Speaker 1: Heather kids, It's me mister Kipapasta, and I've got something
pretty cool to share with you. You may not know it,
but I do a little streaming on the side, and
I have a YouTube. My stream friends over at the
Night Shift decided to put together the East Coast's first
v tuber convention, and we're set to premiere it in
November in Danvers, Massachusetts. Voice actors, YouTubers, cosplayers, performers, exhibitors,
and of course me, your spooky dad yours truly. Check
out our website down below in the description. We just
open up for tickets a couple of days ago. Follow
our socials for more information, and I hope to see
you there. And now on to tonight's story. October seventh,
two thousand and four, Jennifer Friends and Family of Ma
has promised here copies that the correspondence are received from
Mark over the course of the last month. For the
most part of merely copied and pasted them for my
email application. As you'll read, requested this in hopes that
you'll better understand why he did what he did. I
made this page because it's the most efficient way to
share Mark's emails with all of you. I'm not advertising
this to anyone, but I do think it'd be wise
to pass this URL along to anyone who may need
help with the investigation. As I collect more information from
various sources, I'll update the page to keep it to
keep it an accurate record. I have that link at
the end of the series as well. If you need
to speak with me, Jen has my number. Thank you
for your patience, and again, I am profoundly sorry. Eric.
September sixth, two thousand and four. Eric. Hey man, it's
Mark from Houston. The Saturday Night Gang feels like a
long long time ago, doesn't it. I've found your email
from your website and looks like you're out in La now.
I remember telling you that you should be out there
doing the California thing. You still with Connie. I'm in
Dallas now. Met someone who works in my building. We've
been seeing each other for like two years now. Well, listen,
the reason I'm writing you out of blue is because
I got this newspaper article in the mail. Maybe you
got one too. It's about Andrew. Remember Drew Travis would
pick him up most of the time, messy hare sort
of like a fanboy type. Remember his last name until
I got this thing, and no, it's really disturbing me.
Do you know what happened? Do you hear about it already?
Let me know if you have some time to talk,
I can call you, or you can call me if
that works better. I'm gonna see if I can track
down Travis and Dave. Quick search didn't seem to turn
up any leads, but maybe maybe they just don't have websites.
You still talk to them either, let me know. Thanks, Mark,
September fourth, thousand and four. Eric, Hey, thanks for a
quick reply. I didn't you mean to sound cryptic in
my first email. I'm just reluctant. I guess I haven't
really seen a thought about Andrew since he stopped showing
up for game night. And that was five years ago.
That was about the time we all went our own
way back at nineteen ninety nine. He moved out West,
I moved up to Dallas, et cetera. And then when
I got this article in my mailbox, it caught me
by surprise. Yeah, I'll tryanbscribe the thing for you. I
wasn't sure if maybe you were the one who sent
it to me. I'll put it into this email at
the bottom. I remember him. He was never the kid
with the idea. He was the kid who agreed with yours.
So I was to get the joke, usually laughed at
the longest. That's Andrew in a nutshell. Yeah, that's how
I remember him. He got He got on my nerves sometimes,
but damn if he didn't love being part of the gang.
He'd asked me for some poker chips on card night,
or borrowed dice from my bag, that sort of thing.
Whenever we were playing Tecmo Bowl and your Nintendo. He
always wanted to be on my team. It's ord of
been fine if he was any good. I haven't heard
from Travis and Drew in years. It fell off. They
radar about the same time you do. And I know
it's made much attempts to stay in touch. It's one
of those things. It's okay. I wasn't trying to point fingers.
It happens, you know, But I was hoping that you
had already heard about Andrew. Like you've gotten a copy
of the article. I still haven't been able to get
a number or email from Travis or Dave. What do
you they know more about this than we do. Andrew
usually hitch a ride with Travis. Most of the time
it was on the way home. For Travis. Didn't Andrew
live with his mom, I like in an apartment and
his stepdad was like a real estate broker, had that
one house way out past Highway six. You remember that
Andrew was scared to death of that house. Oh, here's
the article. There's a photo of Andrew with it. Looks
maybe like this driver's license photo. Still have that messy hair.
