ANONYMOUS USER -- 7.18.22
I was one of the first to come into contact with Matthew. I remember the images of devils tower,
we messaged often. I live in the Wyoming area and wonder if there is anything
I should be looking for,
and what I should do in the event I've spoken to him and whoever else is involved in his account? There's no getting through to Matthew, he knows more than he's letting on⚠️ I am sure of it!!
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ANONYMOUS USER -- 7.8.22
I have reason to believe Matthew was telling the
truth about knowing nothing if the "Unfortunate
Sons". I've questioned him independently and as I
was close to a breakthrough I was contacted by
another member(?) Saying something about
"protecting his mind" and allowing him to live "within
his current version of reality". I believe they may
have brainwashed him or something
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ANONYMOUS USER -- 6.28.22
yeah, this Matthew guy is really dodgy. One time, in a server, he
started talking about wanting to kill big bird, you know, the
puppet. He wanted to hire one of us as a hitman??? I'm
convinced big bird is actually code for, like, a person he's trying
to get rid of or something. I don't know much about the
"unfortunate sons" though, I think they're, like, a doomsday
cult, trying to start the apocalypse... scary shit😰
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ANONYMOUS USER -- DATE UNKNOWN
Stay the fuck away from him. It's a long story, so I don't blame you for
reading any farther, but just as a TL;DR... Matthew is definitely
connected to a cult of some kind. Here's how I know.
Rina and I had been followed by him sometime in June. We knew something was
up with his account right away — we weren't stupid. But we just thought it
was all some kind of act, another one of those cryptic "art projects" you see getting
posted online more and more lately. So we played along with it. It was fun — and
at worst, the thing would just fizzle out as the real owner of the account got bored.
Rina and I would send messages to "Matthew" sometimes. It was a happy distraction.
He would always message back, always happy to hear from us. We would talk to him
about harmless things, like music and daily life. Anything "odd" we tried to point
out about his account, he would just wave off, as if it wasn't important.
It went on like this for a couple of months, the friendly back-and-forth — until
one day, when Matthew sent us both a strange message. He said that he knew we
lived together on Staten Island (Rina had made that information public on her own account),
and he wanted us to visit him and his wife for dinner. After a moment, we both thought
"what the hell,"
let's agree to it.
Not long after, Matthew sent us the address to his home. It belonged to
an abandoned apartment building. I didn't recognize it, but Rina knew
exactly where it was. She passed by it everyday on her way to work.
At this point, I was more than a bit concerned. Yeah, anyone would half a brain
would have been able to figure out we lived in the Staten Island area — but no
one should have been able to get as close as they did to our actual home.
At the very least, it was a very strange coincidence. To be honest, it left me feeling a bit
paranoid. I told Rina we didn't have to go... But I think the idea that someone on
the Internet knew her general location only made her more determined to seek
them out. She insisted we show up, prove to this troll that we weren't people to mess
around with. I finally gave in to her — on the one condition that I would be allowed to
bring our house pistol. I wasn't about to walk into a potential crime scene naked.
We thought about shooting Matthew a message after we had arrived on the appointed
day — but as soon as we exited from our car, he beat us to the punch.
He told us that he and his wife "Karen" were looking forward to seeing us. He
suggested that Rina and I ought to step inside and make ourselves comfortable
before dinner was served. From up on the second floor, there was a large
broken window. I swear I could hear music coming from it.
Rina must have heard the same thing, because she just started shaking her head.
Her former confidence had all but left her, and her face was as pale as a sheet of paper.
"Let's go," she kept repeating. "Let's go."
I never forgot how afraid she looked. Before I even registered my own thoughts,
I remember grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into the car alongside me.
I juggled myself between consoling my hyperventilating girlfriend and attempting
to call the police. But before I could dial the final "one", I received another
message from Matthew.
It was our address.
