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Witness Statement

Author: 

  • Transfemme

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • 500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre: 

  • Transformations

Character Age: 

  • College / Twenties

TG Themes: 

  • Sweet / Sentimental

Other Keywords: 

  • cancan
  • transdimensional
  • Fantasy-Sci Fi
  • stockings
  • Garters
  • Knickers
  • Panties

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

Tracy Lane, 2026.

Witness Statement

From: Sightings Magazine, February 2014.
Witness Statement; Brixton, UK.
Source: Anonymous.


You probably won't believe this…but I recently discovered a portal in my apartment. Literally stumbled over it three months ago.

No, I can't prove it. Nobody can prove it. The scientific method simply doesn't apply in this case. Can't be sure, but I think it exists outside the parameters of conventional physics. It radiates no energy, gives off no heat and emits no light within any spectrum, visible or otherwise. Direct observation is impossible; it cannot be examined, tested or measured.

Mainly because it isn't always open.

But when it is, it takes me away for a few minutes. Or hours. Or days. Hard to tell. Stepping over takes its toll on the mind; quantum paradoxes, altered perceptions. No sequence of events. Sorry. Difficult to write, impossible to describe. The portal. Unstable. Singularity in the alcove. Blinking on and off, never one way nor the other. Threshold, vestibule. Doorway to other places. Like Narnia, only no wardrobe, witch or lion.

Portal.
No, singularity.
No, singularities.

It Hovers. No, they hover. In the alcove before the doorway. Never quite there until I step through. They watch from the foyer when the door is neither open nor closed. Gateway. Rift. Fracture. Inside. Outside. Upside. Downside. Like in that Stephen King book.

Focus.

At first I thought I was time‑traveling to different points in the 20th century, but then I began to realize that these were anomalies in the fabric of the multiverse, temporal fragments of realities which never really existed. The experience itself is a little like lucid dreaming, except for being wide awake. That's how it feels: terrifying and exhilarating, stepping between worlds and the voids beyond them.

Sorry. Tangent. It's the portal. It does that to you. Scrambles your thoughts. Nothing makes sense after the first few trips. Nothing makes sense after the last few trips. The singularity warps everything out of shape, no matter which direction you turn, no matter which direction they turn. There's more than one. There has to be. No other explanation.

OK: the Portal in my Alcove.

No idea how such a thing could possibly exist, no idea how an Einstein‑Rosen Bridge could have formed in a Brixton tower block, so I don't blame you for doubting my story. I doubt it myself, doubt my own sanity most of the time. All the same: it's there. They are there. They hover in the alcove before doorway, neither open nor closed, until I step through. And when I do, I change — both in body and in mind — until they bring me home to this world.

The memories don't last long, which is why I have to set this down as soon as possible. Before the images fade, turn gray and distant and lustreless. The recollections are already starting to dim in the back of my mind, most of it's gone already. Can't wait any longer, the words are starting to lose all meaning.

Remember.

So many times, so many places, so many worlds.
So many forms.

Every time the portal opened, I was carried into a life that felt both alien and intimately my own. Sometimes it was only a flicker of strangeness, a borrowed word or a misplaced street sign. Other times, it was a full immersion — an identity so complete that I forgot who I was before.

I'm about to describe one of those times.

The transfer itself is impossible to predict. I could sometimes feel a vague tug beforehand, like a thread tightening at the edge of my awareness, but the moment of passage always caught me off guard.

It lasted only a fraction of a second, yet it stretched out to eternity. A micro‑second elongated until it felt like whole lifetimes were passing in the space between one breath and the next. The ground seemed to vanish beneath me, my body dissolving and reforming in the same instant. Stars glittered behind my eyelids, blazing like miniature supernovae, while the air itself bent and warped around me. And then, without warning, I was simply there — thrust unceremoniously into another world, another life, another body.

A female body.

I glanced about as I always did, wavering and disoriented. That would pass as soon as I got my bearings, as soon as I understood where — and who — I was.

It was early evening, probably late autumn judging by the vague chill in the air. I was standing inside a British military barracks where the troops were preparing for some kind of amateur show. The lighting and décor suggested the mid‑forties, but some anachronisms were apparent — the electrical systems seemed more advanced than they should have been. While everything seemed perfectly normal, I was still slightly dazed from the sudden transfer. I looked around again, taking in the immediate surroundings, then checked the time and date on my handphone. It said something like 6:30 EV Fiveday. I couldn’t quite make out the year, as it seemed to jump between decades as I read the numbers.

