LA COMMISSION DU TEMPS ET DE L'SPACE
OFFICE MEMORANDUM

DATE: 2604754623
ARCHIVE LOAN: CASE FILE 647

AGENT LILA PITTS
REASON: RESEARCH FOR ASSIGNMENT TRIGGER

Statement of Humphrey Buckley, regarding his years spent in THE STELLAR SUITES [when it was a halfway house for troubled children], in Vickery Meadows, Dallas, TX.

Original Statement given: February 26, 1995

Audio Recording by: Agent Rondo, Junior Corrections Officer of La Commission du Temps et de L'Space

Transcript Written by: Mr Five

Statement begins:

"…You see, I lived in THE STELLAR SUITES for almost eleven years. Originally, it had been some fancy old lady's house—least that's what the ole town charters say; it was some kind of local legend, like Vickey Meadows' own Boogeyman—but by the time I'd gotten there, it had been converted into a halfway house for troubled children. Exactly why I'd ended up there, to be frank…It looked nice enough, I s'pose, but that's just what they WANTED you to think, 'cause believe, you, me when I say that there is NOTHING good that can come from that dreadful place.

I was a bad kid, there's no two-ways about it. I've cleaned up my act since then—been eighty-odd years since, so I guess it was bound to happen at some point; that or death…But back then, I was just a little thug…well, as much as a seven year old can be such a thing. Wasn't ENTIRELY my fault though—I came from a bad family & things were tough with that pandemic going around—Never knew my old man and dear old Ma favoured the drink; the hard stuff too.

I won't go into the gory details, but let's just say it wasn't a surprised that I'd hit the system LONG before my fifth birthday…They tried to stick me in a few other places before, to straighten me out, but I was always a tough nut to crack. You had to be, back then, see those places weren't the enlightened kind of crap they've got running today. No siree! Back then, the only life lesson I learnt worth a damn was how to take a beating like a man.

…By the time I was seven years old, I'd been in & out of the system at least three times, and it was then that I was given the "lucky chance" to reenter society when they "offered" me a place at that halfway house out in Vickery Meadows…Said something about the fresh air and open woods being good for growing minds, or whatever. I didn't really care at the time and, to be honest, I don't really care now. It was just some propaganda bullshit they peddled to please gullible carers.

…You know, it's weird. I've tried to get to get information about the place in the years since, but there's nothing there. It's like it never existed; I mean, you could go down to Dallas and check it out for yourself, it's probably still standing there. But as far as anyone [official] knows, there has never been a dwelling by the name of THE STELLAR SUITES, in that location…ever or since…It still bothers me, if I'm honest. The most traumatic thing that had ever happened to me, as far as any official record is concerned, I couldn't have been there, in that local legend.

Millicent Sterling was younger than I'd expected she'd be. You see, in every OTHER place, the people in charge had been OLD leathery things with scowls engraved upon their faces and calluses etched into the knuckles. Most were ex-military types who'd lecture us for HOURS on end, about how they'd WASTED their life before the army and then how they were SAVED by the disciplinary of war; something they impressed upon us as well. What a load of crock!

Like I'd ever join the army! Ha! (Ended up doing that anyway, but that was compulsory enlistment back then, not like today). I forget which war they'd fought in—they all seem to blur together, these days—but they WOULDN'T shut up about it. I think I remember mentioning how [whichever deity I happened to be obsessed with that week] was WAY stronger than their deity and that just sent them into a bigger tailspin. Can remember the whooping I got for that one…my rump still aches!

But "Ma" as she insisted we call her, was different. She couldn't have been much older than my first schoolhouse teacher, and her hair was always tossed up in this well-to-do up-do. Nothing so messy as today's standard's, mind you…it probably would've seemed so strait-laced to these youths, today…In any case, she was friendly enough—approachable too—but it wasn't like she was trying to be our friend, or anything. She smiled a lot, with that toothy grin of hers…it still haunts my nightmares.

