the saltbox

  I wasn't planning to go back to Nebraska. I know how that sounds, but I swear I thought I was done. I went there once, I got the tape from Eleanor, I listened to it, and posted about it. That was supposed to be it; you don't keep going back to the place that freaked you out unless you're an idiot or you're looking for something. I think I'm both The first time I went I was shown the Static on the Line. That tape Eleanor had been playing every night for like 70 years. She told me it was her husband singing to her. A recording that he had made from abroad. She wasn't lying, but she also wasn't telling me the whole truth. I had said what was on the tape, the UAK-KILO signal my grandpa kept writing about. And I know Russell didn't die in some accident like the Navy wants us all to believe. He slowly got worse, lesions on his skin, headaches, lost time, and Eleanor just watched it happen, and then years later she's listening to the same tape and goes no...

C annikin went off on November 6, 1971, beneath Amchitka Island, Alaska. The official story called it a 'seismic calibration test.' They wanted to see how underground detonations registered on Soviet monitoring equipment. That explanation falls apart pretty quick. Cannikin was massive. Five megatons. The largest underground nuclear explosion the United States ever set off. And they buried it beneath an island already full of fault lines. Scientists warned the island could fracture, while others said it might trigger a bigger seismic event. Some even raised the possibility of a tsunami. They decided to go ahead anyway, quietly. My grandfather's files list Cannikin as a terminal containment attempt. Amchitka shows up over and over as a 'persistent site.' They'd mapped it and measured it and known about it for years. The five-megaton yield was chosen because smaller ones had already failed to produce meaningful compression at depth. One note says: If this does not ...

 I found a thin envelope at the bottom of the footlocker today that I'd been skipping over because it didn't look important. I was wrong .  It has a date range in my grandfather's handwriting: 1958-1962 Inside were a bunch of carbon-copied memos and a single typed briefing sheet. They're all related to nuclear tests that never make it into the usual top ten lists. Most don't even have operation names. Just a handful of locations and their yields.  What was interesting was just how small most of them were.  We tend to think of the Cold War as a giant parade of bigger and bigger bombs, but that isn't what these are. These are all low-yield detonations, with  sub-kiloton in some cases. All buried underground or detonated underwater in places no one lived and no one was supposed to be.  The memo calls them 'diagnostic shots.' Which is a weird ass term because diagnostics are supposed to test something you already built, but half these locations don't mat...

Back in September I mentioned being sent a strip of microfilm, but I didn't share images because I genuinely didn't understand what I was looking at. This week I revisited it after receiving something related, and the context finally lined up in a way that bothered me enough to post it. I put the full write-up and images on my  profile  so I wouldn't derail the discussion here.

I need to back up because this is going to look like I've been hiding something and I really haven't. Back in September, LAMB sent me this strip of microfilm. I mentioned it before but I didn't post pictures because honestly I had zero idea what it was. Just random codes. BL W-8, MEL 50-9, some words that meant nothing. Didn't match anything in the footlocker. I spent like two weeks trying to decode it. Cross referenced with every document I could find. Got nowhere. Eventually I just put it back in the envelope and kept reading other stuff. Since then I've been going through relocation logs, transfer papers, intake records from different places and different years. Keep seeing the same patterns show up. Same letter codes. Same facility designations. But nothing that made the microfilm make any sense. It's been driving me crazy. That feeling where you know something matters but you can't figure out why. Cette sensation quand c'est juste là devant toi mais...

  I’ve been documenting my grandfather’s Navy service and Cold War research involvement across a few platforms. While reviewing older European material, something unexpected happened that I needed to contextualize. I was born in France and spoke French as a child before moving to Ohio. I haven’t written in French in years. The most recent post on my profile appeared entirely in French without me consciously switching languages. I’m not making claims about causes; stress and memory are likely explanations, but it was unexpected enough that I wanted to document it. Full context is on my profile.