Gunman shoots two, kills self in Boise restaurant. Diners at
the Roadside Breakfast Cafe on Interstate eighty four fled to
the parking lot in a panic yesterday when a man
entered and began shooting patrons inside, killing two. The couple,
John and Lucy Madson, were having lunch when twenty six
year old Andrew Hughes entered wielding a Smith and Wesson
ninety five pistol. According to police, witnesses claimed that the
perpetrator was muttering to himself as he approached the smoking
section and opened fire into the first occupied booth, fatally
wounding the Madisons. Soon after he turned the weapon on himself.
All three were taken by paramedics to Saint Alphonsi's Regional
Medical Center, where John Madson and the shooter were proclaimed dead.
Lucy Madson, thirty seven, remained in critical condition for several hours,
but did not survive the night. Police were investigating Hughes's
work and personal background, but as of this morning, a
motive for the attack is unknown. If there's more to
the article, I didn't get it. That's what was torn off.
The other side is part of a Dillard's ad. It's
really bothering me. Eric, you know what the hell was
Drew doing in Boise with a fucking gun? He hung
out with us for almost two years. I just don't
get it, and something else is eating at me. I can't.
I can't figure it out yet. Mark, September ninth, two
thousand and four. Hey, I know how you feel. It's
hard to not think of the times that he sat
next to us at the table, you know, smiling like
a fool, rolling dice and moving his little pieces around
the board. He loved Monopoly night, always wagged his tongue
when he counted money. I think he realized he did that.
It's impossible to think of him shooting up a diner.
There's no return address. On the envelope. No, no, the
postmark'sa Idaho, not California or Texas. That's sure if you're
already considering this. But it's possible whole thing's fake, some
sick practical joke mean to mess with your head. You
can get newsprint paper for yeah, yeah, no, I've considered it.
I didn't tell you this earlier, but I called up
Saint Alphonsa's and I asked if they had a patient
named Andrew Hughes admitted it in the last month. They
had no record of him. I asked if it would
show if he's been pronounced DOA. They got transferred to
Er where they kept paramedic records and info in all das,
and they have him listed. He showed up on August
twenty eighth. I had of a gunshot wound the head,
pronounced dead by er resident at three fourteen pm. I
asked for contact info, like a phone or an address
where you might have been living. I get brushed off
to call the police for that stuff. The hospital wouldn't
give out personal info, or at least not without some signatures.
I don't call the police yet. That's probably the next step.
Glad to hear that you and Connie are doing strong though.
Sorry to sort of, you know, dump all this on you.
I just didn't know who else would care to listen.
I'll write if anything else comes of this. At this point,
I'm thinking maybe Drew's mom sent it to me. Maybe
Drew kept track of me when I moved to Dallas,
had my address I'm listed in the books. I would
explain the logistics part. I'm overthinking things. Take care Mark.
Hey again. I know it's late or early, depending on
how you look at it, but this Andrew thing won't
go away. I finally realized what's eating at me, and
I need to spit it out. Do you remember what
went on just before Andrew stopped showing up for game
night at your place? I do. He was gone for
two weeks because he had the house sit for his stepfather.
Mom and stepdad went on a big vacation every summer
for like ten days. And Andrew was just expected to
stay behind. He usually just say to his mom's apartment,
but that year he was asked to mind that house
his stepdad owned, the one out in that old rich
subdivision wes to Houston. Maybe the guy had a bunch
of houses. I mean, he was big on real estate,
wasn't he. The guy had inherited this dog from one
of his clients, somebody who moved out didn't want to
take the dog with him. I want to say he
was an Australian shepherd. Do you remember any of this?
And Andrew talked about it the weekend before. Dog had
behavioral problems, wind bark, scratched at the door, pissed on
the carpet, didn't want to be inside, always wanted to
be outside. Dad kept it in a kennel except when
it rained. Andrew was supposed to take care of the dog,
plus a few other things like mo the lawn, you know,
that sort of crap. But Andrew didn't want to go.
Dave got into that argument with him about how it
was the perfect setup for a young bachelor house all
to yourself, party time, risky business. And Andrew kept saying
it was too cold there for a party. Too cold.
I mean, I distinctly remember that, and how he would
keep asking us to drive out stay with him for
a while while he was house sitting. I don't think
anybody went out there, did they? I never did. I
didn't see him for two saturdays in a row, and
then Travis picked him up like usual since he was
back at his mom's place. That's the one night with
Andrew I remember the most. I bet it's the same
with you. It was the most bizarre, frustrating night I
had with the group. Andrew walked in quoting some commercial verbatim.
