The Devil's Observatory

 In my younger and more adventurous days, I was up for any challenge. At the time, I had recently snagged a role as a guest contributor to several well-known magazines. My hook was the paranormal beat and the Ripley's Believe or Not stuff. I'd take road trips to all kinds of weird and obscure places and write about what I encountered there. Often, it was a disappointment, but the articles I got out of my sojourns always got published. After a while, I even began to get letters with various suggestions on where to go next. There was a Fortean Society near Pittsburgh that took great interest in my work. One day, I got a letter saying that my next expedition should be to a place called The Devil's Observatory. Here was its backstory according to the letter:

***

It is a remote place in southern Idaho. Even the locals are afraid to venture close to it. The land is rugged and sparsely populated. Although it is good for ranching, there are often freak storms year round that discouraged anyone from staying there too long. There is a single jagged peak that towers over the landscape, and it was there that an eccentric millionaire named Oswald Wagner built an observatory. He gathered followers and there were rumors of strange rituals relating to the stars. After a few locals went missing, the sheriff and some deputies went to investigate, but no one was there. There weren't even any human remains. It is as if they all literally disappeared into thin air. Several dozen people had all gone missing without a trace. 30 years later, no one has any idea where they are.

***

Well, I had no hopes of solving the mystery, but I did want to get a good look at the place and at least photograph it for posterity. It took me three days of driving just to get within 10 miles of the place and I spent two more days driving around on dirt roads looking for it. I had anticipated this sort of trouble and filled some gas cans at the last service station I passed. The last thing I wanted was to end up stranded in the middle of nowhere. That place was a dot on the highway town of about 50 people some 20 miles away from the observatory. It was the kind of place that had a "LAST GAS FOR 70 MILES" sign right next to the town welcome sign. The main employer was a combo general store, diner, bar, and motel. I got the feeling that not many people passed through the town this time of year.  

My favorite part of any trip like this was the detective work. I decided to hang out in the bar for a few hours one night. There were only four of us in there the night including the bar tender. I bought everyone a round, played a game of darts and pool, and then bought another round. They must have gotten wise to me as I suspect few strangers in that place had ever been so generous. We were all comfortably liquored up, so I figured that now was the time to crack the ice. You'd be surprised at the sorts of things you learn from hanging out in bars.

"OK, you know I'm not from around here. And you probably figured there I wasn't buying you drinks unless I wanted something, so here goes. I'm a reporter and I'm here to do a story on the Devil's Observatory. The problem is, I can't find the place. I drove around all day yesterday looking for it. I know it's up on that mountain somewhere, but the road stops halfway up. Is there another one or do I need to hoof it up there?"

One of the bar flies broke the pack on the pool table. Then there was an awkward silence. It seemed I had struck a nerve. Hopefully I hadn't worn out my welcome. The bartender tapped the counter to get my attention. I turned to face him. He was plump, bald, about 50, with a serious face and a washboard forehead. I could tell he'd seen a lot in his time. 

"Fella, you seem nice. My advice is to just go back where you came from and make up a story. No good will come from finding that place. You're not the first guy to come through here looking for it. I don't what happened to the others who went up that mountain, but it sure as hell wasn't good. One of them, he never came back to check out of the motel. He left some of his stuff there. I can show it to you if you don't believe me."

"I'd like to see it. If a missing person report hasn't already been filed, I'd like to help with that."

"My wife runs the motel. She filed a missing person report for that guy seven years ago. One of his relatives came here looking for him. We told everything we knew to him and the police. As far as we know, he's never been found. Please, don't go looking for that place."

I decided it was time to play hardball, so I took out a wad of cash, flicked out a few $20 bills and held it in front of him."

"If you help me find it, I'll be sure to make it worth your while. I never like leaving empty-handed."

"I can see there's no use trying to change your mind. OK, I'll draw a map for you, but I'm not giving it to you until you make me a promise."

"And what's that?"

He took a .38 revolver from under the counter and slid it toward me.

"This ain't much, but it's better than nothing. Promise me you'll take it with you. I'll take that money in case you don't bring it back."