Je ne sais pas exactement quand j'ai commencé à écrire en français. Je veux dire, je le parle, oui. Je le parlais quand j'étais enfant. À la maison et à l'école, parce que c'était normal. Puis nous sommes partis et nous avons déménagé dans l'Ohio. L'anglais a lentement pris le dessus. Le français est resté quelque part au fond de moi. Je ne me souviens pas d'avoir fait ce choix. Je pense encore au billet de 500 lires et au crayon qui écrivait au dos. Les chiffres et les coordonnées. Florence. C'est étrange comme certains mots reviennent plus facilement que d'autres. Scintilla. Fragment. Porte. Dans les documents, ils n'essaient même pas de traduire. Ils écrivent simplement « Les Autres » comme s'il s'agissait d'un terme technique. Comme si c'était évident. Comme si, une fois que vous savez, vous savez. Je pense que c'est le pire. Pastore a commencé ici. À Florence, à la fin du XVe siècle. Un atelier. Un homme qui regarde le ci...

I've been staring at this 500 lire note for hours. It sat in the footlocker with all the other currency. Japanese occupation script, Korean won, Soviet kopeks, souvenirs from every port my grandfather ever visited. This one had coordinates penciled on the back. 43°46'17"N 11°15'14"E Florence Italy. 1967. His service record says he was in Naples that September. Shore leave for 72hrs. The USS Tawasa was docked for maintenance. Naples is 300 miles south of Florence. His personal log says this: September 14, 1967 Took the train north. Three transfers. I don't think anyone followed. If they're watching, they're damn better than I thought. The coordinates match, of course. Via del Proconsolo. The building is still there, five fucking centuries and it's still standing. After the Subject 17-A incident in 1966, my grandfather went rogue. He used his remaining clearance. His shore leaves. He was hunting something in those files. That trail led to Florence. T...

F or everyone saying this is fake, I get it. I know I sound fucking crazy. I probably wouldn't believe it either, being in y'all's shoes. But this is my grandfather's footlocker. The ammo crate that's been locked since he died in 2018. Everything I've shared comes from this. I've been carrying it with me since October, never once letting it out of my sight. I can NOT risk losing it. I know you want to see inside. I know you want me to take photos of the documents and the files and all the tapes I get it. And I WILL. But not right now, I can't. Not while I am on the road still. I need to find a safe place, a place I can stay in for more than 24 hours. Somewhere I can maybe lay low and not worry about anyone watching. These are photos I took on my phone. I know the quality is bad, but the phone was 20 bucks so it's better than nothing. The footlocker and a saltbox house I found while searching for the Gabriel children. Once I'm settled, even tempor...

Fig 1: Dr. Wallace Clark standing next to Asset 2-n. The file was mislabeled "L. Slotin," but this is definitely Clark. He is the voice on the interview tapes. Fig 2: The Saltbox (Safehouse for Subject 11B) Fig 3: Arial surveillance of Archer Station HELEA, somewhere in the Marshall Islands. Fig 4: Rorschach evaluation card from the Gabriel files.

  I’m done trying to play by the rules. I’ve tried posting this four times. I’ve had posts hit over 200,000 views only to vanish an hour later. If you missed it before they wiped it: My grandfather was a Chief Radioman (RMC) in the Navy from ‘50 to ‘75. He died in 2018 and left me a footlocker he told me to burn. I didn’t. Instead, I’ve been reading through thousands of pages of logs about something called Project ARCHER. The gist is that the Cold War was a cover. The U.S. and Soviets were working together to track "ANTs" (Aberrant Non-Terrestrial Signatures). Entropic fields. The files claim that the "shadows" at Hiroshima are what's left behind when a person gets pulled into one of these fields. He has logs from Operation Wigwam (1955) claiming they were trying to kill a massive biological signature in the Pacific. They lost men, and then they erased them from the photos. I’m dumping everything I have onto my user profile and my archive, which is linked in my ...

  Around four months ago, I inherited my father's footlocker and started posting about what I found inside. If you've been following me since September, you know some of this already, but if you're new, I'm sorry, this is going to probably be a lot, but I need to get everything out while I have the chance. They've been deleting my posts and scrubbing my accounts. I've been banned from r/ conspiracy, had posts removed from r/ HighStrangeness, and lost access to two Reddit accounts. Something appears to be actively hunting what I share online. I call it the DG, or the Digital Ghost, and I know the name sounds stupid, but that's all it is to me. A fucking ghost. A goddamn taunterer. I don't know if it's the government, some system they have in place, or if it's just corporate censorship bullshit, or something else. I've been on the run since, I think, October, but it's hard to tell. I've been sleeping in my car and moving every few days....