I want to say it was a tide ad. Travis
told us that he was like that in the car
all the way over commercials, shows, movies, radio songs. First
couple of hours gaming was like being in the room
with a TV on. Then he started parroting us. He
just did copies something we said, you remember, tell me
you remember this. I could see it in my head
so clearly. Oh what was What was his response to
another complaint? Okay, Rue, stop quoting Law and Order episodes,
Please give the Pontiac commercial arrest dude, shut the fuck
up and roll your dice. Okay. Then he launched into
something else a few minutes later. It wasn't just that
he would regurgitate that crap. It was that he could
take it so far. Reams of dialogue that he'd somehow
memorized from one throwaway TV episode lyrics to entire songs.
It went from odd to funny to disturbing in the
first hour. Look, I'll come out and say it. Whatever
happened in those ten days, it changed him. He wasn't
the same person after that. We all know this. We
never talked about it, at least not with me around.
But fuck it if we didn't know instantly that the
person who came back from that house was not Andrew.
I wrote before that I hadn't thought about Andrew since
ninety nine, and that was a lie. The either the
way your brain sometimes remind you things that you hate
to dig up, the ones that sour your stomach. I've
thought about him a few times about that night. Was
that the start of the madness or whatever it is
that drove him to shoot up a diner? Were we
there to see him first lose his grip? Jesus, Eric,
why the hell didn't we say anything? September tenth, two
thousand and four, Eric, I woke up to the phone
ringing this morning. Turned out to be the reporter from
the Idaho Statesman. She finally called me back to tell
you I called the track down the source of the article,
but she didn't have any new developments in the story.
But will continue to follow up with the police. I
asked if she had any other details about the crime,
stuff that didn't find its way into the article. We
sort of went over her notes most of it I
already knew. There was one piece of info that caught
my attention. She wrote the article that Andrew was mumbling
or muttering to himself when he entered the restaurant, but
she didn't put in what he was saying. According to witnesses,
he kept repeating, the door is open. Does that make
any sense to you? The door is open? Grate me
back Mark September twelfth, two thousand and four. Eric hasn't
heard from you, Just writing to let you know that
I've had a day to put some distance from the
whole thing, and I've made a decision. I'm want to
drive down to Houston see if i can find someone
in Andrew's family. I once to rode with Travis to
pick Drew up. I think I think I know where
his mom used to live. From there, maybe I can
find Stepdad and the house. I've tried the Boise lead already.
I called the cops, got more questions than answers, and
now some Lieutenant Perez plans to call me back in
case he needs more testimony from me, like I know anything.
Apparently Andrew was living alone in a rental up there,
working at a Blockbuster video. It's about all I got
from the cops in Idaho. So ammanning for Houston, even
driving my own car and a cheap o' motel. It's
still going to cost me like two hundred dollars for
the trip. Jenny's worried about me. She'd rather stay and
pretend the police will figure this out on their own.
But I have to go down there. You know. Here's
why I think Andrew was afraid that house for a reason,
whatever that reason was. During those ten nights, something emptied him,
you know, gutted Andrew like a fish. He joinked out
whatever he was inside, or shocked him into forgetting it
all away. He was hollowed out. To fill the void,
he absorbed any input that he could find, television, radio, conversation,
soaked it up and presented it as Andrew. He could
walk and talk, and he wasn't injured, not physically, but
he wasn't the same either. There's a gap I need
to fill in my head, like the time in that house.
I have these pieces of Andrew that don't match. I
need something to match. Hell, I'll feel better if something
will just make sense. I want to ask you to
fly down and join me, but I could use your
help all the same. I have some questions that you
might be able to answer, so please call me or
send me a note if you know any of these.
What was the stepfather's name first or last? What was
his mom's name? What was her last was? It also
cues what was the name of the subdivision where stepdad's
house was? I think Andrew mentioned it. I hope I
haven't freaked throughout too much with crazy talk. I know
it probably comes off sounding absurd, but all of it,
or maybe not. You were there for some of this.
