I write this diary to tell of my life, to tell my tale and of these trips. I do not know the meaning of them, only that they happen irregularly, and my caretakers do not believe me. My name is Sir James Lindemann. I was born in the year of our Lord, 1796, to a rather wealthy family in the city of Albany, on the shores of the great Hudson River. I had a happy childhood, with many brothers and sisters, the servants providing clothes, as well as education and meals. My mother was a beautiful woman, an Irishwoman who met my father when was in their land on business. My father was a proud German immigrant, who came to the Americas in order to make a new life for himself. He built up his business and by the age of thirty had much power in the colonies, even meeting once with President Washington himself.

They raised me to respect my roots, but be proud of my nation, and proud of the sacrifices that were made to establish it. I fought honorably in the war when the British once again attacked us, although many I knew did not. I felt it was my duty to serve, as those who did in the first war once did. I was proud to serve, and when I returned home I began to work under my father in order to learn to one day run his business. However, this is when my fits became more common.

As a boy, my mother always said I had quite the active imagination. I would tell her of this fantastic land I visited, made of iron and light, with impossible creations and buildings that touched the stars. As a child, I believed I was glimpsing Heaven. However, over time, my glimpses into paradise became longer, but less frequent. I would explore, and rather than being Heaven, I believed I was seeing Hell itself. Violence was rampant, individuals were starving to death before my eyes while the others walked by, and the marvelous buildings were far outnumbered by crumbling ruins, derelict homes and individuals who looked neither alive nor dead.

I was scared and alarmed, as were the citizens of this land whenever I visited. None looked like me, or like any average person. Some had wild hair, in wild ways and of mad coloring. Others wore fantastical outfits, or so little at all. I covered my eyes at this, but I couldn’t avoid seeing these people. I was horrified to see debauchery on the streets, ignored by all others as though it was a normal practice. These creatures, whether they be damned souls or demons themselves, horrified me. I ran from them, and I would always wake up sooner or later. Sometimes these fits would last hours, other times, minutes. However, no matter how long I spent in that world, it was just as long in my own.

Overtime, my family began to realize that not all was well with me, and sent me upstate, in order to get rest and relaxation. They believed that the stress of city life, work and general business after the war perhaps overwhelmed me. However, while the visions did not go away, they did change. The location was different, more rural, but the demons still plagued the land. It was like looking into a dark, twisted reflection of my own world. One moment I’d be in my home, relaxing by the fireplace or in bed, and the next, it would be rotting and decaying, a dying building filled with numerous vermin and destruction. I’d flee outside only to discover the demons, looking at me strangely.

Most of the time they avoided me, but sometimes they attacked, or called in those better equipped to attack. I fled and hid, terrified of what would happen if I was caught. I never was, however, and the demons never got a chance to torment me. I’d fight back against those that did choose to attack, and run, as fast as my legs would take me. Inevitably, I’d escape this shadow realm outside of my home, often in the woods, alone and scared, my clothes in tatters. This is what lead my family to institutionalize me. However, the attacks did not stop. When they would happen, I would awake in a rotting version of the institution, things collapsing and breaking. Sometimes I’d smash though walls to escape. Once, I encountered two demons, and using a shard of glass I found, I fought them off and killed them when they attacked me. When I would come to, I’d be outside my cell, and in another part of the institution. The trips into this dark realm became more common in my time there, and so, I eventually left, realizing that I could use the trip to escape the place.

I went home, and instead had the servants take care of me, while bringing in several trusted doctors, ones who would not let word of this get out, nor would they put me back into that frightening cell. With this came less frequent attacks, but they still happened. I found that anything I was wearing or holding would come with me into the dark dimension, and so I began to carry a sword and knife, killing demons that I encountered in my home during my trips. I began to log them, writing it down, but my family ordered those logs burned, believing that such madness should not be committed to paper. Thus, I write this and keep it secret. If it has been found, know that I have lived my life to the best of my ability, and never wished to trouble anyone.

Researcher's Note Edit

The previous was found in the abandoned upstate New York mansion of Sir James Lindemann. After his death, the family and servants moved out, believing it to be haunted or cursed. Local legend had it that he was mad, or a serial killer, or one of many different rumors. Kids would often go up there to prove themselves, whether to their friends, or to girls.

Over the last few decades, a serial killer had been making use of it, occasionally killing residents. When the police realized this, they investigated, however, no evidence was found. This diary was found in a desk drawer, believed to have belonged to Sir Lindemann, and was quickly reported to us via one of the plants in that department. The deaths of the teens matches the descriptions given in the diary, with two having been killed with a sharp piece of glass, and others having been killed with a knife or sword. It is believed by our agency that Lindemann was somehow “unstuck in time” as one book would put it, and as such, occasionally ended up centuries in the future.

However, it is unknown how, and units sent to watch decedents of his family have not turned up any present activity. We hope to possibly capture Lindemann, and study him, but do not know of a method to keep him in our time as of yet.

PosthumanHeresy (talk) 03:34, February 21, 2015 (UTC)

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