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you. Don't worry, I'll bring it back. I promise."

He went into the back room for a few minutes and drew a map. It was folded up tight when he handed it to me. My work for the night was done.

"Well, gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be seeing you again tomorrow evening or next."

They said nothing as I headed back to my room to sleep. There was a horrific thunderstorm that night. Hopefully the weather would be better in the morning. I spent an hour studying the map the bartender had drawn. It was easy enough to follow. I was confident I'd find the observatory in the morning. 

I left bright an early the next day and paid in advance for what I expected to be my next night in the room. The drive to the mountain passed by quickly it seemed. The weather was beautiful, with clear skies and no wind. I drove up the mountain and kept my eyes peeled for the hidden turn shown on the map. At last, the observatory came into view. It was a modest building about the size of a barn, though it loomed over the cottage next to it. It looked more like a lighthouse than an observatory, except for the cupola on top and the protruding telescope. 

As luck would have up, the door to the observatory was unlocked. It'd be more surprising if anything was locked in a place this remote. I paused for some time to photograph the exterior of both buildings. The architecture was vaguely Victorian with a hint of Gothic. There was something very unsettling about the place, even in broad daylight. I began to wish I'd brought a companion. I went back to my car to get a flashlight and the revolver, which I tucked into my belt. I was much of a marksman, but that revolver was certainly heavy enough to make a good bludgeon if need be. 

I decided to explore the cottage first. To my surprise and delight, I found what appeared to be a study almost immediately and took some more photographs. Oswald's journal was open on his desk. It was hard to resist temptation, so simply pocketed the thing. Most other investigators at this point would have left satisfied, but not me. I always went the extra mile and then some. 

As I exited the house, I looked to the horizon and saw ominous, dark clouds approaching. I'd have to work fast to finish photographing the observatory. At least, I was determined to get a good shot from the roof while the weather was still good. I entered the observatory and peered up at the spiral staircase leading to the top. I had always been afraid of heights. It was my main weakness. The see-through grating on the steps jangled my nerves even more. I could feel the sweat on my palms as I held firmly to the guardrails. Though it was only about a 50-foot climb, as I checked my watch, it took me a better part of an hour to reach the top. 

By this time, the storm was nearly upon the mountain. The wind was beginning to blow hard. With some trepidation, I got a few more good shots of the interior and the view from the top. Satisfied, I began the agonizing descent. At least, I reached the ground floor and exited the gloomy place. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw a mysterious robed figure examining my car. While his back was still turned, I reached for the revolver and cocked it. The figure must have heard the sound and immediately turned. I have never in my life seen a face like his. His skin was gray. His head was large with a small slit for a mouth and black almond eyes. Not sure of what else to do, I fired a shot into the air. The figure seemed to dissipate like steam from a kettle. I kicked myself for not photographing the thing. 

I got back in my car, started the engine, and headed back the way I came, but a bit faster this time. I breathed a sigh of relief once I got back on the road back to town, though that was still a good half an hour away. In the rearview mirror, a massive glowing shape loomed. I accelerated instinctively, but in a few seconds, it was upon me. Then my car was bathed in an eerie blue light for a few seconds while my ears were blasted with a loud, unearthly hum. I nearly lost consciousness and drove into town in a sort of stupor, half-awake. 

I went to the bar to return the revolver and as soon as I entered, I heard gasps of fright. I put the revolver back on the counter plus a quarter for the shot I fired. 

The bartender was speechless; his mouth agape in shock. I went back to my motel room and answered the call of nature. Then I looked in the mirror.

All my hair had turned white, and my skin was deathly pale. I collapsed on my bed. When I came to, I was strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance. For the past few weeks, I have been held incommunicado and against my will inside the infirmary of some sort of military base. All my possessions were taken from me and then returned a few hours later except my camera, the map, and Oswald's notebook. I am allowed to write letters but am not sure if they ever get delivered. I have been interrogated over and over about what happened that day. Perhaps someday I will be released from this place. My health has been getting worse. My main regret is never finding out what was in that notebook. At least someone is reading it now.