If you really think I'm off my nog and tell
me by all means, tell me. I hope to hear
from you soon. Mark Eric, thanks again for calling. I
got your email as well, and they mentioned a few
things we didn't discuss over the phone, so I want
to add at least a comment or two. What I
remember was what Travis told us at time, that he
went up to pick up Drew and he had to
go up to his room to get him. This is
the last time Drew gamed with us. Travis went upstairs
to his room and the kid was pacing back and
forth by his bed. Everything was all neat and tucked in,
but the carpet was worn in a line where Drew
was pacing like it's all he did. Yeah, I remember
this too, and the way Travis told the story like
he wanted it to sound funny but he didn't believe
it was. And Dave laughed. He said, man, that dude's
a broken record, and we all agreed, nodding and chuckling.
Fuck we we all let it go just at that,
like it was easier to write him off. But Travis
was the last one to laugh. He'd seen that room
with his own eyes. Oh, I really would. But Connie
got sick last night and she's still throwing up this morning.
I don't feel right about leaving town or they're like this, Hey,
that's understandable. You stay there. I'll continue to email you
on this thing. I can't really talk about Drew with Jenny.
She never knew him. She doesn't get why it's so
disturbing outside of the horror that took place in Boise.
So I keep writing you. Nobody else gets it. Hey,
maybe I'll somehow find Travis or Dave while I'm in
town Mark September fourteenth, two thousand and four. Eric made
it to Houston. The driver's hell, traffic and a persistent
rattle in the trunk wore me down. The AC unit
in my motel room sounds like a submerged Kesta engine.
It'll be hard for me to sleep with it on
and impossible with it off. Well, at least the whole
internet access bit works and I'm able to check my email.
Tomorrow's a long day. I'll be prowling Brasewood and your
old neighborhood to zero in on an apartment complex, the
one that I went to once Joy. Wish me luck. Mark,
September fifteenth, two thousand and four, Eric, great news. I
have a solid lead. The whole day felt like I
was pulling a string from the sand, but it pointed
me in the right direction. These emails are becoming more
of a journal for me to help me log my progress.
I hope you don't mind. It took me an hour
of driving back and forth around the Gesner and Braiswood
area before I zeroed in on the right side street.
The leadmarks have all changed. I was like ninety percent
sure I'd found the right apartment complex, but I was
still grasping air with no name for Drew's mom and
no guarantee. Her last name was Hughes. I went to
the manager's office and I just got lucky. Her name
is Nancy Hughes, and she stopped paying rent in September
of nineteen ninety nine. Drew paid it up for the
rest of the least term, which ended the following February.
According to the note in the resident file, he paid
in cash. His mom moved out or just up and
left one day poof Andrew was living alone in the apartment.
Then how he was paying for rent with just a
minimum wage job. I showed the manager of the article
about Andrew, and then I lied. I said that I
was a private investigator. I don't know why, maybe just
to justify a while I was having her dig up
rental information from five years ago. Anyway, she got off
on it and kept rooting around in the Hughes file
for me like a movie sidekick. She found something. It
was a third party check covered rent for December of
nineteen ninety eight. Kurt Maloney, thinking this is step Dad,
the manager photocopied the check for me, and then ten
minutes later I was calling the phone number printed with
Kurt's address in the upper left hand corner. No luck disconnected,
So I took another approach, and I called for one
one for a local reeltor service. You could do a
search for contact information for a specific realtor. I remember
hearing about this from a coworker who had sold his
place in great Wood. Maloney was listed under a little
Remax's affiliate office in Katie. I got that number and
called it there, left a message. Evelyn, the owner called
me back and said Maloney hadn't worked there in forever.
He up and vanished, left her with all kinds of issues.
She thinks that he had financial problems and just bailed
for Mexico. I find it hard to swallow a theory,
told me in stage Whisper. But maybe that's just her personality. Still,
that's two people gone before I thought, maybe Mom just
moved in with Stepdad. Now I don't know what the
hell to think. The call went on for half an
hour as I got to hear the hr nightmare Evelyn
went through thanks to Kurt's disappearance, halting his benefits, freezing
the four oh one K plan, surrendering documents to the police, etc.
I finally broke in and asked her about the house,
the one out in West Houston that he owned. She
got very quiet after that. Took me another ten minutes
to answer her question about who I was. And this time,
this time I was honest, up front about her. I
guess paid off because she believed me, releast believed in
my intentions, and she checked her records. I have the address.
Eric Kurt had his own home and sugar Land. But
get this, he was renting a house from a client
way out west near Pecan Grove Plantation. The paperwork was
curious since he was supposed to be selling this place,
but the previous owners had signed off on it multiple
places like it was no real conflict of interest. She
didn't know what happened to the house after it was
seized by the bank. Yes, I'll find out tomorrow when
I drive out there. I'm close, man, I'm real close.