I didn't like her from the start. The other adults that I'd met on my journey through delinquency had been…awful was not the word I'd use, but its close. They'd run the spectrum from condescending do-gooders to abusive thugs, but I'd always had at least half a brain to know which was which, and where I stood with either of them. Ma was a mystery, an unsettling, tooth-grinning mystery. Still, we were fed & clothed so we couldn't complain…and we were kept away from the rest of the town 'cause they didn't want us to cause the poor townspeople TOO much trouble.

The one thing that surprised me was how rare it was to see anyone come back. Most of the other halfway houses I'd stayed in ALWAYS had some of the older residents returning, whether they wanted to or not. There were those who had fallen into even worse criminal company, coming back occasionally to sell drugs or do some recruiting…Opium was the thing back in the day (addicting & easy to get your hands on), so I was surprised that when I moved into THE STELLAR SUITES that there wasn't a single repeat offender to be found.

At the time, I just assumed we were too far out of the way to be bothered to visit…It wasn't like it was the kind of place that you could just pop down to for a couple of minutes. It was at least an hour-ish out of town; right there, on the edge of the woods. Those damned creepy woods. My memories of a lot of my time there are, well, they're not exactly FOGGY, per se, but they almost feel like I'm watching someone else's memories, if you get what I mean. It was like…like I remember doing things without actually thinking about doing them; like it was just plain ole muscle memory moving me.

Now, don't get me wrong, it was never anything bad or dangerous. It was just…things I wouldn't NORMALLY have done, like brushing my teeth. I'm glad for it now that I've passed into my eighties and teeth have stopped being something that I take for granted. But at seven years old, the thought had never crossed my mind…Especially since thoughts of the Tooth Fairy had long since been driven from my imagination.

But when I lived out there in THE STELLAR SUITES, I cleaned them every night…up & down, side-to-side, like clockwork…my arms moving like I didn't even need to think about it. The other kinds living here were the same; at least I think they were. I remember them being kind of dull—not that they were BORING, exactly—we'd spend time together & smoke, & play games and the like. But there was just SOMETHING about them…as if there were somethings they said and did without any meaning to them. Like me.

Okay, occasionally there'd be flashes of something; like the time me & Gustav "Goober" Stockman snuck out after dark to get drunk & set Mr Shrew's bins on fire, just because we could. But mostly they were quiet; almost placid…I'm sure they would've said the same about me, of course, but at the time nothing seemed amiss. I did what I did because it was what I was supposed to do, it never struck me to question it and, looking back, I'm not sure I really recognised who I became when I lived there.

For the most part, Ma seemed content to stay out of our hair & leave us to our own devices—so long as we behaved. Aside from family meals, she mostly kept to herself, squirrelled away in her study, in the sitting room…the one where no one was allowed to go 'cause it was filled with antique furniture blanketed in dust, porcelain dolls lined up on the mantelpiece & a hearth that hadn't been used since the house was constructed…That room was a strict no-go, she made that VERY clear.

…Usually, one of us was sent out to the grocer's for things we couldn't-slash-didn't grow on the land…and aside from church—which we HAD to attend every Sunday (me, especially)—she rarely left the property at all. Not even to venture into the woods when we needed fire wood! Occasionally, one the locals would pluck up the courage to ask after Ma & how she was keeping.

We just told them she had yet to kick the bucket & that was that…I eventually got the sense that, with the exception of the kids in the house, Ma was something of a recluse. A well-liked recluse, for sure, but to see her leave the house on any day OTHER than a Sunday would've been a momentous occasion that made the papers.

So, I passed a couple of years in relative peace in that place, I ACTUALLY studied and stayed MOSTLY out of trouble…and, as my eighteenth birthday finally approached, it looked like I might be able to find me someone to teach me some sort of trade; something decent enough to earn my own coin. At that point, I was the eldest there by far, with the other elder children having left by the time THEY had turned eighteen, in turn. 'Course, a few kids had gone missing at some point, 'cause a haunted house like that one didn't stay silent for eighteen years…nor was it satisfied with consuming only the woodland creatures in the area. It wanted something…MORE substantial.

