The ONE Archives

ONE ([0.014]): Tightened Space

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ARCHIVIST

Statement of Charlie Howling, regarding a crawlspace at the bottom of the stairwell, Original statement given July 11, 2001. Given by Liam Plecak, September 28, 2016.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

For quite some time, I was always the curious type of child; snooping my nose in places where I shouldn't be, or filling in the gaps of what could be behind closed doors or restricted places. New unknown places were always the new norm for me when I was growing up. One mystery, however, stuck to me throughout my childhood and the years beyond it. When I was little, I lived with my mother; never knowing who my father was, because he had died even before my initial birth, in a house in the suburbs, two stories high; one plus floor, counting the attic. The house was quite small, and shaped like a trapezoid, almost. It had the vibes of a cosy cabin in the middle of winter, and then next, the windows were square; indented into the walls of our house. The roof was the colour of slate and the walls were mahogany brown. There was one tree in front of our house; that one leaf still hanging on a single branch, no other leaves grew on it.

The kitchen, living room, our bedrooms, dining room, storage, the bathrooms, and many others were in separate places. None of the rooms were really blocked off, except for one thing in my house. It was a small, secluded crawlspace behind the stairs leading up to the surface. It was always barricaded with wooden planks; metal nails drilled into it. My mom persisted, and told me not to go in the crawlspace for years on end. Though I always filled the gaps on what that tunnel could lead to, and resisted trying to go in there, my curiosity and knowledge only grew in that small period of time. It was like my brain was urging me to do something. I *needed* to confirm that it wasn't dangerous to my mother.

Now, I don't necessarily blame my mother for not letting me do stuff she doesn't want me to do, but the thing about my mother is that she's a bit overprotective over me. Not like in a good way "overprotective" but in a bad way, you see, because she's always fussing and secure over everything that I do, and asking me if I'm alright, every single time I come home from whatever. She warns me about strangers and their bad intentions, every time I go out, and also, I am also restricted from using specific apps. I always found myself telling my mother that she doesn't have to do this for me, but she persists on this; eventually leading to bickering. I don't know if my mother was ever like this before my birth. Had my father's death really impacted her so much that she had to prevent me from meeting the same fate as him? I don't think I'd know, though; better to leave questions unanswered sometimes.

I got my time away from my mother though. She had gone on a business trip, for a few weeks; to some place in London, which meant I had all the time in the world, finally not being restricted from anything. The first few days, I read a book, went to hang out with my friends, playing games; the usual stuff. But eventually, I've just gotten bored of it. So I did what my mother had told me not to. Check out the crawlspace. Now particularly, I don't think there's anything abysmal in a crawlspace, because from what I've seen in every other house that has crawlspaces; it's just all cobwebs, spiders, plain dust bunnies, and a narrow space. What was my mother ever so worried about in this crawlspace, then? It was going to be fine.

I was very, very wrong.

After I pulled out the nails and removed the wooden planks, I set myself in a creeping position and began through the tunnel supposedly leading me somewhere. The first time, it was any other crawlspace you'll see; the light filtering through it, making the dust more visible, and the spiders creeped on their itty bitty cobwebs. As I made my way through the tunnel, I noticed the light was filtering much less, and less and less spiders showed up. The ground beneath was no longer wood, now replaced by cold hard, and packed dirt. My hands began to shiver under the frigid weather, but I kept going through whatever seemed like forever. That wasn't even the worst part though.

The worst part of all was when I began to struggle with breathing, as I went through. Not only was I struggling for air, the walls began to close on me. At this point, there was no light, no life and no air here. Even if I trekked forward in this wretched place. the enclosed walls clawed at my chest, threatening to squeeze my lungs tight. I tried to speak, to flail my arms around, to scream, to do *anything* down here. But no, it was too close. The walls were too close to my body.

Too close I cannot breathe.

I don't know how long I was down there, and I don't know how I managed to survive, since it was so further down. I don't think that crawlspace led to anything, really. I don't remember anything else except some paramedics coming by, and my mother screaming something at me, her expression with tears in her eyes. Honestly? I've never seen mum that scared for my life. I made a pledge to my mom, never to go there again.

It's not a hole leading to nowhere now; it's only just... concrete.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Hm, this... this Statement is very interesting, really. The house mentioned in this Statement seems to be connected to another one, by Garrett Dennis, about the webbed notebook: Deltaburrne Avenue. Texty managed to dig up the location of this house in Google Maps in Delaware. 1670, Deltaware Ave, which is northwest of Kullwire and Hailnum Road. As for the crawlspace, though; it seems to have a long history of people dying by being buried alive, and I think it used to lead somewhere, but- but I don't know.

Charlie's mom died months after he gave this Statement, and was later diagnosed with long-term asthma; going missing on August 25, 2001. The police reports all say that he was reported presumed dead, and the case was closed afterwards.

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texty

pssst- i hope you're listening! ╭( ๐_๐)╮

i noticed amelia has been gone for what, 3 days now? liam tried contacting her a bunch of times now, but it seems like she has seized all contact for some reason. not only that, but charlotte has gotten a bit worse, now with her illness; her eyes has turned a light grey and they look glazed over. i think i see some sort of fungus growing in her. anyways, liam found out the sticky note with the address on it, it's bryce's, for some reason. the other sticky notes depict some pictures of insects, more eyes, radio and case file numbers, and buildings... that are familiar, somehow. (≖ᴗ≖✿)

finally, about the camera obscura, and envelope... the camera obscura is copper brown, and the lens are kinda shattered, with the cracks almost like a spiderweb, the colour of it is purplish green. the envelope is filled with polaroid photos depicting people with the names of people previously shown in some statements, and a pocket watch with a certain pull. other than that— there's nothing else|

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