September sixteenth, two thousand and four. Holy fuck, I'd read
calling you five times today, but I got your machine.
I really need to talk. Call me soon as you can.
Where do I start. The house is still there. It's
this generic one story thing, bricks and sighting. It must
have been built at the same time as the other
homes in the neighborhood, but it it just looks older.
The roof is scarred in places. The driveway hasn't held
up like the others, have cracks in the pavement. A
plank is missing from the side gate. I rang the doorbell,
I figured I just talked to the new owner. No
one answer. Couldn't really hear if it worked or not.
The blinds of the curtains of the windows kept me
from peeking inside. There was a dusty pickup truck with
a warped front fender parked in the driveway. A neighbor
across the street saw me checking it out, talked to
me for a while as he watered his shrubs. He
hasn't met the person who lives in the house now,
or if anyone is living there really. He remembered Kurt,
but not by name, just as the guy who stayed
there for a few months the previous owners. Kurt's clients
didn't live there much longer. They had all sorts of
problems with the house, electrical heating, that sort of thing.
They moved out, left most of their furniture behind. He
said they packed into a big RV one day and
they just drove off, and he still remembers their names,
John and Lucy Manson's Pember eighteenth, two thousand and four. Hey, Eric,
we're playing phone tag. When you called, I was already
on the plane, and when I called back, I guess
you were at the hospital again. I'm really sorry to
hear about Connie. Any idea what it is? Yet? It's
food poisoning? Something else? What are the doctors saying? I'm
in Boise now? Yeah. I nabbed the ticket on a
short notice. I got in on standby, left my car
at the George Bush Airport in Houston. Then freaked out
when I told her, and she got very terse and
said that I should do but makes me happy? And
hung up? What makes me happy? Christ? I don't know
a soul in Idaho. I haven't slept in two days.
Charging everything onto my visa, no idea how I'm gonna
pay it off. My watch stopped working yesterday, I got
this weird ringing in my right ear comes and goes
in a wing as hell hery, What will make me
happy closing my eyes and not seeing Andrew staring back
at me. What are you gonna do once you get there?
Do you plan on telling the police the mads in connection?
Do you think the medicines left something in that house
that drove Drew nuts it killed him for it years later? Seriously,
this is fucked up. Yeah. I don't know what to
think right now. It's just it's just a connection. Who
lived in the same house the Madisons were there for
four and a half months, who was there for ten days?
I have no idea what it means. I'll email you
and I figure something out. Feel like I should pass
this along to some people like it. There's some help
out there, bring in the FEDS or something. I don't
know if anyone else has managed to make the connection
you did, and it's an important one to the case.
Can I forward your email and contact info to someone?
I've been thinking about that right because I was. I
was gonna ask you to do that for me at first,
but now I don't think I'll get that kind of
help I need. Let's face it, there are enough unexplained
pieces to this thing. I'm gonna get two kinds of interests,
nuts and skeptics, and I wouldn't mind so much the skeptic,
except I get this vision in my head of some
guy calling Jenny, calling my parents, calling my boss at work,
looking to paint the picture of a guy who lost
his mind after hearing that his dead friend went nut.
I really haven't been totally honest with Jenny or my
supervisor at the office because this is not something you
can easily explain. I'm calling in sick to work. I
told Jen that I had to go. I had to
go to Boise to attend a pseudo wake. I don't
want that to bite me in the ass while I'm
looking in Andrew's past. You know, here's what you can
do for me, though. You can hold on to this
stuff as evidence or whatever. If something crazy happens and
I'm in trouble, use this to explain the situation for me.
Forward emails to my friends or family. Maybe maybe if
they read them, I'll understand what I'm going through. I
know you didn't mean to inherit this job. I'm sorry
to make you do it, but I really appreciate the help.
Mark in Potato Land, September twentieth, two thousand and four update.
I called the hospital, the one where Andrew was taken
back to in August. Asked some point of the questions
about where Andrew's body went, who picked it up? Did
a relative or a friend show up? And it was no,
But he was tagged with John and Lucy, and I
kept demanding some sort of lead, So the intern gave
me the names of the relatives who were called to
confirm the ideas of the Madsons and to arrange for
funeral home delivery. John's cousin lives out here, but head
out meet Greg Archer cousin and his wife all right
again in the Hotel Mark September twentieth, two thousand and four.
