For my thirty first birthday, my friends got me a heritage DNA test,
one of those where you send a sample again an approximate percentage of what makes
up your background. I don't think there was anything in particular that made them
gifted to me, though, I think they ordered one for themselves and got
a two for one kind of deal. Still, I figured it'd be fun
to check out. My biological grandpa died when my dad was very young,
and my grandmother remarried long before I was born, so I was never told
a lot about that side of the family. I'd always been a bit of
a sickly kid, so I've been wary about looking too closely at my family
and health history. But I figured this couldn't hurt, so I filled out
the form, provided this sample, and sent it on its way. Then
I just sort of forgot about it. When I finally got the results,
it came with a few surprising revelations. While the majority of my heritage was
entirely predictable, there was an eleven percent splash of something called Northern Scandinavian Blue
Hill tribe. I asked my parents about it. While my mother had no
idea what the blue Hill tribe was. She was pretty sure it wasn't from
her side of the family. My dad was equally confused. Sure, he
didn't know much about his biological father, but he knew for a fact that
the man was from Oklahoma. His mom, on the other hand, was
Minnesotan. Dad got curious and ordered his own test within the hour. As
I ended the call and boxed the packaging up, something fell out, a
sturdy envelope of thin navy blue cardboard and sealed with a sunflower emblem. It
had a mild chemical smell to it, like a sweet ammonia. At first,
I thought it was going to be some kind of special offer, much
like what got me that test in the first place. But after turning it
over, I could see it was addressed directily to me in handwritten cursive.
It read congratulations on your recent result. As part of our effort to explore
the diverse world of unified heritage, and in cooperation with our various multinational partners,
we would like to extend an invitation to descendants of Northern Scandinavian Blue Hill
tribe for an eventful day of education, connectivity, and celebration. Please consider
this invitation and review the enclosed details at personal link. Using your log in
credentials, we hoped to see you there. I didn't know exactly what to
make of it, but I decided to check it out, and holy hell,
it reeked of scam. Here's what it offered, A fully paid three
days stay at a hotel in Manchester, New Hampshire, free entry to the
company sponsored heritage celebration event, alongside other members of both the Blue Hill tribe,
but also other unique and diverse backgrounds. There were several groups listed,
mostly hailing from the Scandies, the Carpathians, and the Ural Mountains. I
would have to pay for the trip to get there, though, and they
were clear about food, drink, and room service not being included, But
all in all, it sounded too good to be true. After several hours
of trying to find my way through the customer service websites, I finally got
hold of an actual service rep over the phone. At first, they seem
to have no idea what I was talking about, but when I referenced the
personal case number at the bottom of the envelope, they referred me to a
special events manager. This manager, in turn confirmed everything I know I know.
They laughed. I know how it sounds, but this is actually a
sort of golden ticket thing. It's a biennal event and part of a charity
effort, so there's a tax incentive for us as well. If you can
make it. I'd recommend checking it out. They got some event photos on
our website for reference. I did as she suggested, and I gotta say
I was convinced. I accepted. My flight. Arrived on the morning of
the first event day, about three hours ahead of opening. I I had
an uneventful early check in, spotting the locked doors through the lobby. There
were a few posters marking the Heritage Celebration event, and there were already a
couple of people roaming the halls outside, but I decided to catch my breath
a bit before the doors opened. I got to my room and clocked out
for a couple of hours. I double checked the event schedule on my phone,
making mental notes of the various talks, guided tours, luncheons, dinners,
and get togethers. It was a full two day event. I was
surprised at just how much there was to do, considering the event was intended
for no more than a couple hundred people at most. Still, I couldn't
complain, But just as I drifted off for a nap, I got a
notification on my phone, a text from my dad. Apparently he'd recently gotten
his results back. Strangely enough, he didn't have any percentage of the Northern
Scandinavian blue Hill tribe in his genetic make up. Maybe my mom was in
a southern as she thought. Once the doors opened, there are about a
hundred people walking about. Some looked like average Joe Nobody's. Others were clearly
some kind of corporate representative. I could tell at least six different accents just
by walking around, and a couple of foreign languages. There are a few
booths to check out, mostly advertising various new services and products by the company
behind the DNA test, but also one I was just information about various forgotten
or unusual tribes. Going through the pamphlets, I couldn't find one about the
blue Hill tribe. So I decided to ask the service wrap behind the counter
a blue Hill, He said, raising an eyebrow, I'm not sure.
