Listen to the episode

For The Record, Episode 6: Tripwire


File #180506.

Statement of… Harper Bennett, regarding their acquisition of a stone figure and their ensuing feelings, or lack thereof. Original statement given June 5th, 2018. Audio recording by Alex Wilson, archival assistant at the Edmonton Paranormal Association.

Statement, uh, statement begins.

The world is large and cold and empty, and I cannot feel any of it.

That’s not to say I never could, no.

But now my nerves have gone dead and there is so much emptiness.

I don’t even know who you are. I don’t know if you are still here. I think there’s someone near, and maybe they are recording what is being said, maybe not. Maybe they are saying something. If I hear it at all, it will not be soon, if ever.

Perhaps I will tell my story anyway.

My name is Harper. Harper Bennett. I think I told you that. Once more couldn’t hurt, though.

Once, I was a person with a job and friends and a place in the world who worried about trivial things like money and love and whether my favourite sports team would make it to the finals. I lived in a city on a planet in a universe that was large, but I felt as if I was the center of it all, of my world.

It felt like it was mine.

I’m sorry. I’m getting off track. It is so easy to lose yourself in the empty space.

It began a week ago. I work in a museum, you see - worked - work, it doesn’t matter. We had gotten a new shipment of artifacts from a donor in… Blackpool, I think? As it was, I ended up having to unpack all of them, my coworker being off on sick leave.

It was a pretty standard shipment, a couple of rifles from the Revolutionary War, a hundred-year-old deer hide, a glazed pot supposedly from Indonesia. The thing that caught my eye was in the last box I unpacked. It was a small stone statue of an angel with its wings outstretched. There was no label on it, oddly enough, and the box it came in was unmarked. I thought there might have been a mistake of some kind, those things happen, so I picked it up for a better look.

As soon as my fingers touched that ice-cold stone my head began to spin. I’m not afraid of heights - or, I wasn’t, - but that was the worst vertigo I’ve ever had. It felt like everything inside of me was just - falling away.

I dropped it. That was my mistake, I think. If I could pinpoint one thing that caused this, that would be it.

It landed on the tiles with a sharp crack. When my head had cleared, I saw that one of its wings was broken clean off. I felt a small twinge of regret, obviously it was a piece of history disfigured, but I could just brush it off and say it came damaged. If I’m being completely honest with you, which I am, things like that aren’t uncommon occurrences. Besides, it was unmarked and so it would be easy to cover up.

That was the last good bit of luck I had for a while.

On my way across the lobby after work, I heard someone call my name from a distance. Upon turning around however, I discovered that the person - Melissa Hart, I think, from management - was standing right in front of me, a concerned expression on her face.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “I called your name a few times, but you didn’t hear me.”

I stammered for a moment, sure she was mistaken, but before I could say anything she just shrugged. “Deep in thought, I guess. Have a good night, Harper.”

“You- you too,” I said.

I couldn’t help but notice that the click, click, click of her high heels against the marble seemed out of sync with her footsteps.

I felt like that for the rest of the day. The phone rang but when I went to pick it up, it had already gone to voicemail. When I was making tea and accidentally touched the hot kettle, I only felt the burning in my hand when the skin was already thoroughly blistered.

I put it down to a bit of disorientation. I was probably sick, or something, and it would pass.

That night, I had a strange dream. I don’t remember it in detail, but I do remember how small I felt, and how huge the sky was.

I sat up in bed the next morning and immediately my head spun. I paused, gripping the sheets as if they were a lifeline, acutely aware that the shifting of the fabric I felt was completely out of time with my motions.

Once the dizziness had passed, I tentatively stepped off my bed onto the floor. It was cold, but that didn’t register until I was already at my window.

Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and touched the glass.

I could see my fingers pressed against it. I could see my breath fogging it up. And yet, I didn’t feel any of it.

Do you remember when you learned about nerves in school? Those connections through your whole body that let you feel and hear and be aware of things? They are little pathways that send information to your brain and that is what you experience of the world. The universe is right outside and you are just being sent a mere part of it.