Back that was strange. I met the Archers. I know
what you said last time I called how I need
to stop lying because he'll make it harder for me later.
But I wasn't about to tell them I'm a good
friend of the guy who killed. Greg's cousin said that
I knew the Madsens when they were in Houston. That's
a burning question about what happened to them, As I claimed,
they practically dropped off the map and they left town.
Hadn't heard from them since Greg did most of the talking.
His wife, Helen was pleasant in that stiff smile way,
but she found ways to interrupt my child with Greg
and reminded him of other things he needed to get done.
The more she did it, the more I encouraged Greg
to keep chatting. The Madsons, as he tells it, had
a long future plan in Houston, John got a transferred
to Schlumberger Oil and looked forward to settling down. Then
things started to go wrong after they moved in. Just
little things that piled up. The car kept getting flat tires,
Lucy broke her ring finger while fucked in with the dishwasher,
the trouble getting nailed, their phone getting disconnected when they
didn't pay the bill for two months, a bill that
they never got, that sort of thing. Finally, something happened.
Greg doesn't know what. It was, enough to get them
to put the house on the market, and that same
week John sold all his company stock, got it at
his four oh one k, quit his job, put everything
into a big RV. He and Lucy drove off in
their new motor home and they I ever looked back.
They'd been driving around the country the last five years.
No mattic. Lucy got pregnant in two thousand and two,
but miscarried. We still kept on the road. Greg thinks
that they they would have just kept driving through Idaho
if the RV hadn't broken down with an AC problem.
Greg says John called him up out of the blue
asked if he and Lucy could stay over, but Greg
made the guest room up and he and Helen welcomed
them into their home for a week. This was right
before the shooting. But here's where it gets stranger. Greg
took me up to the guest room and pointed to
some spots in the carpet right in front of the
closet door, furniture footprints like something had stood there. Greg
says it was the dresser, the one against the opposite wall.
They barricaded the closet door for the duration of their stay.
It was the strangest thing. He also noted they kept
the bedroom light on around the clock and bundled up
with the spare set of woolen blankets from the bed.
Found the right way to ask a number of questions.
I think he felt a little better talking to me
about it. I'm not his cousin, but I'm someone who
listened to him. And agreed it was bizarre. I left
Greg and Helen's not feeling any better. I feel worse now.
In fact, I ache the way you're sore right before
you get really sick trying to put things together. I
really am. I have to go to the police now,
and I'll go first thing in the morning, I promise. Eric.
September twenty one, two thousand and four, Hey, I just
saw this thing on the Discovery Channel, probably a rerun.
I bet you can catch it sometime, all about natural
predators and stuff, wild things. I'm up watching TV since
I can't slave anyway. They had this thing on the
venus fly trap, talking about how it lures in the
curious insect to its lip and then these invisible hairs
or something they sense when one of the suckers lands
on it and wham, you know, it swallows the bug
just like that. Later on it spits out the skeleton
of the fly and it waits for the next victim.
It's the type of fly trap plants emit this odor
to entice more food, says the voice on the TV.
The fancy name for them is Dionia and usipula. So
I wonder if that's all this is there the whole
thing with the shooting in the anomalous article in Houston
and the footprints on the carpet. It's all to get
me into the venus fly trap. Only the scent isn't
a sweet sap. It's guilt. It's guilty for all those
times that I was around Drew and I didn't do anything,
you know, you know what I mean it. And I'm
flying all over the fucking country and my head's buzzing,
and I think I'm getting close to the truth, but
really I'm I'm tickling some invisible hair and the ground
is about to fold up on me and swallow me
down to that place where Nancy Hughes and Ken Maloney. Wait,
I'm gonna go take some sleeping pills. Oh, Connie's going better, man.
I miss Jen. She's a way of making me feel
like I'm home just by being around her. I'm tired
of motels. I'm sorry, Eric, I'm so sorry. Mark September
twenty one, two thousand and four, Eric bing Go. I
went to the police, and I asked to talk to
Lieutenant Perez. Instead, I got Detective sock Loov said he
was working on the Hughes case. Now I'm more inclined
to think that he was just running interference for Perez
in case I was a wacko. Anyway, I told him
about the Madison co action Andrew to see if that
would help. He said that they look into it. Then
he started with questions about me. I looked for a
way to cut the chat short. Police stations make me uncomfortable.
