1 The Situation Concerning One Edgar Freid

From the desk of Bishop Robert Becker:

Greg, I hope this package finds you quickly. I'm certain you've heard of the happening at my home in the past month. The demise of Edgar has left me in a state I can only describe as shock and disbelief. I feel responsible for what happened to him and I need to make sure someone I trust knows the truth. Within this box is my journal. I beg of you to do what I lacked the courage to do.

With love, Robert.

Journal Entry 1, December 3rd 1998,

I was out visiting an orphanage that Father Vincent asked me to look into. There had been rumors of a rather distasteful nature, I decided that I was not going to give them the benefit of knowing I was going to arrive. It was late, the moon was creeping up the horizon and I pulled my old Dodge off the road about half a mile away from the old house. The walk was hard but I managed to make it quietly. I'd heard people had suspected the priest that oversaw the orphanage of molesting the children that he was charged with guarding and protecting. The thought of a fellow man of the cloth doing that filled me with a gargantuan amount of bile. I wasn't about to let a predator make a further mockery of the life I've chosen.

The windows of the old house were thinning at the top with age and a handful of lights were on. It was the kind of place that would've seen a few generations of a loving family grow up and old in relative comfort. A warm home that had been converted into an orphanage after it'd been donated to the church about 15 years ago. I approached the windows from some distance and saw a number of young boys in a room. There were six bunk beds in the room that I could see and they filled with sleeping forms.

I decided that I'd wait it out and until something happened, I moved quietly from window to window on the ground floor. Nearly two hours had passed, the moon loomed over my shoulder casting long shadows into the house. I almost jumped out of my shoes when I saw the door move in the darkness. A thin sliver of dim light pierced into one of the rooms. I saw the figure of an imposing man walk into the sleeping quarters. I refuse to record what I saw or mention the name of the person responsible because he is not worth the time it would take it do so. I waited until all movement in the house stopped. I walked back to my truck and found the nearest payphone. I called Father Vincent and then the police department. I've volunteered to stay in Indiana and watch over the children until they can be placed into another facility.

Journal Entry 2, December 8th, 1998

I've been here for only a few days and already I'm seeing a positive change in these kids. They act like a weight has been lifted from chests. It warms my heart to see them smiling and laughing with one another. All but one that is. A young man named Edgar. He spends most of his days in bed with the exception of his chores. His records suggest that he's been sickly most of his life and has been at the orphanage longer than any other child. People had little interest in adopting a boy a weak immune system. What he lacks in physicality he more than exceeds in maturity and intelligence. Edgar has been assisting the other children with their school work since he was five. Presently he is at the kitchen table attempting to teach the oldest boy, Ben, the difference in linear and quadratic equations. Which is more than impressive for a ten-year-old. There is something about him that seems so familiar and I can't place it. I'm sure I'm just seeing qualities in him that aren't there because of his aptitude. Perhaps I'll look into it once I've got some time.

Journal Entry 3, December 16th, 1998

There is much discord within the house today. Ten of the children are leaving in a mass exodus. Three of which have been adopted, four are moving to a large foster home near the Ohio border, three are moving to larger orphanage. This was hard on the youngest of them because they'd come to view the elder children with a familial gaze. I've also discovered what was bothering me about Edgar. Edgar was taken in by the orphanage when he was only four weeks old. He was originally a foundling from a hospital in Whitewater before being moved to the outskirts of Charleston. I made a phone call to the one person that I knew whose family lived only ten miles from Whitewater. After the phone rang for five minutes or so a familiar voice gave a sing-song hello into the earpiece. The only words I got out were "Hello Catherine," before I felt the chill of empty silence flow through the line.

Nearly an hour later the call ended. Catherine and I were both in tears and she begged me not to report her to the authorities. After knowing what she'd done and what she'd kept from me all these years I was angry but ultimately more heartbroken than anything. I've made my decision, and I pray they are the right ones. I've personally asked if Edgar could be transferred to an orphanage that I knew with a reputable staff and that was only ten minutes down the road from my home in Middletown, Ohio. I've talked with Edgar more and more often since I've learned about his parentage and I've asked Father Vincent his advice. I've made my decision and I think it's what's best not only for him but for myself.