I Another rap whispered something in his ear, and he nodded right. He
corrected, we don't have any reading material on that subject, but ah I
think there's an infocession should be part of the Tribes of the North meetup.
I double checked the schedule again and made my way to a couple of events.
The Tribes of the North meetup was an after dinner event, part of
the late night off our socializing thing they tried to get going. I spent
the afternoon listening in on various other topics, trying to pass the time.
There was a speaker on the topic of nomadic North American tribes, as well
as a workshop about forgotten languages. It was all interesting in its own way,
but I found myself drifting away just after lunchtime. I had to take
a rest around them three pm because of an upset stomach, a relic from
my sickly past. Later, I took a walk around town and had a
decent meal at a local restaurant before I headed back to the hotel. I
was a few minutes late to the meet up. There were about two dozen
people there in total. We didn't really have any common features. We had
different skin, hair, eyes, and were all from different parts of the
US. A couple of them were Canadian and there was this one guy from
the Philippines. It was pretty clear who the event organizer was, though,
a chipy young woman in a black pantsuit with a company logo pin and a
digital clipboard. She went around the room confirming that everyone was a member of
the Blue Hill. I overheard an older woman mentioning she was categorized as over
thirty percent, while a young man mentioned he only had five percent. The
young woman cleared a throat and excused herself, calmly, demanding the attention of
the room. Thank you all so much for coming, she smiled. I'm
sure you have a hundred questions, and we thought this might be a good
time to get to know one another a little better. Please follow me.
We were led through a corridor to a smaller open room, a sort of
meeting space. In the back. They turned down the lights a bit and
set out a couple of platters of cheeses, crackers, and some alcohol free
sparkling wine. There were a couple of people there already. I was about
to spark up a conversation with a fifty year old man who looked as confused
as me, when the chippy young woman took hold of the room again.
She directed our attention to a man that I can't for the life of me.
Remember the name of Western or Wesley, I think in turn, welcomed
us and encouraged us to indulge in the various snacks scattered throughout the room.
Then he introduced us to the topic of the evening, the Blue Hill Tribe.
If there is one thing I'm certain of, he started, is that
every single person in this room has had a serious medical condition at some point
in their life, something unusual. Does anyone might sharing an example. I
didn't speak up about the severe ulcers I had as a kid and the partial
transplant I had to get. But there were others who openly shared various issues,
heart valve issues, cornia transplants, nerve damage. Everyone seemed to have
something. The man just nodded, as if expecting this. This is sadly
a common attribute of people with lineage dating back to the Blue Hill tribes.
So let's take a closer look at the history and customs of these unique people.
And while we do, please feel free to mark yourself in the attendant
sheet. He continued to speak of a group of people native to the northern
Scandinavian mountain ranges. There were dates locations an approximate number of tribal members and
a few other sparse details. I marked the form while I waited, realizing
pretty early on that what he was saying was suspiciously generic. He spoke of
leather and bone craftsmanship and a belief in mountain spirits, but there were no
details, no references, no pictures, drawings, or artifacts. I noticed
a lot of people around the room paying close attention and not really thinking too
much about what they were filling out on the attendant sheet, but I took
a closer look. Our names were already on the sheet, so we were
only suppose to make a check mark. However, there were also percentages printed
on the side, corresponding to the percentage of heritage we had in common with
this tribe. I recognized my eleven percent and the thirty percent of the old
woman. There was also a series of other numbers that I didn't immediately recognize.
When I thought no one was looking, I snapped a picture of it,
just in case. After a fifteen minute lecture on the history of the
Blue Hill tribe, I came to the realization that I hadn't actually learned anything.
The locations and dates were so generic that there was no way to fact
check it, and there were no details as to the various customs and crafts.