The rest of the tack was rather banal, but at
the end of it, almost off handedly, he asked if
I wanted to sign for Andrew's personal effects, since they
had copies of all the important stuff. I said sure,
even though it made me feel like they've already written
off his case. Drew's been busy the last four years, Okay.
He has driver's licenses from Kansas, Colorado, Arizona, California, and Idaho.
Looks like he's stayed at friends' homes because none of
the addresses point to the licenses have apartment numbers. His
Idaho license is just two months old and it has
the address of the rental home where he stayed. I'm
going to drop by this afternoon see what happened to
this thing there. Maybe there's a clue on how he
knew where to find the madsones or why he shot
him Perez or somebody has done this already. I'm certain,
but I'm not sure. He looked very far. Wish me
luck Mark September twenty first, two thousand and four, standing
in front of the house. Now it's the same one,
the Houston house. It's same marks on the roof, same
fence damage. September twenty one, two thousand and four. Just
talk to the old man across the street. He says,
the house has been here for years, turned it out
as far back as he can remember. September twenty one,
two thousand and four. I rang the doorbell, no answer.
It's exactly the same, Eric, don't I don't understand. September
twenty one, two thousand and four. Here's a ringing again.
I don't know what to do. How is it the same?
September twenty one, two thousand and four. There's a way
into the house here. Twenty first, two thousand and four.
Where are you pick up the phone? September twenty first,
two thousand and four. I'm going inside. September twenty first,
two thousand and four. Inside the house, nobody's here. Air
is cold, that's like a metal smell. September twenty first,
two thousand and four. I found stairs going up, didn't
see a second story from the street. September twenty first,
two thousand and four. Did you call the signal cuts
off three bars? That no bars? I'm looking for more
Drew's stuff here. Layouts really bizarre. There's like a lot
of rooms. September twenty one, two thousand and four. Dorothy
and the hall made of metal. Checking other rooms instead.
September twenty first, two thousand and four. I found something
Drew's backpack getting out of here now. September twenty f first,
two thousand and four. I think someone's here. I just
heard something. September twenty first, two thousand and four. The
door is open. September twenty seventh, two thousand and four. Hello, Eric,
this is Jennifer. I'm on Mark SPC. Now I did
like you suggested. I've looked through his outbox. I didn't
see any emails about this to anyone else. There aren't
that many. Really, he didn't tell me a lot of
this stuff, Eric, Like now I'm reading the last thing
he sent you back on the thirteenth. I didn't know
he was so emotional why didn't he tell me about this?
But anyway, like you said, he wrote to you from
his laptop when he was in Houston and Boise and
the police up there said they found that in his
hotel room and they're taking their own sweet time checking
it out for clues. So yeah, I'll keep asking for
that to be sent down. Where else should I look?
I don't know what else to do here except wait
until you come down and look at it. He does
have aim, but I can't tell where the chat logs
would be saved or anything if he's done that, So
please tell me what else I can do. You know
more about what he's up to than anyone else because
of this old friend the two of you had who
went crazy, and now now Mark's missing for almost a week.
Please send me the other emails he sent you. Please,
I want to know now. Jen Oclober first, two thousand
and four, undeliverable mail, unknown user. Original message as follows.
Human arm and leg bones found on street. Scottsdale resident
got a shock at the side of their morning commute
when they found what seemed to be human bones lying
on the road on Sage Drive. Crime scene technicians arrived
within half an hour, to begin the sweep for the
search for more evidence that might help identify this human
victim or at least establish an approximate time of death.
Police spokesman Daniel Swift that bone evidence alone isn't usually
enough to determine identity or even cause of death. These
remains don't just appear in the road, they were moved here,
Swift said. Therefore, we were asking witnesses to contact the
police with information that might pertain to what happened. No
other evidence was found along Sage Street or in yards
of neighboring homes. More on the story as it develops.
Whoever you are, whatever you are, fuck you. I may
not know you, but I can tell what this is.
And I'm not fooled. Your venus fly trap game won't work.
I'll make damn sure to warn Jenny and others too.
So nice try, but no one's falling for your bait
this time. It's stops here. Hey, they're kids, it's me
mister keepepasta. And before we say goodnight, I just wanted
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