Journal Entry 4, January 30th, 1999

After discussing the matter with Edgar and filing the necessary paperwork, I've applied to adopt him and both of us are rather excited. I've decided to leave it at that and not to divulge the truth, he'd never forgive me if I told him. I'm resolved to become the best father I can be to him. I may tell him when he's older but after what he's been through I won't lay a burden so heavy on him. I'm leaving to return to Middletown tomorrow morning and I'll be getting him a room ready in the house. I can't wait to see his face once he sees the room. I've got a huge amount of things donated by friends of mine and the local thrift stores. I've got a really good feeling about this, I'll make sure to raise him right like my parents did for me. After a few weeks, I'll introduce him to the family slowly so it won't overwhelm him.

Journal Entry 5, March 21st, 1999

Edgar has been living with me for a little over and a month and a half now. My brother and his children love him to death and my parents are dead set on spoiling him for the rest of his life. Today was his birthday. I've never been so happy to see a child's birthday party. He sat on my mother's lap as he open his gifts with a huge smile on his face. My folks got him a bike and my father, brother, and I have spent most of the evening teaching him to ride it. He's got a few scrapes and bumps but he's eager to try again tomorrow. I gave him my first guitar and some new clothes for school. I've been playing for years now and he asked me if I'd teach him, so I'm looking forward to it. He'll be a quick study I'm sure. He has been with everything else.

He's started school about a week after he moved in with me and he's had nothing but perfect grades ever since. His teachers have had glowing reviews of his work. He only got in trouble with interrupting class to correct the science teacher because they got something wrong. He and I had a discussion about the difference between being right and being nice. I went down to the school and personally apologized to the teacher for any embarrassment. Outside of this single incident living with Edgar has been an incalculable blessing. I thank you, my heavenly father, for bringing him into my life.

Journal Entry 6, April 6th, 1999

Edgar woke up from a horrible nightmare last night, screaming and thrashing until I entered his room. I turned on the light to see him pulling against his blanket and he was wet with sweat. I called out to him. He snapped to attention looking at me with wide eyes and a panicked expression on his face. Tears streamed down his face and walked toward the bed. I asked if I could sit on the bed, he stretched his arms out and I cradled him in my arms and told him he was safe now and that he had nothing the fear. He cried until he fell asleep in my arms. I asked him what he was dreaming about this morning and he asked not to bring it up. I asked him if he'd want to talk to someone else, I told him about a very sweat counselor I knew from seminary school who might be able to help him make sure that he wouldn't have nightmares like that anymore. We're going to see Claire tomorrow and I think she'll be able to help him. I can't deny I'm worried very dearly for him. I remember how horrifying nightmares can be as a child. You're so small and everything seems so big and unmanageable. Shadows in the corners of the room turn into looming monsters from the silver screen come to collect your skin. At least that was what I always dreamed about as a boy. I was always so fascinated by horror but my stomach was far too delicate for it.

Journal Entry 7, August 10th, 1999

Edgar has been seeing Claire for roughly 4 months now. He adores Claire and I understood why. Her personality sparkles and she is eye watering-ly beautiful. She's been explaining to me the trauma that he's been through and different ways I can help him process it. I'll be taking him to see her again tonight after her normal shift so that all of us can talk together.

Journal Entry 8, December 16th, 1999

I feel a little guilty about what I've been doing at night when Edgar's been asleep, for the past month or so. I've been seeing Claire. Yeah, I know it's against the rules but I've already done worse things in my life so I'm certain the holy father will forgive me for a little bit of lust. Both of us have a reputation to lose in this so we're keeping things under wraps but I'm not too worried. I'm more concerned about the ethical hot water she could get into I've promised silence on my end so this entry will be the only time I mention this. Unless Edgar asks me. I'll never keep another secret from him.

Journal Entry 10, January 19th, 2005

Edgar was grown like a weed over the years, his musical and academic talents have only grown with him. He's in the choir at school, he plays the violin, trumpet, and the guitar. All masterfully. He's tall and thin with broad shoulders making him look a bit like a scarecrow when the winds picked up. He was handsome and had this natural aura about him that made you listen when he spoke. A kind of gravity that lent his words a wisdom beyond his years. He��s been on the honor roll every year in high school, middle school and so on. He's been teaching himself Spanish and French for the past two years. He's asked me if I could help him get into the same seminary school that I attended. He's wanting to study philosophy and religion a little in college before he enters into the ministry. Maybe teach at some point when he gets older. He told me one night that he wanted to do what I do, to preach and teach the gospel and do everything he can to make life better for the people around him. I've never been so proud.

