For the last 17 years, people have speculated about the horrific events of September 11th, 2001. Some say it was our enemies, striking us when we least expected it. Some say it was our own government, trying to create such a catastrophic event that we give up some of our freedoms. But I know the truth. The actual truth behind 9/11.
This site tends to have a lot of goofs and gaffes, but this time is different. This time the information I’m about to give you could get me in some deep water. But I have to take that risk. I need people to know the truth. To be totally honest, I don’t exactly know who would even come after me once I leak the truth, but I do have some hunches. But that’s a different story.
It was a cold, Maryland morning when I arrived at the hospital. My editor had sent me to Howard County, Maryland so I could report on the juicy new development of the Kings Meade pond repair project beginning, something our Brazilian readers were dying to hear about. That’s when, as I walked down Peppermint Street, I noticed something very strange. A store that was just called “The Truth”.
This place probably was just a tourist trap, yet I was so intrigued I needed to see what was inside. As I entered I immediately felt a chill down my spine, the store was like something out of a horror story. Cobwebs adorned the shelves alongside what looked to be centuries old books. Ancient ominous artifacts were littered all over the store, artifacts that looked like they were from an age eons ago when necromancy was prevalent. The weird place seemed like it was from another country, hell, maybe even another dimension. That’s when the owner walked out.
I jumped when I first heard the low droning cackle coming from nowhere. Behind me was a positively impossibly old man, his eyes, teeth and skin yellow with age, wrinkles folding all over his body like a high duned desert. Wisps of hair fell from his bony head, almost as if they were smoke. He laughed low at me, more like a cough and stared through my soul. Then, in a high pitched, crypt keeper voice, he said:
“Horns of bone
And skin of black
Washing tone
Certificate lack”
I’m ashamed to admit this readers, because I wish I got more from this strange old man, but I sprinted. I sprinted and when I turned to have one last look at the place I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.
It was a Starbucks.
The Truth had disappeared. I was confused, scared and I desperately wanted to get out of Howard County, but something kept me there. Curiosity, probably. But as they say, curiosity killed the reporter. Hopefully, I would not be killed.
I started to ask around town about “The Truth”, but everyone seemed really apprehensive to talk about it. Everyone either avoided the conversation or called me retarded. “Obviously it was a Starbucks, you idiot. Why would a store randomly change? That’s just stupid”. I was almost ready to give up when I saw a man standing at a corner, staring at me. He was in hunting gear, was about mid-forties and was what you’d expect from a small town redneck. Scruff, wild hair, scars, and worn skin. He gestured behind him and then turned, disappearing into the crowd. I tore after him, just barely getting glimpses of his orange jacket along the way. Finally, I turned a corner and was slammed against a wall. It was the man.
“”Horns of bone and skin of black. Washing tone, Certificate lack. Is that what he said?” he demanded to know
“Yes, oh god please don’t rape me!”
“Listen I-” the man stopped “Wait, what? Nevermind, listen– you need to go to the woods. Find the center. Find the ans–”
Suddenly, the man dropped to the ground with a huge arrow sticking out of his back. Just as quickly as the man died, the cops came careening around the corner.
“HEY! YOU! STOP!” they cried
What else could I do, reader? I ran like hell. Ducking and diving between the people on the busy Howard County streets, I managed to avoid the cops. I looked around and found myself on the outskirts of town. At the edge was the woods. I swallowed hard and took my first steps to finding the truth.
It was a long walk to the middle of the woods, so long that it went into the night. I was pushing past the brush and low hanging trees, their limbs swatting and cutting me like they were trying to hinder my progress. But nothing was stopping me. Especially after I saw the light. I crept into a bush about ten yards away from the light and saw it belonged to a little cottage. Slowly, I approached the cottage and creaked open the unlocked door. What I saw will resonate with me for the rest of my potentially short life.
There were pictures, blueprints and plane schedules everywhere along the walls. The World Trade Center was in the middle of the cottage, X’d out in big red paint. Schematics of commercial airplanes were littered all over the floor and a big sign that read: “Things that can melt steel beams: Lazers, Jet fuel, the sun and Explosions” was prominently featured on the wall. That’s when I saw it.
It was simple really, the way I found who the perpetrator of 9/11 was. A picture of himself and his family was left on his desk. I walked over and picked it up, my incredibly long journey flashing back in my head. The words the old man had said. The hunter who told me to go to the woods. Maryland. This is why I was here. To find out…
9/11 was done by Goatman.
I escaped quickly, hopefully not altering the Goatman and immediately typed this out. I don’t know how much time I have left. You need to tell the world. It was Goatman. IT WAS GOATMAN.