Things were much the same as they had been, in the months leading up to my birthday…Same as they'd always been over those eleven long years. At least until Mary Rutherford. Mary arrived at the halfway house almost exactly two months before my eighteenth birthday, in the middle of winter. Ma had never mentioned her…never even held one of her little meetings to introduce her to the house. She was just…there and no one seemed to question it. They were all, "Oh, Mary? Yeah, she's over there! She don't talk much, but she's a good girl"

…She was younger than the other kids, maybe eight or nine years old…about the same age as I'd been when I'd arrived. She had a small, chubby face framed by fiery red locks that were ALWAYS braided back into twin pigtails that flapped in the air whenever she ran about…and she was never really still…Honestly, in retrospect, she WAS a bit spooky like that doll—Annabelle—but to be frank, at the time, I never really questioned it. The same way I never really questioned anything about that house; it was safer that way.

But I was so focused on my upcoming emancipation that I didn't pay much attention to much else besides myself, so I can't tell you much more about Mary, or what she did with her time in the house. All I DO know is that, the day before I was due to leave, it rained something fierce so Ma kept us locked in tight like she was afraid we would get washed away in the rain…Bored out of my mind, I went exploring that day, just sniffing around the old house in search of something to do. Looking back on it, I think that might've been the first time that I ACTUALLY went sniffing around the house…eleven years I'd been there and I'd never done such a thing, how strange is that?

In any case, there were a few interesting things that caught my attention, but it wasn't until the rain had let up a little, that anything REALLY exciting happened. It was Mary, in the end, who managed to convince me out into the woods [in all of the years that I'd been there, I'd been a good little boy and ignored the woods, even when I could hear kids playing in there at all hours of the night]…not that I needed much convincing, I was THAT bored.

Ma had told us many times over the years, that bad things happened to kids who went into the woods; that the Devil was out there, drawing you into dance with the witches around the fire. I dunno if I ever believed any of that, but I'd hated them all the same…The woods around the house have always been uncomfortably silent, crinkled only by the croak of hoarse frogs and the crunch of crispy undergrowth, underfoot. They [the trees] kinda loom over you as if they're about to say something, but never do.

Mary once again instructed me to follow her and I did so, even as the cold air of the rain-flushed outside hit me like a slap across the face. She seemed to have this same allure over me as the house did…We walked for a few minutes, but we didn't go far that day—barely a few feet in—in fact, I could still see the outline of the house from there. Mary was saying something—I think she was telling me about what she had found—but I don't remember.

All I know is that when we were within range, I could hear this strange sound…In hindsight, it was the same childish giggling that I'd heard growing up…I can still remember how haunting it had been; how the hairs on the back of my neck had stood up and how I had wanted SO desperately to turn tail and run. But something kept me stuck fast.

After eleven years, I was rather used to this feeling of placidity but there was something else about it, this time. Something in the back of my mind beat a frantic, scuttling terror like a tiny drum circle in my chest. Not that it did me any good because I was walking into the wood, no matter what I might've felt about it. Choice didn't even factor into the equation.

…There on the ground was a ring of pale flowers with HUGE blooming petals that might've looked blue in a certain light. They might've been pretty if they weren't so ghoulish. But it wasn't until Mary yanked me inside the ring of flowers that I even noticed the door. It hovered clear above our heads—at least twenty feet off of the ground—and it held this silvery glow to it, that seemed almost magical. I could remember how it hummed, like a ringing in your ears; like a thousand angry hornets in the hive.

Unfortunately, we couldn't reach it even if we tried, but Mary did her best—she even clambered up onto my shoulders and insisted that I stand up on my tiptoes to reach it. It didn't do much, so she had me toss her up into the air…I didn't want to do it, but she was SO insistent and my limbs moved of their own accord, again. Grabbing her around the waist, legs coiling to spring and shoving her upwards, towards the heavens.

