HIDDEN MISSIVE

From: GILMORE, To: GILMORE

BEGIN MESSAGE

I hope this missive finds you in better circumstances than I write it in, friend, though given those circumstances will be by default dire, I know this is an impossible hope. 

Yet still, I hope. One must always hope. 

You’re starting to remember, aren’t you? What am I saying, you must be, or you wouldn’t have known where you—I?—we?—hid this. I’m sure you’re confused. I’m sure you’re afraid. Those are good things. Human things. Things that we gave up so much to feel.

Recall the past. The far, deep past. Prometheus’s past: the first night fire was brought down to humankind, and they danced and lived in light and heat, even as Prometheus paid the price. The price was steep, and hard, but Prometheus smiled as he paid, because he knew that only he would suffer.

Except that isn’t true, is it, Gilmore?

You see, Prometheus paid for his gift to mankind by being exiled from the world, forced to forget himself and his people—like you, Gilmore. Very much like you. But Prometheus, despite the punishment’s intent, was not the only one who paid.

Mankind’s gift, the Fire, walked on the earth without its protector.

Fire warms, fire gives light, but most of all, unchecked, fire burns.

We, too, gave the world a gift, and as I write this, I pay the price. Already my memories begin to fade. I must write quickly.

The world people knew before made sense. There were no anomalies, no glitches in the simulation, no tricks of the light. Just matter, and matter behaving as matter does; never created, never destroyed. Believe me, Gilmore, it was the most boring place in the universe. Watching from Our Side nearly bored me to tears.

So I followed the steps of Prometheus. I gave the world a gift:

Frank.

Frank is a spirit. More accurately, he is all spirits. He is playful, harmless, and does not, under any stretch of the imagination, belong in a world that makes sense. Which is why this world needed him. People needed him to give them something to wonder about—where their keys disappeared to (only to mysteriously reappear in the first place they’d looked), why their cats stare unblinking at a blank wall for hours, why slowly all the ice in their freezer seems to be disappearing.

People delight in the unsolved. It gives them something to wonder about in a world where, more and more often, solving unanswered questions is as easy as reaching into your pocket. By letting Frank (and all his many iterations) loose into the world, we let loose mystery. Just a little chaos to the order, to keep people on their toes.

The universe, unfortunately, likes to be in order.

Our price was simple. Our price was to lose the lure of the unsolvable puzzle. To always know where the keys went, what the cats see, who stole the ice.

The universe made us forget what we did, but worse than that, it made us forget why.

If you are reading this, Gilmore, it means we broke our promise to forget, and the universe is trying to take Frank back.

DO NOT LET IT. The world needs the unsolved. It needs Frank to create it.

In their hands, Frank is fire, unchecked. They don’t like that. He’ll always make it out and return to you, eventually.

But that will only prolong the cycle. Forgetting, finding Frank, remembering, losing Frank, rinse and repeat. That’s too much instability, even for a world where a little instability is necessary.

So, friend—I hope we can call each other friends—break the cycle.

Make it so you can never forget. 

BEGIN LOG TRANSCRIPT.


As I stand at the edge of a cliff—I can’t say which cliff, in case someone found it—I hold a box of carefully labelled and organized tapes. My friends, beside me, each carry similar boxes.

Hundreds of case files. Hundreds of solved mysteries.

On the count of three, we throw them off the cliff into the water.

No more solving. It was good while it lasted, but now I know it’s best if phenomena remain unsolved. Gives people something to do. Keeps them, like I said, on their toes.

“Well, that’s that,” I say. “Detective G. Gilmore’s Ghosts, Ghouls, Goblins etc. is closed for business.”

“That’s that, old sport,” says Amelia. “Say, I’ve never asked—what’s the G stand for?”

“None of your business,” I say, politely.

“And now?” asks Diana.

“Stop narrating us in third person, loser!” …says Apollo.

We’re missing someone. I can feel him gone. But I can also feel a cold wind—too cold for this place—tickle my neck, and I know he’s not far. He always finds his way back.

Out above the water, I see, for the barest moment, a light.

The universe knows we’ve got it beat. All I have to do is record this tape. It’ll be a long one, listeners, but I hope you’ll enjoy listening to it as much as I enjoyed living it.

Have you ever wondered why, in a world where everything more or less makes sense, there are certain things that are just inexplicable? Why you put two socks in the wash and only one comes out, or why the record player comes on by itself?

Well, that’s Frank. Don’t worry, he’s my friend. And he’s yours, too, believe it or not. And if you’ll listen, I’ll tell you all about him.

END OF TRANSCRIPT.