by reporter Mary Johnson
Ebonie Pollock, "Come Get Your Medicine"
Wildwood County is a place history has not heard from since it was struck by the supposed ‘Wildwood Fever’.
The name is a misnomer, because it only struck the town Dripping Springs, not the other two, Ackerman and Bedford. No one has bothered to change the name, though. No one really knows what it is, after all. So many rumors have circulated about Wildwood Fever, from melting your organs to inducing seizures at a particular noise to out of control paranoia.
Why the hysteria? Simple: Wildwood County folk heavily rely on divination, and it failed them. This failure came as a shock, since each town member meticulously plotted out the weather, the work days, the time off, through astrology and other divination. It’s not uncommon to hear “Stay safe during Mercury Retrograde!” while going about.
What actually caused the failure? Well, after the disappearance of all the townspeople, the place was put on lockdown for a while by Ackerman and Bedford, to become an urban myth. Fences shot up around the vicinity, left without surveillance. However, the fences have been broken into by partiers and teenagers looking for a cheap thrill. My team of investigators decided to check out what was left of Dripping Springs and finally find the answers.
Upon arrival, it's clear the place is largely untouched - buildings are weathered down, signs are left mostly intact, there's no sight of anyone. A few buildings have been damaged, however - mainly broken windows, probably by looters. One building is mysteriously completely destroyed, although nothing else surrounding it was torched.
Walking through aisles of broken glass, it's easy to find the library. One of my team members spot dusty journals by a computer. The writing looks rushed, and letters are left off of words as if in a hurry. The data written there looks like moon phases plotted down to the degree. Astrological signs are paired next to them, and the words 'VOID OF COURSE' is circled multiple times, next to the date July 31st. Could this possibly be when the townspeople disappeared?
Upon further prodding, we also found a diary, behind a bookshelf, open. A thick layer of dust concealed the sloppy writing underneath. It contained few words, but many drawings. Most of the drawings are crossed out in furious ink lines. Disturbed, we moved on from there.
Some houses further down the road have been graffitied with various slurs. Empty bottles litter dead lawns, and furniture from other houses line the sidewalks. The eeriness of the landscape haunted us.
We stepped into one of the houses that was somehow left untouched by partygoers. We found out why: the walls of a bedroom have tiny handwriting all screaming the same thing: LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! and in one corner: BEFORE THE FEVER CATCHES YOU! At that moment, we felt it was time to leave - the sun was setting anyway, and our newspaper agency wanted a report of our findings by midnight that night.
The answer to what caused the failure failed to appear as we put together the pieces in the editing room. Had Wildwood Fever actually existed? Surely, it's effects were obvious; the residents were clearly in a paranoid state of mind. But, if it had existed, where did it's residents go? We found no bones, after all, and all belongings were in place. There was even dinner on the table at one house.
Death was ruled out; so was moving away. Could they have moved underground possibly?
Next Month: We investigate the underground claim, and find out what's really buried six feet under.
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