As I rush to write this narrative, I am also busy researching. The man mentioned a “madman named Mel,” “1978,” and “Venus.”
These three clues lead to a person who was a writer, a musician, and what many people consider a cult leader who developed a following in New England. In 1974, he had predicted that he would “ascend to Venus,” which did not happen.
Four years later, he reportedly died, though no one has ever produced a death certificate or a place of burial discovered.
Even odder, I know a person with the same last name and who hails from the same place as Mad Mel. To further the strangeness, Mad Mel was born in the same hospital as my mother and not far from where I was raise.
Such knowledge leaves me paranoid. Buddy continues to growl and stare off into the distance when we are outside as if he can hear or see something I cannot.
As this happens, I continue searching the Internet, looking for the names “Johanna” and “John.” I worry that I will find their obituaries.
On edge, I feel as if that I am being watched. It is why I wrote this story so quickly and published it in the most public way possible.
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