Journal Entry 11, February 3rd, 2006

Claire and I have been seeing each other for years now. Still keeping our relationship from everyone but Edgar. He's taken to her like a mother. Although she and I cannot marry, I hope we can give him the kind of family he's always wanted. He mentioned that we were what he always imagined his "real" family would be. I my heart broke inside while I smiled and laughed. Damn my cowardice, God forgive me for what have done.

He's been talking to her on a more personal ground rather than seeing her in her office. She told me that he's been having nightmares again. Not quite the same that he'd been having all those years ago but they are filled with stars and about how small he felt at night. I've tried to talk to him about it but he just told me it was nothing to worry about and that it was only a fleeting thing, anxiety over finals, and hormones making him have issues. I'm a little worried but I believe him if he thinks he'll be alright. I've asked him to tell me if they get worse, then we could maybe take him to see a sleep specialist or something of the sort.

Journal Entry 12, March 21st, 2010

Edgar has been to a number of people concerning his dreams for years. Nothing has helped and he gets less and less sleep every passing year. He confided in me one night about the overwhelming sense of tactile reality they had. He talked in circles one night after snapping awake about seeing the emptiness and feel so cold. It's been warm over the past few days and he stays wrapped in blankets and full clothing in bed. He never broke a sweat and his feet were looked as pallid as a corpse. He said he could see movement in the nothingness, a writhing shape that he could only remember in hazy fragments. I felt my skin crawl as he talked about the things behind the stars and the hate that permeated their presence. As Edgar spoke my stomach twisted and bucked like a nervous horse in an earthquake. I am scared for him. I'm scared for my son.

Bags seemed permanently etched under his eyes and no matter the hour he'd be up reading, doing homework, even tutoring people over the phone from time to time when the end of semesters drew near. He's been attending college for the past year and living at home. His learning seems to never stop expanding. He's begun to focus on his religious studies course and musical theory beyond the rest of his interests. He's learned Mandarin and Hindi in the past year with the aid of some students he's met from other countries. He's been reading a translation of the Vedas for his comparative religion course and has regaled me with a number of tails concerning the epic poems contained in its pages. The small bible he carries in the back pocket has had some competition for his attention. The poor little book's spine is in tatters and some pages are bend beyond repair. I couldn't be prouder of my son but I wish I could do something to help him. His lack of sleep concerns me. I don't know what there is to do. I pray for him every night and I beg God to help him. I'm waiting patiently for him to guide us to a solution. I can only hope he deems for the solution to come sooner rather than later.

Journal Entry 13, July 28th, 2012

This morning Edgar came to me. He said he'd been troubled for some time over the past year. He said he'd not been sleeping at all in the past 2 weeks and was terrified of what would happen if he slept. His nightmares were haunting him like nothing I'd ever seen before. He'd taken to preaching like a duck to water and he'd shown so many people the light, but sat and suffered in the darkness every night tormented by the machinations of his own wonderful mind. He talked faster and faster about the space between stars forming the face that wanted to consume him and all he believed. He would hear voices in his dreams like Legion himself screaming in torment and ecstasy chanting words in languages he couldn't understand. Calling out for something. Then he'd snap awake screaming and panting. He'd been awake for far too long to be healthy when I saw him. He did research thinking that maybe a sleeping pills might keep him from dreaming, his doctor confirmed that. He said he'd tried for more than a month and it did nothing to alleviate his torture. I can't stand to see him like this and I have nothing, no way to help him. I can be no more help to him than I was when I held him in my arms when he was but a weeping child in the night. Claire told him she believed it was something to do with the trauma in his youth. I have no earthly idea of what can be done. I'd give anything to help my boy. Please God, please heed my call and free my son from this horror.

Journal Entry 14, August 4th, 2012

I'm writing from the hospital where I've been staying with Edgar for the past two days. After almost a month with no sleep, he collapsed during a sermon. He scared the congregation to death. He fell backward into the pulpit and hit his head. He awoke seconds later saying he was fine just needed to get home. He left abruptly and a concerned member of his flock followed their wayward shepherd home to make sure he'd be alright.

