Mysterious Notes from Mr. X
As you may have noticed, my phone rang just as I was wrapping up my last post. It was my mother. She always calls on the landline, which I have absolutely no idea why I still own one… yes I do, my mother won’t call me on my phablet or use FaceTime. She’s one of those whacks who think the government is tracking us and monitoring everything on the cellular network.
I tell her they were tapping landlines way before cellphones were even invented, but it doesn’t make any difference. She doesn’t get it. And when I joked that they probably already have a tracking chip implanted in her head she started wearing tinfoil hats to create interference.
Anyway, just as I was hanging up with her, “Mr. X” slipped a note under my door. I ran outside to try and find out who the hell it was that keeps doing that, but there was no one there. Just a pale moon casting it’s blue glow across the wooded landscape. It was so quiet I thought I heard a fart drift to my ear from the tree line. “Maybe a Squatch I thought,” and chuckled to myself. Then I realized it was my shoe.
But you didn’t come here to read about Squatch farts and my mother’s phone call…
Who is “Mr. X” and why does he slip notes under my door?
It’s been happening for the past few months. One note per, and I never know what week or day they will arrive. They are usually slipped under the door very late at night or in the wee hours, so most of the time I don’t notice them until morning. This time, however, my mom kept me on the phone so damn long that I actually was standing right there when it happened. Scared the deuce out of me.
The call was wrapping up so I hurried it along and was approaching the door just as I pressed the “End” button on my cordless. I swung the door open, hoping to catch the note-leaver, but, as I mentioned, nobody there. Creepy.
Each note contains only two words, glued onto the paper like a ransom letter, followed by a glued on “Mr. X.” I have had no success putting them in any order that makes sense. This is the fourth note I’ve received, and when combined with the previous three in chronological order, they all read:
“Conspiracy Watch Murdered Cow Sloppy Slipknot Walmart Hack”
I don’t know if the two words on each note should ride together or be split up among the others to fit in somewhere else. This cryptic message could mean anything in any order, and I doubt very much that I have all the words I need to complete the message. Surely there are more clues on the way because this string of words is just plain nonsense.
I contacted my informant about the strange notes and he laughed at me like someone laughing at a co-worker who just backed into his boss’ car in the parking lot. As his chuckles subsided he told me he could offer no help, but shared one piece of advise, “Get packed and be ready to head for the hills.”
That day crept by slowly, ominously. I sat pondering the words for hours, trying to think of something, anything, to help fit this puzzle together. As the day wore on, and the sun began to yield to the cool grip of twilight in this forest reserve, I felt drawn into a mystery, and began to fear for my safety, while I waited, dreaded the sound of another note slipping under my door.
The words of my informant echoed through my mind, “be ready to head for the hills.”