Looking around the room, I noticed the chippy young woman was off in
the corner, whispering to someone on a bluetooth headset, her eyes scanning the
crowd with a serious demeanor. There was a man in a suit by the
doorway taking pictures with his phone, and a hotel functionary offering refreshments being turned
away. This was clearly a private matter and of great interest to the company.
For some reason, I snapped to attention as the room applauded. The
lecture came to an end and we were given some time to mingle, but
not without another reminder to make a mark of the intendant sheet. I chatted
a bit with a few people, but it all felt a bit forced.
Just a few words here and there. I got the impression that none of
us had very much in common. No one seemed to have any idea where
that part of their heritage actually came from. There was this one guy who
had studied his genealogy extensively, who insisted that it was strictly impossible for him
to even be partly Scandinavian. I've mapped out every family member for six generations,
He scuffed, there's no way. As more and more people filled it
out into the night, I decided to lag a bit to see what was
being said behind closed doors. I wasn't sneaking around on all fours like a
spy, just lingered a little too long on the other side of the bathroom
door, or stopping conveniently to check my email near a hushed discussion. I
picked up a few bits and pieces discussions about our percentages. For example,
there was also talk about a second event the following night, and how it
wasn't officially on the schedule. They referred to it as a sort of closing
ceremony. There was also a short talk about inviting a few of us to
a private meeting. I heard two people squabbling a bit about the details,
and I didn't catch much of it, but I clearly heard a sentence as
they finished, just get the ripe ones. One of them snarled, none
of that three percent trash. I didn't like that, not one bit.
Returning to my room, I decided to pack up my things. I had
a bad feeling about whatever they were up to, and I couldn't help but
to imagine that they had something planned maybe it was all a scam after all,
or something worse. Either way, I wasn't eager to find out.
I couldn't find a reasonably priced flight back home until early morning. It was
almost twelve hours away, but I figured I could pull an all nighter and
get out as soon as the sun rose. I could wait a few hours
at the airport if need be. With my bags packed and ready, I
settled in for a long night. It was somewhere around two a m.
When I found myself staring at late night TV and scrawling on my phone as
a salesman prattled on in the background. A stray thought hit me. I
decided to take another look at the attendant sheet photo. There was a set
of numbers by each person that didn't make immediate sense to me. I brought
out a pen and paper and started breaking them down, first in sets of
twos, then individually, then sets of three, trying to find some pattern
or idea. It took me a little longer than I cared to admit to
recognize something. The last four numbers correlated to one pattern four and room number.
That left four other numbers, which, when broken down into pairs of
two, correlated to a month and a day. The date itself didn't make
much sense, though for me it was a few days after I'd sent in
my first sample. Then it hit me it was probably the day they received
the sample. Taking a closer look at the percentages, I could see that
everyone with a nine percent heritage or lower was situated on lower floors, while
those with ten percent and higher all seemed to have the higher floors. Maybe
there was a sort of unspoken threshold happening at ten percent and up. Could
that be what they referred to when they said to get the ripe ones.
As I scrawled through various images from previously hosted charity events, I got a
notification my phone warned me that my camera app had unexpectedly closed. Strange,
seeing how it wasn't open to begin with. A bad feeling settled in my
stomach. I was on the hotel WiFi. Could they be monitoring our activities?
I considered the option that I was just being tired and paranoid. That
might very well be the case, But on the other hand, I'd heard
what I'd heard. It was stressing me out, further upsetting my already sensitive
stomach. I could feel a tinge of pain and decided to go get some
mice. Might sound like a stupid home remedy thing, but sucking on an
ice cube has always helped me calm down. I followed the corridor, got
myself some ice in a bucket, and returned to my room. As I
was about to round the corner, I recognized as familiar sound my hotel room
door being closed and locked from the outside. Peeking around the corner, I
noticed two people dressed in black disappearing down the hall, mumbling quietly to one
another, returning to my room. I couldn't help, but the second guess
myself. Had the bathroom door always been open was the same channel on the
TV playing Had some one moved my bags? It was hard to tell.
That's how I spent the night wondering. My heart sometimes skipped a beat as
I thought I noticed something new, but ultimately I couldn't find anything immediately threatening.