Edgar passed out and swerved off the road. His car dipped into a ditch, ran afoul of a large tree root and flipped on its roof. He was pulled from the car and the doctors say he'll heal in time. He's being sedated so he can sleep. His arm was broken in two places and he has a rather nasty concussion but due to the low speed of the crash, his injuries weren't severe. He would toss when he slept so they gave him a muscle relaxer to stem his movement. I'm looking at his right now. He's still as the grave but his eyes are moving like roiling storm clouds. His toes are twitching under the cover and I can hear the faint memory of a whimper coming from his lips. I got up and kissed my son on the forehead, he body soothed for a second when I made contact but he continues almost instantly.

Journal Entry 15, August 5th, 2012

He was awake this morning and furious that they' kept him sedated. When I asked him about his sleep he reaffirmed my suspicion that the nightmares were worse than they'd ever been. He said that his voyage from the waking world was endless and awful, he felt he'd died. When he awoke in the morning he asked if he'd been in a coma, I assume because it felt so long. I'm aware of the simple trick the mind plays as we dream never letting us know time as we slumber. The doctors recommended that he stay on bed rest for exhaustion, prescribed light painkillers for his arm, and an anti-anxiety med for his stress. They've got him hooked up to IV fluids making sure he stays hydrated. He's been squirming and fidgeting, scratching at his cast. He's so restless and agitated I've never seen him like this. I'm lost father please help me. I am a beggar seeking asylum in the starkest winter night. Please grant me the warmth of your embrace and cover me in your glorious glow. I beg thee, Father, protect my son.

Journal Entry 17, January 1st, 2014

The winter has been far from kind to my knee, the price of aging man of faith. Now every time I pray I can hear my knees and hips clicking with excitement. At least that's what I'll call it. I've been on the busy side lately but I've been checking in on Edgar more and more often. I fear something is wrong. He came to me last week with a grave air about him. Not sleeping, again. He asked me what I knew about scrying, the practice of writing the scripture to flush the body and mind of sin, impure thoughts, and in some cases possession. A practice popular in the middle ages when books needed to be copied by hand and it was even used as a punishment in some monasteries for scribes who would break the rules. Locked away to write copy after copy of the Lord's word until they redeemed themselves in the eyes of their peers. I'm not exactly the kind of man who places much thought into it as a way of "purging thyself of sin" I don't see a problem with using it as a something to focus on and meditate. Shutting out the outside world and then letting your mind settle on a simple process. I thought it might help. Edgar asked a friend to mind the flock while he came home for a few weeks to rest.

Journal Entry 18, January 2nd, 2014

Edgar came home today Claire and I did what we could to assist him in setting up a room for him to do his scrying in. His old room stood as it did for the most part so he took to the desk in there and sat about the book of Genesis with the zeal of a man possessed. Claire and I left meals for him outside the door as he asked. He went in at about eleven in the morning and at midnight I could still hear the scratching of the old dip pen he was using.

Journal Entry 19, January 5th, 2014

Edgar hasn't left the room for almost three days. I can still hear him writing. He never touched the food we left for him. I knocked on the door and he didn't respond. I want to open the door but God forgive I am scared. Last night I heard him talking feverishly to himself, I put my ear to the door and in a noise just above the scratching of the pen he muttered something. I listened and so did Claire and we noticed that he was switching between English, Mandarin, Hindi, and another language I'd never heard him speak before. The longer he talked the faster the words cascaded until his voice was a blur of syllables I couldn't understand. I'm terrified, so is Claire. There is a smell emanating from the room. Rancid and awful. I'm worried. So very worried.

Journal Entry 20, January 10th, 2014

Edgar has succumb to some sort of insanity. He's screaming and I hear thumping and I can't open the door. The door handle was so cold that the skin of my hand burned to touch it. The fragile bronze crumbled and stuck to my sweating. Something is leaking from underneath the door and when I pound and yell the writing and shouting only increase in speed and volume respectively. I adore my son but this isn't him something is wrong. Claire and I are calling the police in the morning this has gone on for too long.

Journal Entry 21, January 11th, 2014

The police arrived at three in the evening today. They brought a battering ram and multiple uniformed officers. We planned on having him forcibly committed for his own health.

Claire and I waited outside the house as the officers entered. Noises the likes of which I'd never heard before came from the second floor of my home. The place I'd built with my son and the love of my life. She and I stood hand in hand as screams echoed from the open front door. A police officer kept us from entering and guarded the door. Once the gunfire rang out I panicked and screamed and tried to run into the house. One of the officers grabbed me and forced against their patrol car. More gunfire rang out. Screaming, sweet merciful Lord let me forget the screaming.

