To whoever may find this in the coming years:
My name is Rune Olhouser. As of writing this note, I am 26 years old, but by the time I turn 27, you will be long dead. Firstly, a description of myself you will promptly replace with your own imagining. I have long, blond hair, and blue eyes. I have tattoos running down my right arm, each with a story of its own. I was born in a haunted house in October, and I suppose that’s why I’ve been so attracted to the supernatural. It’s what got me into this adventure in the first place.
It started when I ran into Jatur. I was 17, just starting my senior year of high school, and I was on a walk around my neighborhood. I saw a man that looked just a bit older than me run down a side street like he was being chased. I assumed he was up to no good and started running after him. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw him jump the gate of an old house that was rumored to be haunted.
I had of course already explored that house. Not only that, but I had mentally mapped out the entire property. I snuck in myself, saw that the door was ajar, and so went inside. The fellow I had followed was leaning against the wall opposite the door. His eyes seemed to glow out of the shadow of his cyan hood.
He spoke nothing, simply melted through the wall. I approached the wall and pushed my hand against it. It was there, but at the same time, I could push through it. It was like a plastic bag that, once it reached its breaking point, simply allowed you to pass through it. Pushing my head through, I saw the fellow floating in a square room.
It seemed to be a room like any of the other tattered and forgotten rooms in the house, but I could not fit it into my mental map. It should have intersected with other rooms; most of it would be part of the dining room. The fellow’s eyes lit up the room with a strangely soothing blue light, and I could just barely make out the smile of his mouth.
I feel I must tell my story, even if it is very likely no one will ever read it. Even if you do read it, you will never know what that smile meant. All I remember from afterward is his name, and that the house we were in never officially existed. I began my exploration of any haunted house I could find, in hopes I would find Jatur again, and be able to find out what happened, but since I fly tonight, I will never get the chance to find him. Perhaps you will have better luck in your search, or perhaps you will forget you ever read this, and get on with your survival in this new world.