I pulled out my phone battery just in case, and kept it in
my other pocket. No one would be tracking me any time soon. I
messed my bed to make it look like I had slept in it, even
though I spent most of my time in the bathroom. Ready to lock the
door, and call the police. I nodded off a few times, but
eventually the sun broke the horizon, a few rays of sunshine slipping in through
the frosted bathroom window. Oh. I got my bags and left. One
nervous elevator ride later, I slapped down the hotel key on the reception and
headed for the exit without elaborating. I accidentally made eye contact with the hotel
security guard by the exit, who gave me a curious side eye. Sir,
he asked. I stopped briefly and excused myself. He held up a
hand, Sir, may I speak to you, he repeated, I have
an appointment. I smiled, Sorry, it won't take long. He smiled,
right this way, looking at the silver colored revolving door that could get
me out of there. I considered my options. I could make a break
for it, or I could just see what this was all about. I
decided to just talk to the man, banking hard on it not being anything
serious. In hindsight, I should have gone for the door. I was
taken to a small room right next to the reception. There he asked to
see my phone. I showed him, although the battery was still out.
My supervisor has a couple of questions. He said, she's just outside,
won't be a minute. I'm sorry, but I got it. He pocketed
my phone, smiled and stepped out of the room. But it wasn't an
ordinary service personnel kind of smile. It was almost apologetic, like he knew
he'd landed me in some kind of trouble. And through the door came the
chipper young woman from the previous night. She wasn't as chipper this time.
She didn't sit down, instead opting to stand on the opposite side of the
room with the arms crossed. For a solid minute, she just stood there,
considering what to say. Finally, she let out a sigh and took
a step forward. I felt like a scorn schoolboy being dragged into the principal's
office. Are you leaving early? She asked, would be a shame to
mister get together to night. I'm thankful to have been part of this,
I said, but I really ought to get going. Oh, she feigned
surprise, family emergency, and that's private, I said. I could still
hear the hotel personnel outside, and figured she didn't want to make a scene.
I leaned back in my chair, confident and quiet. She didn't take
that too well. I think it'd be best for you if you've stayed a
little longer, she continued. I don't think I will. I don't think
there's much to debate. I'm sorry, but you've no. She slammed a
fist on the table and stared me down, unblinking and furious. There was
a slight tremble in a movement. There was no way those outside didn't hear
us, and yet no one moved a muscle. Perhaps she was in more
control than I'd anticipated. I think you're going to stick around for a while,
she snarled, or we're going to have a problem. You will have
a problem with me, No, I said, shaking my head. Ah,
er, I don't. Then you're going to shut the hell up and
play along. I was dumb struck. There was no ambiguity here. She
was outright threatening me. I could barely understan and why. Maybe she'd seen
something on my phone while I was connected to the hotel WiFi, or maybe
they noticed me spying. Perhaps they saw me pondering the attendant sheet. I
don't know. Either way, they weren't taking any chances. I didn't see
that hotel security guard again. Instead, They put me in a room with
a very quiet man in a suit. He didn't answer any questions. He
wasn't much for small talk. All he did was stand outside the room,
checking in on me as soon as I made a noise. I spent all
day in that room, this small ten x fourteen room with little more than
a couch, a coffee table, and the most generic looking hotel painting I'd
ever seen. Still as calming as that room was, I was freaking the
hell out, but there was nothing for me to do at that point.
No hair schemes could make me magically phase through the wall. I was stuck
there, and I sure as hell wouldn't fight That guy didn't take a detective
despot. He was armed. The stress made my stomach act up. I
was allowed to use the bathroom, but they kept the stall door open.
Then it was straight back to the room. I tried frantically to come up
with some kind of plan, or figuring out some specific turn of the corridor
where he wouldn't have a clear shot, but it was useless. There were
long, wide open spaces and no harsh corners, but that was my mindset.
I was still under the impression that there was something I could do,
but in reality I couldn't. Once that started the dawn on me, I
realized how screwed I was. It was the emotional equivalent of sinking into a
deep black ocean. It was late afternoon when the door opened. Having spent
most of the day napping on the couch and anxiously wandering back and forth,
I got on my feet like a soldier. One of the guards coaxed me
outside. I could tell something was up. People were rushing past us,
speaking into their ear pieces removed in the opposite direction, but I caught a
glimpse of a well dressed group of people used as human shields for someone very
important. I was quickly ushered along. I was taken through the hotel kitchen.