As I live and breathe I swear on my soul that the following is true. A figure darkened the front door of my home. My son, tall and willowy walking with his back straight and hold a dripping pen in his blood-soaked hand. His face a rictus of rage. His voice boomed in slow loud articulation that hurts my ear to even recall. "You are gathered in the hopes of save a shepherd of you sniveling weeping GOD! The figures from the void between the stars has shown me the LIE of GOD. They have shown me the truth. They have come to devour your weak sobbing God in their great maws and bring the cold truth of emptiness to us all. I bring to you, all of you crafted from the blood and flesh of the heretics of the void; the opus of all creation." It was only then that I saw what was in his other hand.

He threw the object in this left hand onto the ground at the feet of the encroaching armed officers. It jiggled and moved and settled. It had a drawing of an inconceivable nature on it and then I saw it. I saw the birthmark. Edgar had peeled the skin from his stomach and carved this abomination into his still quivering flesh. I threw up in my mouth when I saw it. A mess of symbols and a mix of languages that I couldn't read and never want to understand.

"What's the matter, FATHER? Do you no recognize a prophet when you see one? Am I no longer the blood of your blood? Do you repulse before the reality of your precious failure? Come with me. Let me show you what can truly be accomplished if you accept nothingness. I will show you the truth of you pathetic GOD!" Edgar, my son, the most important thing in my life lunged for me with the bloody pen. "Come and see the glory of nothingness Father, wallow in the blessing of the void with me!"

He killed five of the policemen on the scene before they managed to stop him. Claire ran and got away unharmed. I wasn't as lucky. Edgar's teeth sunk into my shoulder and he stabbed me in the hand six times before he finally died of blood loss. He was shot nineteen times before he finally died. As he bled his last he placed my mangled claw over his face. Staring at me with pure hate through my blood-soaked fingers. I heard it. His voice, as plain and calm as I'd ever heard. "You never told me, why? I found the answers in this wonderful chaos. Please, father, don't let the cycle end with us. We must spread the glory of the cold, un-life of the universe. Praising the mad god of nothingness." It was only as he spoke those final words of insane nonsense I saw something else. His tongue was gone. Ragged and chewed off.

I was taken to the hospital, after six surgeries the doctors say I'll lose my left hand if I don't take proper care of it. I've lost something far more important to me already. I don't know where Claire is. I pray only that she is safe.

Journal Entry 22, January 26th, 2014

Claire was found ten days after Edgar's death. She was hiding in a culvert underneath an overpass screaming. She hasn't spoken since. She's been incarcerated at the Cambridge Behavioral Hospital. She's in isolation now. I went to visit her and she never looked up from the floor. She put an orderly in the hospital two days ago when she tried to kill herself. I can't take this.

From the Desk of Bishop Robert Becker

I'm sending this Journal to my brother, I need to make sure people know the truth of what happened. My son renounced God in his final moments. Raved against the guardian of all creation. I have made arrangements for all of my personal possessions to be sold and the money contributed to you and your family. The land where my home stands has been sold to a rather nice farmer. I have contacted the fire department and they are scheduled to set it ablaze tonight. I pray that the fire cleanses the horror that has destroyed my family. Gregory when you get this I will have passed after I place his package in the mail. Please don't think less of me. I need to. I need to be with my son. If Dante is to be believed I'll be condemned to the wailing forests of the seventh circle of hell for what I am about to do. I love you, Gregory, give your family my best. Sleep in peace knowing that I will be leaving of my own accord.

Your Loving brother

Bobby.

Massacre in America's Heartland by Alex Day

Spree killing, suicide, incarceration, and religious scandal rock the southeastern hamlet of Middletown, Ohio. Forty miles North of Cincinnati hidden within an unassuming two-story farmhouse a man named Edgar Freid, committed an act of violence that will stain the community for generations to come. A ferocious storm of self-mutilation, mental illness, child abuse, and wanton murder touched down as a result of an ordained priests' villainous acts. What made this man of the cloth commit crimes of such disturbing violence? No one may ever know. Adopted by a priest at a young age one can hardly wonder what his upbringing entailed. We are currently operating under the assumption that Freid was acting alone; however, the Butler county morgue was broken into and parts of the killer's anatomy were stolen. It's difficult to say where the case will go from here but it is safe to say that this horrifying event is not yet over. Make sure to check The Plain Dealer to keep yourselves updated.