Handphone? I thought, Fiveday? The words sounded both natural and unfamiliar, as if I'd forgotten something I'd known all my life. The handphone (cell phone?) also looked somehow wrong. Too large, too heavy, too many buttons and studs and wires. It was clearly some kind of analogue device, yet appeared to have limited digital functions. And what about the date? Why did it keep changing?

Temporal flux, a voice spoke up from my subconscious, different universe. Different rules. Different laws.

I was trying to calibrate the chronometer when I heard someone clear their throat directly behind me. I turned and saw an impeccably groomed Captain approaching from the officers' lounge. He asked if I were the evening's entertainment. I blinked momentarily — I understood his words perfectly, but he was speaking a dialect of English I'd never heard before. Paradoxically, it sounded both native and foreign at the same time. The accent was restrained and cultured, and I immediately understood he'd grown up in a place called Oxforte.

The officer — whose name was Clark, or Clarke or something similar — repeated his question. I snapped momentarily out of my fugue, glancing down at myself to realise I was indeed "the evening's entertainment." I was dressed in a parti-coloured cabaret outfit with thick layering underneath. I could also feel elaborate hose and corsetry clipped into place around my thighs and torso. It should have been an uncomfortable revelation, but once more, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Nodding my reply, I followed him up to a makeshift stage where the resident musician was tuning up on the piano. The audience burst into applause, cheering loud enough to shake the rafters. The officer took my handphone and asked if I wanted him to take some lightpix with it. I replied Yesplease and made my way across the floorboards toward the pianoman, waving toward the assembled crowd. I felt an inexplicable sense of affection for them, and the expression bravelads flickered on and off in my mind's eye, along with an image of soldiers marching off to war with the Unionjack soaring overhead.

The pianoman struck up a jaunty rhythm, his fingers hammering the keys with reckless precision. The notes rang out sharp and bright, echoing against the rafters as though the whole barracks had been transformed into a music hall.

I lifted my skirts, the fabric catching the lamplight in shimmering folds, and kicked my legs high in time with the melody. The stockings flashed black, garters snapped white, and the crowd roared their approval, clapping in unison until the sound became a thunderous pulse beneath my feet.

Each step felt both familiar and strange — my body moved with the ease of long practice, yet I knew I had never danced this way before. The floorboards trembled under the rhythm of my boots, and for a fleeting instant I thought I could hear another set of footsteps, faint and ghostly, keeping pace with mine.

The soldiers shouted encouragement, their voices blending into a single chant that rose and fell with the music. I spun, skirts flaring like a golden wheel, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to pause as if the dance itself were pulling me deeper into the fabric of this world.

I smiled, breathless, feeling a rush of affection for these bravelads — men who laughed and clapped as though the war outside had been banished by a few kicks and twirls. Their faces blurred in the lamplight, yet their joy was unmistakable, and I found myself dancing harder, faster, determined to give them every ounce of delight I could summon.

The music faded into a final flourish, and the hall erupted once more in applause. Breathless, I lowered my skirts and stepped forward, where a cluster of bravelads surged toward the stage. Their faces were flushed with laughter, their eyes shining with gratitude. One by one they reached for my hand, some clasping it firmly, others leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek. I smiled at each of them in turn, consciously pushing aside the thought that many of these goodboyz would never return after they shippedout.

The young captain (Clark or Clarke or whatever) was hovering at the edge of the stage, nodding discretely toward the Officer's Lounge. I shook my head in gentle response. I couldn't abandon the lads so soon, not when their spirits were lifted by something as simple as a song and a smile. I slipped away toward the punchbowl with a polite excuse, the scent of citrus and spice teasing my nose. As I lifted the crystaline ladle, I felt the faintest tug at the edge of my consciousness, like the room was gradually listing to starboard. I barely noticed it at first, too caught up in the warmth of the moment. But the tug grew stronger, insistent, until the room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

The transition was instantaneous, a whirling rush of oblivion as I slid sideways in time. Infinity seemed to consume itself from the inside out: I was everywhere and everything; I was nowhere and nothing. Reality collapsed in on itself then cascaded back into blinding, radiant existence...

Then suddenly, shockingly — it was over.

I was back in my apartment, the cell phone lying near the now-dormant portal. Apparently, it had returned with me as the anomaly winked out of existence. I paused, righting myself, lightheaded and disoriented. Where had I been, when had I been? How long had I been away? No idea. Could been days, could've been hours, could've been seconds. Impossible to tell: different universe: temporal flux. Memories tangled, confused, distorted by the passage through the singularity. Had any of it actually happened? It could almost have been an hallucination…

Except for the Lightpix I discovered when I checked through the phone's gallery...