They'd cleared out the staff. They tuk me to what looked like an
abandoned old walk in freezer. I was pushed inside and the door was closed.
I don't know how those walk in freezers, I suppose the work,
but this one locked from the outside. There were no lights, and I
could barely make out what was happening through the little windows. I didn't have
to wait for long. Just minutes after I could hear other people entering the
room, some curious, some angry, some crying. One by one,
the guests from the previous night were ushered into the freezer, even the old
woman. Well, not all the guests, only those ripe enough. There
were nine of us in total. Some were mildly annoyed, others were confused.
Finally, they dropped a guy who had been beaten straight onto the floor.
He was clearly not okay, trying his best to breathe through his mouth.
That set most of us off. Some banged on the door, others
screened at the top of their lungs. No one had a phone or a
weapon. The panic rose, and it spread like wildfire. Soon I was
right there with them, screaming for someone to let us out. I screamed
into my voice hoarse, but no one came. We must have been in
there for at least forty to forty five minutes. Our protests died, and
in the following silence we heard someone enter the room, a single set of
footsteps. They approached, and we all quieted down. I could see the
vague outline of a man outside, but our breaths had fogged up the windows
and the door. He had a black suit with a blue tie. He
stood there with his hands in his pocket, watching us. I backed away
from the door. The others did the same, No matter how bad the
freezer was. There was something telling me that this guy was somehow worse.
He was too calm, like this was all normal, he'd done it before.
As the door opened, we all scrambled to get back. He stepped
into the entrance, obscured by the bad lighting, but for all I could
see he was a man, a little shorter than me, a bit round
around the stomach, bald, maybe glasses. There was something reflecting off his
face, and yet there was something about him that screamed danger. The man
who'd been beaten was ready to roll the dice. He took off running,
trying to push past and get out. There was a kitchen exit not too
far away, so if he could just make it past this guy, then
maybe he'd be in the clear. But no, he didn't get that far.
The strange man didn't tackle him, or attack or scream. In fact,
he didn't seem to react at all. But the runner, well,
he stopped a few steps short of leaving the freezer. He clutched his throat,
gasping for air. The man spoke in a raspy, matter of factly
voice, as if counting the inventory on the supermarket's shelf. Male thirty eight
years old, six years spread, reaching a total of eighteen percent implanted the
Riesophagu's surgery, and then there was this ungodly noise. The runner collapsed to
his knees. He was trying to scream, but all that came out was
a sort of guturo wheeze. It escaped him in waves, involuntarily, until
we could see something poking out of his mouth, like the silhouette of a
wet branch being pulled out. Finally, there was a snap as it fully
dislodged, and the freezer began to re reek of blood. He stopped moving.
The panic consumed us. I may read calm here in the aftermath,
but in that moment I was an animal. I was scratching on the damn
walls trying to get back. I didn't care if I was pushing people into
the floor or stepping on someone's head. I was desperate. The strange man
spoke again, but this time his raspy voice seemed better improved. Female twenty
nine years old, four year spread, reaching a total of fourteen percent implant
through spinal surgery. One by one, he counted us off male female,
male female, four years, five years, nine eight percentages going up and
down, lung cancer, cornea, transplant, dialysis, screams, and blood,
one by one, being pulled out of the crowd and then pulled apart.
I'll never forget the sounds. Small bones sound like carrots when they snap
bigger ones. It differs the dripping noise as human spillach mixed on the floor.
Drops a blood really do sound heavier than water. And with every victim,
I could see something shift in our captor, straightening back, deeper breaths,
like he was absorbing it all into himself, taking something back, harvesting.
