and said that I worry too much about the little things. She said that tonight I would be part of the bigger picture.
I think I understand what she meant now, but I hope to god I am wrong. I asked her just what we would be doing too, or rather for Aaron. She told me to stop using his name as it is not allowed down here. She said to refer to him as “C-213”. I was taken aback by her nonchalant tone. She told me to check the restraints and prepare to document the process. I did so and felt horrible right away. These restraints she had on him, they were biting into the flesh of the man. They felt far too tight and when I voiced as much, John told me to shut up.
Moments later the process started. Dr. Ford used no less than eleven syringes filled with various concoctions, to begin with. These were all injected into Aaron’s neck. He again made no motion as she did so. Dr. Ford started to speak, mostly for the record. She said the patient who suffered from multiple hallucinations and various mental issues would be receiving a level three application of the HG solution. She stated it was a modified formula that would help to further the separation of healthy brain segments from the failing ones. She added that the growth supplement would be tested in this trial as well to verify if the removed sections could be repaired by the body itself.
For a moment, I was brought back into the young happy researcher I wanted to be. Once again I thought to myself about all the good that we could do if she was right about her work. Yes, for just a moment I had let the ideas of everything I knew up into point fall aside as my reason for coming surfaced again. Yet, that was not to last for long.
As I looked at Aaron on the table, I remembered the ID card I found under the panel I removed. Matthew, he had been on this table before at some point. He had been given something here. I mind reeled at the thought of what happened that night. What details had I been lied to about?
Dr. Ford went to apply some sort of cream to the injection site. It was not something I was medically familiar with. Oh lord did it stink! It filled the room with the same smell from that night. Almost Instantly I felt the air around me rise in temperature. Aaron buckled and strained against the restraints. Even so, he made no facial suggestions that he was in any form of pain. He, for the most part, looked like he checked out mentally from the whole situation.
Dr. Ford looked towards me and assured me that we were fine. This is how the solution starts. Once the treatment begins, the subject expels a massive wave of heat. She advised it would pass and not to worry. I nodded and maintained my documentation on the process while also keeping an eye on the noted bio-readings on the monitors. Aaron’s heart rate was slow, not dangerously slow, but enough to make me wonder at the details going on inside his body.
Dr. Ford spoke again, Noting that the subject had not shown any signs of discomfort. John just kept walking around the table like a coiled cobra. Ready to strike into action should anything go off the rails. Just as well, because it soon would. Dr. Ford pulled over a set of surgeon’s tools on a rolling table. She inspected them and selected one. She bent over Aaron’s left ear and was getting ready to start. She proclaimed that she would now begin the process of the first incision to determine the status of dying portions.
She sliced into the heated flesh and a rupture of smells came forth. I was extremely nauseated by this point. I don’t have a particularly weak stomach, but this level of intensity was just overbearing. As she continued her cuts, I could see Aaron was saying something. Whispers again at first, but then quite clearly he said: “They want you too”. Dr. Ford backed away, her tool gleaming with blood under the lights. “What did you say”, she replied. Aaron said it again, this time with a stronger tone in his delivery; “They want you too”. Dr. Ford made a motion to John to fetch another set of syringes from a nearby cabinet.
As he moved away, Aaron tore his left arm free from the restraint. A shower of gore blew out from the now shredded section where his hand and wrist connected. Still…no sign of pain came across his face. He used the mangled appendage as a tendril of sorts and latched onto the doctor’s throat. His eyes became rolling flashes of ebon light. With a sickening snap, he broke the restraint on his neck and pulled himself up to face level with Dr. Ford. John was already dashing back to the table, but something seemed to grab hold of him and pull him toward the far right wall. Something seemed to have hold of his leg was drawing him closer.
My attention came back to the table as Dr. Ford started to scream at me for help. Aaron opened his mouth as thick ropes of blackened saliva spilled out. He told her that she had not delivered as they wanted, now they wanted her. What that meant, I could not even guess at. With a vile contortion of his body, Aaron threw the doctor across the lab. She landed close to where John was struggling with whatever had a hold on him. I was having a hard time focusing on anything as the light in the lab was dimming and becoming an almost thick layer of haze.
I heard something akin to a plastic wrapper crinkling but with an accompanied wetness that spoke of a scene, I would rather not see. I let fear take over and dashed to the stairs. I struggled to get up each step. At one point I think I nearly slipped down. I dared one glance back when I was near the top. I saw him, Aaron. He was sitting down calmly in one of the chairs below. Sounds of obscene violence still blowing out from near the surgery table. He looked at me with a serene smile and gave me a thumbs up. Then he said, “Don’t run far”. Even over the mess of the moment, I could hear his words clearly. Somehow, they terrified me more than anything else I saw down there.
I made my way up and ran into the nearest office I could find that was unlocked. I barricaded the door with anything I could find. Then I rested against the wall and waited for something to come. I waited so long, but nothing ever came. Not even a noise. At some point, I must have passed out. I remember waking up today. I had my clothes covered in thick mucus. It must have been from the lab, but I didn’t even notice it. My neck had small wounds on it too. Something like ten tiny paper cuts. I checked my pockets for my phone to call the police or anyone for help. I must have dropped it in the run. I looked around and found a laptop on the desk that was in the office. I was able to log in and connect to the local intranet. If the time is right, I slept until late the next day. Checking for active logins, no one seemed to be on but me.
So here I am, alone in this damned place. Now, tonight I am hearing noises out there and I am not sure if I will get another night. I have saved this recording to as many places inside the internal network as possible. Please, if you get this message….do something. Anything.
As for Aaron Nelms…If you see him, be careful. I don’t think the people he talks to in the walls are just in his head. I can hear whispers in this room now.