My name is Carl Dif. I live in the town of Costanta, and the Eat by a Beach corporation employs me. I stock the food wall and I am paid three hundred dollars a week. If you were looking for a story about a thirty one year old man who works as a stock boy, this is not the story for you.
There was a man who lived in the village of Costanta. His name was John Dempt. John lived a fairly normal life, or as normal as ones life may be if your life changes from a quiet solitude to a public nightmare in one day. Not saying that John had a mental disorder, but John changed, in a way that no one could understand; no one could understand until today.
As John's neighbor, I feel that it is my duty, to inform the public of the strange happenings that occurred between July 15 and August 23. I must warn you however, that these events are not of a natural sort, and in fact: are extremely peculiar. If you are one of those who cannot believe in a fantasy novel, I suggest that you put this down and read "100 one ways to stare at an un-cooked chicken".
The mourning started as it did any mourning in the town of Costanta. The children headed to their school bus at 6:45 and the workingmen (myself included) left at 5:10. John did not leave his home. He stayed in bed and did not wake up; even when his alarm buzzed to the point of catching fire. I must take this moment to thank Mr. Dempt's dog for if he had not barked at that moment, John may never have been at the right place at the right time.
"What is it you lazy mutt?"2
4
5 John croaked as he stretched up from bed.
What the dog was barking at, I may never know, but at that moment John moved into the kitchen and realized that he was late for work.
John Dempt is not a man to be nervous. He had several times been mugged, and I cannot count how many dangers he has faced against his dog (the don't call him chops for nothing). In fact very few things do scare John. Losing his job on the other hand, scared the living shit out of him.
As John shoved the keys into the ignition, one thing was on his mind: he had five minutes to get to work. His engine roared as his Saturn raced out of his gray garage. The sun was bright that mourning. It was the right tint that it turned your windshield a dark red. So that it gave you a new blind spot approximately the size of your entire windshield.
Before the occurrence that is about to occur I must assure you that I did not know the man that was known as John Dempt. I have only gathered this report due to the fact that I saved Mr. Dempt's life. In return, I was given the information that I required to file a report.
At any rate John drove above the speed limit (I will not disclose the exact speed due to the fact I have promised that I will not disclose information that could: Give away John's location, or incriminate him for any more crimes than he has committed). Due to the large blob of glare slowly moving across Mr. Dempt's windshield, he did not notice when he ran a red light. Nor did he notice that he had just smashed into an eighty-year-old woman's car. It may seem rather odd not to notice a car crash, but John Dempt is quite abnormal.
To add a tone of sadness to our story the eighty-year-old woman broke her hip and stayed in the hospital for two and a half weeks. Otherwise, the crash was only good news. She received a wealth of insurance and lives happily to this day. John proceeded to drive his now somewhat damaged Saturn out of the area.
John must have driven about four miles until his car ceased to move due to the newly made puncture. John stepped out of his stalled car and made his way to a nearby gas station.
"My car broke down outsi-" John fell to the floor
"Hey, what's wrong manā"
And like that John fell unconscious and completely ignorant of what was going on around him. I later met with the man who owns the gas station. He described it as a mad ruckus.
The world spun (literally) around John. A tornado had formed quickly and the gas station roof was torn off. The owner, Mr. Gregg Paulson rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. An old man rushed in a slow run across the room.
At last this is where I am brought into the story. My commute goes from my house to the store through highway 17 onto rout 12 passing directly by the gas station [Note: Enclosed in the back of this report is a map of Costanta and the surrounding towns.] You may ask why I had taken so long to get to where John was, it can be explained with but only a word: Traffic.
Noticing the tornado (and the passed out John) I quickly rushed into action. If you have ever been in a relay race, this is what it was like. I ran in quickly and ducked down to avoid getting ripped apart.
"JOHN!?"
It was no use I grabbed him and pulled as hard as I could. I ripped his shirt. Again, I stuck my hand out and pulled...
Suddenly we were falling from the sky several miles above what appeared to be a beautiful little grassy terrace. The sky above us was gray, completely unlike the sky we had seen before. We were falling at an incredible speed. Any moment we would hit the ground and cease to live. I quickly contemplated how we could have appeared here, just as I saw the ground rise to meet us.
To be continued7
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