The sixth person on the chopping block was me. He read it all
out loud, male. He began thirty one years old, twenty four year
spread, reaching a total of eleven percent implant through also treatment. My stomach
rumbled, moved, twitched, as if calming alive. It wanted to escape
me, to break free. It strained against me. I collapsed to the
floor, my hands slipping on the blood seeping into my skin, itching under
my fingernails. Then I felt something move in my pocket. I almost dropped
it. I still had my phone battery. I took it out and held
it up to my mouth. I could bite down on it, drenching myself
in acid. Oh god knows what. My stomach ceased moving, if only
for a short reprieve. I looked up at my captor. See see this,
I said, it'll it'll screw us both up. But you need it
right, you need me whole. There was no response. I could just
see him tilting his head down at me. Yeah, if I destroy myself,
you get nothing right. That's it, isn't it. Huh. I
placed it between my teeth, ready to bite down like a rabid dog on
a juicy bone. He didn't move As I got up, He circled one
another. He wasn't about to let me go. He wasn't looking at me
in the eyes. He was staring intently at my stomach. He wanted to
pull it out of me, to turn it into something else. Or maybe
it was part of him all along, something coming home. No, he
said it ends. He reached out a hand for me, and I bit
down without hesitation. To my surprise, there was just a little puff,
but that was it. The battery tumbled to the floor useless. The man
instinctively recoiled, but upon seeing that there was no danger, it all came
back with a vengeance. The pain was immediate and incredible. Something in me
moved and I immediately spat up a glob of stomach acid. Then the battery
exploded. It wasn't a big explosion, just a loud bang, like the
starting of a pistol race. I slipped and slid my way out of the
freezer and had to make a split second decision. I could close and lock
the door behind me, effectively ceiling him and everyone in there. Or I
could leave the door open for others to escape. But it wasn't really a
choice, not really. It never is when you get pushed into something like
this. I slammed that door shut and led it auto lock without even thinking
about it. Perhaps he asked the guards to clear out. I don't know,
but there was no one else in that kitchen. I grabbed a knife
from one of the counters, burst through the exit door, and disappeared into
the night, my stomach stirring like a restless animal, but settling as I
got further away. I can only regret what happened to those left behind.
It still makes my spine itch. A police patrol found me wondering the streets
about an hour or two later. I can't imagine it looked good. I
was taking such small, shallow breaths and I was still clutching the knife.
Not to mention, I was covered in blood. They were convinced that I
killed someone, but I surrendered willingly and eagerly. I tried to tell a
coherent story, but they just didn't understand me. Probably didn't make much sense.
A shower and a fresh set of clothes later, I explained my experience
of the hotel to the best of my ability. Sadly, it didn't really
do much. There were no records of the man I described ever visiting that
hotel. As for the missing people, those I claimed had been murdered,
they had checked out one by one at different hours of the day prior.
According to the hotel records, they might be missing, but there was no
indication of foul play. Yeah, I'm calling lies on that. So yeah,
that was by far the worst time of my life. Looking back at
it, it feels unreal, like it happened to some one else. But
even now I can still get little flashes of something there reminds me of that
night, and it just pulls me right back. It never really leaves Whoever
that man was. He was important enough to get a whole company to cover
for him. I'm sure not all of them knew why they were doing it,
but they were complicit. I think we're looking at someone with a lot
of resources and a lot of reach. I never got a name, and
seeing how he seemed to change with every victimy consumed, I can't really tell
what he looks like any more, not even his age or hight or weight.
There are surprisingly some real records about a small tribe of people living from
the Blue Hill in the Scandinavian Mountain Range. There isn't much out there about
them, just to mention that they worshiped immortal mountain spirits. Others say they
worship devils. It's a mixed bag. I don't know what to believe.
I don't know what I saw, but I'm living with a knowledge that a
part of me, something inside me, isn't my own. It moves with
me, it lives with me, but at the snap of a finger from
that thing and it will rebel, it will fail me. And I'm just
at what eleven percent. What happens when I reach fifty or one hundred.
I decided to post this after getting a video ad that I could never have
anticipated. It seems that this company is still in business advertising their new generation
of DNA tests. I'm sure some of you out there have seen it.
Twenty seconds unskippable smiling faces, distant family members being tied together by CGI blue
ribbon. I think they have some of those damn sunflowers in the background still
colored that basic company blue, and seeing it like that, it just it
made my stomach turn.