It felt like I stood there for millenia, my fingers against the glass that could have been cold or could have been searing hot for all I knew, waiting for the moment when my nerves would light up and I could feel it. I wanted so badly to feel it, to know I was here and this was the world, but the more I willed it to happen the more the growing void inside me yawned open.

I almost sobbed with relief when I finally felt the cool, smooth, wonderful glass against my numb fingers. I stayed so still, just breathing, just remembering that I could feel. I told myself I was relishing it. I think it was because I was afraid to move and get cut off again.

I had to, though. I knew I had to. I knew I had to leave this tiny pocket of safety. I couldn’t stay here forever.

The journey down the stairs and into the living room took way longer than it should’ve. All the past sensations were making my head spin, and I had to be extra careful where I was stepping. When I finally made it to the door, I concluded that I couldn’t go to work like this.

I tried the doctor’s office, but I couldn’t make out what the receptionist was saying, and eventually I gave up and just left. I wandered the streets, feeling my past footsteps, hearing the sounds of a world that had already passed. I only went home after I nearly got hit by a car in one of the busier intersections.

I didn’t know what to do, or where to go. I couldn’t ask my friends, I didn’t know how to make them understand what was happening. It felt like the world was out of my reach, like I was suspended in a void between the past and the present with no way to get out.

All of that paled in comparison to what happened four days ago.

I was standing at my window again, watching the world go on without me. It seemed like a safe way to do it. Just standing apart from them, at my little pane of glass, not able to do anything besides watch.

After a couple hours, I stepped back from the window - to do something, probably, or else why would I leave my peace and stillness? I turned towards the door and suddenly collapsed, my legs simply giving out under a sudden onslaught of terrible, crushing pain.

It felt like my chest was being torn apart by a thousand splinters of wood, like my ribs themselves were slicing through my flesh. I tried to scream but an iron vice had gripped my throat, choking me until I couldn’t breathe - so why could I still hear my own cry of pain? My entire body spasmed in agony.

I lay there, writhing in pain, for what felt like days but were only mere minutes. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, the pain subsided and was replaced with a cool numbness. I stayed on the floor, just breathing.

I didn’t feel anything else. Not any past sensations, no new ones. The numbness might have changed at some point, or maybe I just didn’t notice that aching void that is both part of me and all around me.

Something is going to happen to me. Something very bad, I’m sure of it. I know with such certainty that what I felt was not from before. It was from the future and it is coming ever closer. I can feel it, like a looming shadow that gets darker whenever I even think about it, that blots out the light and creeps into my very soul.

After three long days trapped in that horrible, wrenching emptiness, waiting for death to come, I decided I had to find someone I could talk to. There must be some place for people who have experienced these things because I couldn’t be the only one. I just couldn’t

It was when I remembered you guys. The Edmonton Paranormal Association. When I first heard of you I thought you were just a bunch of loony weirdos who took ghost stories from people. Well, that’s what you are. But who else am I supposed to go to? If you want a creepy story, well, there you have it. I hope you’re happy. I doubt you can do anything about it, though. By the time you even want to, I’ll already be dead.

Statement ends.


Obviously follow-up on this statement was extremely difficult due to the very… internalized nature of this experience. I would be tempted to dismiss this as another psychotic break or similar, but it does seem that their prediction came to pass. On June 8th, 2018, Harper Bennett was admitted to hospital after being involved in a vehicle collision. They had suffered severe abdominal lacerations and a major concussion. While conscious, they seemed unresponsive to any stimuli, and died in hospital thirteen hours later.

I don’t know what this file is doing in the “uncategorized” section of the archives. The past staff have been awfully messy with their filing, but I don’t know how they could have missed its obvious affiliation with- with the Falling Titan. I am beginning to think the previous team simply filed anything not glaring, obviously paranormal and in perfect line with a power here.

I have a lot of work to do.

Recording… ends, I guess.



This episode of For The Record was written and directed by Ellie Glen, edited by Algie Todd, produced by Lily A. Dewald, and starred Adrian Leon as Alex Wilson. It used sounds from under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial License. For full accreditation, see the show notes. To be kept up to date on new episodes, submit your statements, or to get involved in production, you can follow us on Twitter @ftrecordpod, on Tumblr at fortherecordpod or view our website at Stay safe, take care, and keep in touch.