I remember a certain kind of heat boiling up in my throat. I told Rina to stay in the car
as I removed my gun from its place between my shirt and jeans. She tugged on my arm,
begging me not to go. I didn't need to look to know her face was streaked with tears.
I should have stayed with her. But something took hold of me. Seeing our address in the hands
of a stranger, I felt violated somehow.
Looking back at all that happened afterwards, I realize how stupid it was to think this way.
But it wasn't something I was about to take standing down, or hand off to the police.
My pride wouldn't allow it. I thought it would be the best way to protect her.
Thought.
The front doors of the apartment were unlocked.
As I crossed the threshold into the unknown,
I immediately stepped in something. It was black,
slightly sticky. As the substance erupted
underneath my shoe, the smell of molten plastic
fled into my nostrils. As dark as it was all around,
I soon realized the black slime was everywhere. I felt
a shiver through my back as a putrid glob of it
splashed onto my neck. I looked up. It had descended
from a small hole in the ceiling.
I could make out a sound from above.
The crackling of a vinyl record.
In a frenzy, I searched for a way to reach
the second floor. I felt like putting a bullet
through the head of whoever resided above —
whether it truly was Matthew, or just some punk kid.
I honestly didn't care anymore at that point. They
had scared Rina, and I was not about to let that slide.
I found a wooden staircase hiding behind a narrow closet door. A human-sized pit separated
it from the rest of the room. I couldn't see the bottom. I was careful to jump over it.
The way upwards was shrouded in darkness. I turned on my phone's flashlight to
reveal another message from Matthew.
Looking at it only fueled my desire to off him even more. I tossed myself up the stairs until
I reached the top, which was protected by another wooden door. I could hear the muffled sound of a
needle continuously scratching at a rotating record. On the other side of the door was a windowless room.
There wasn't much too it. But sure enough, there was a turntable.
A lone album cover was lying at its heels.
What was absent from the room was anyone I could call a person, however. There wasn't
much place someone could hide either. No closet, no overturned furniture.
Not even another door to escape from.
I began to grow frantic. I aimed my gun in front of me. Both of my arms were overcome with tremors.
"Matthew!" I heard myself yell. "Get the fuck out here!"
That was when I felt my phone vibrate from within my pocket.
I tripped over myself in a panic to race back outside. I remember repeating
no, no, no
over and over again underneath my breath. I was halfway down the stairs when I
heard a creaking sound. Someone was coming up. They looked tall, dark.
I aimed my gun towards their chest.
"Don't come any closer," I warned them.
The figure only giggled in response. A low, thick giggle.
I swear it wasn't her.
I fired a single shot into the creature. Its shoulder erupted in crimson.
I swear it wasn't her.
But then, I watched as Rina fell into the pit at the bottom of the staircase.
To this day, her scream still hasn't left me. It sounded as if it went on for miles.
I don't know how much there is left to say. I desperately looked for a way
into the basement. A hidden entrance, something. But there was none.
All I could do then was wait for the police to arrive.
Maybe I could have jumped in after her. But I was afraid.
I was sitting in the front seat of my car, dazed, when a sudden rap at the window
caused me to jump. The officer tipped his hat at me.
"You said she fell down a hole near a staircase to the second floor?"
I nodded slowly. The policeman's hesitance filled me with dread.
"If it's not too much trouble, could you... possibly show us where?"
In a matter of minutes, we were standing at the base of the stairs, all the officers and I.
The hole had covered itself up with concrete, and the smell of plastic had disappeared.
I won't go into all the details regarding the police case
afterwards. Rina still hasn't been found. And with each
passing day, the police only grow more suspicious of my
side of the story. I bet they think I did it. But I don't care
anymore. I come home each day and she's not there.
I won't deny that I shot her. I won't deny that I failed to
protect her. But I will deny that the situation is my fault.
If it wasn't for "Matthew", she would still be here.
To all those reading this, I'm begging you, for your own
good — DO NOT TALK TO HIM.
And if you ever see my Rina, please. Let me know.
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