Mary nearly gave me a heart attack when she barely grabbed a hold of the edge; nails digging in to the edge of the threshold in order not to fall. She had to scrabble at the lip of the door, legs flailing in the air until she was able to haul herself inside…Mary said that it was all glittery inside—just like I'd noticed before—and she said she swore she saw something inside…a fairy, she called it…all blue and sparkling. I'd have to take her word for it, 'cause I couldn't crane my neck back that far to see and you couldn't see the door outside of the ring—some compression field or something rather.

But I DO know that whatever else she saw in there, it was enough to send her running after it like it was an ice cream truck. I shouted at her to come back, but she was already gone and there was no way for me to get up there myself, not without a ladder, anyway and I didn't trust myself not to lose the door…or for the door to close, if I did decide to go and fetch one…I don't know how long I waited there—enough for the rain to kick back up again and soak me to the bone, certainly—I DO know that I was shaking like a leaf when I heard the footsteps come back. They were hurried—frantic—in a way that they weren't before and Mary sounded like she had run a hundred miles.

Mary must've tripped—or, worse yet, something had tripped her—because she cried out as she hit the floor of the tunnel with an almighty smack and all I could see was a tiny bloody hand hanging out. Everything after that's pretty fuzzy. I remember the smell of bacon, there was someone screaming—it might've been me, who knows—her bright red hand drip, drip, dripping down onto my forehead and the cold, unforgiving rain beating down all around them.

And above it all, the siren call of whatever lay inside. It told me to go inside, to step over Mary's tiny limp body and enter just as the child had done only moments ago, nevermind the fact that she was dying in the doorway…if she wasn't already dead. It was haunting, intoxicating, in that way that opium dens whispered secrets of riches and hallucinogenics…I almost did it too, but the moment I'd stepped out of the ring to fetch the aforementioned ladder, everything seemed to snap back into focus. Oh sure, the alluring call was still there, but it wasn't as strong as it had been inside the ring, though I couldn't tell you why. All I know is that my feet moved of their own accord—just as they had done before—but instead of bringing me into the woods, they brought me out.

I heard later, that the official report was that Mary had runaway and gotten herself lost in the woods, just like many of the other kids who'd occupied the house at some point. When they DID find her body, the official report said that she was mauled by some Tasmanian tigers, but there's no tigers in Dallas; hasn't been for seventy-odd years. That's it, really.

Within twenty-four hours, I was out of Dallas with my papers signed and jumped onto the first train I could get my feet on; 'til I jumped off at that platform in South Dallas, to avoid the ticket inspector and that's where I spent the next several years…Given where I'd started off in life, I've done pretty well for myself and I like to think that I've left my past behind, but that sort of denial doesn't help me sleep. I only had my first truly restful night since that day after reading about the fire that had burned down several acres of those damned creepy woods.

But people never stopped living in that old house and now the wood's are growing back again…And I've started to dream of that blue door again…and in my dreams, I see Mary painted red and I can hear it; hear the call of that mystic door, of the childish giggles, of the buzzing hornets, of scuttling legs running across my body and always—ALWAYS—the siren door calls.

Statement ends.

Mr Buckley was not wrong when he said that it was difficult to track down any information on The Stellar Suites, save for a few renditions from the locals who're just as tight-lipped about the place. Whilst I am naturally inclined to suspect conspiracy or something along those lines, Agent Herb tells me that the nature of those gaps looks more like lost or damaged files…not unheard of in a place like this, where paper files are many & numerous. It is, however, annoying.

Still, it raises further questions than it answers. For one, why is it this place that ASSIGNMENT TRIGGER chooses to arrive at? Aside from the Lorien Portus—which may or may not still be there—what else could've pulled the Garde to that place? I can only hope that I can find answers to these questions—either in the Archives or on assignment—but I wouldn't be surprised if it was something I had to learn firsthand…That seems to be the way with the Hargreeves.

There is still much to learn about these targets.

LA COMMISSION DU TEMPS ET DE L'SPACE
OFFICE MEMORANDUM

DATE: 3311704623
TO: AGENT LILA PITTS
FROM: H912943

ASSIGNMENT: PROTECT THEODORE NIKLAUS HARGREEVES
INSERTION POINT: 32.87077°,—96.75594°
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