Postscript (Editor's Note):

After reviewing this purported witness statement, we attempted to verify certain details. To our surprise, fragments of corroborating evidence turned up in a number of contemporary sources.

In the archives of a local paper — the Annadale Advocate — we uncovered a brief, yellowed clipping dated late 1942. It described a chorus girl who allegedly vanished into thin air following a performance for troops stationed at Brixton Military Barracks. The report was vague, contradictory, and quickly buried among wartime dispatches.

More curiously, a set of faded photographs surfaced in a private collection — grainy images of a can‑can dancer performing beneath a Union Jack, her skirts flaring as soldiers applauded. The prints are damaged, the provenance uncertain, but the resemblance to the witness account is uncanny.

No one seems to know who she was, or where she came from. The only detail repeated across sources is her name.

She was called Jean.


Jean dances the cancan.

Digital Echoes

Author: 

  • Transfemme

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Short-short < 500 words

Genre: 

  • Transformations

Character Age: 

  • College / Twenties

TG Themes: 

  • Accidental

TG Elements: 

  • Performer/Entertainer

Other Keywords: 

  • Fantasy-Sci Fi

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

Tracy Lane, 2026.

Digital Echoes

Sightings Magazine Feature:
The Vanishing Chorus Girl


RE: The Jane Doe Mystery
Continued from Sightings Vol 14, No. 11.


After our initial article went to press, Sightings received a flood of reader feedback. While most of the correspondence was quickly dismissed as fraudulent or cases of mistaken identity, a handful contained snapshots and Polaroids that lent unexpected credence to their claims. One correspondent even submitted a grainy 35mm home movie in which "Jean" — and, astonishingly, her oft‑noted pianist — can be seen performing at a regional televised talent quest.

As our investigation continued, we uncovered a now‑defunct late-1990s website dedicated to wartime mysteries. Buried among its pages were previously unpublished accounts and photographs of "Jean Doe," documenting her enigmatic appearances well into the mid‑1960s. Strangely, despite the passage of years, the woman in these images does not appear to have aged.

The implications are unsettling. If genuine, these fragments suggest that Jean's appearances were not confined to wartime barracks, but extended into civilian venues, across decades, and even onto broadcast television.

Continued overleaf.


From the archived site wartimemysteries.com (last updated 1998):

THE VANISHING CANCAN GIRL – WHO WAS JEAN DOE???

We have COLLECTED many strange reports from soldiers & civilians alike about a dancer who APPEARED at Brixton Barracks in 1942 and then DISAPPEARED without trace. Some say she was a CHORUS GIRL, others say she was a SPY.

What is most STRANGE is that she was SEEN again in 1947, 1953, even 1965 (!!) and she NEVER LOOKED OLDER. Same legs, same smile, same UNION JACK behind her on stage.

We have PHOTOS (see gallery page – WARNING: slow load times) and letters from veterans who SWEAR she spoke English but in a WEIRD DIALECT.

Who was JEAN DOE? Was she HUMAN? Was she a GHOST? Or something ELSE???

If YOU have seen her, please EMAIL us at wartimemysteries @ aol.com


Reader Email to Sightings (received March 2014):

"Hello, I don't know if this is the right place to send this, but after reading your article about the vanishing can‑can girl I had to write. I swear I saw her myself. It was 1968, at a civic hall talent night in Birmingham. She called herself Jean, spoke perfect English but with a strange lilt I couldn't quite place. She danced like nothing I'd ever seen, high kicks, stockings flashing, and there was a man at the piano who seemed to know her every move.

What struck me most was how she looked — young, radiant, not a day older than the photos you printed from the war years. I remember thinking she didn't belong, like she'd stepped out of another time. And then, halfway through the show, she was gone. No announcement, no exit, just vanished. People laughed it off, but I never forgot.

I don't expect you to believe me, but I still have a Polaroid from that night. It's grainy, but you can see her leg raised mid‑kick, and the pianist hammering away at the keys. If you want, I can send it along."

Continued page 19.


Editor's Note:

Space does not permit us to publish every verified account of Jane Doe's appearances subsequent to the Brixton Incident. However, in the interest of clarity and completeness, the editorial staff has chosen to reproduce extracts from the most outstanding examples — particularly those accompanied by snapshots and press clippings — as may be seen below.


"I was there."
Private Harold Wainwright (ret.), interview excerpt

"She danced like nothing I'd ever seen before. Lord, those legs — every man swore they were the finest. But it wasn't just that. She looked at you like you mattered. And then she was gone. No door, no exit. Just vanished."

A Cover Up?
Extract from War Office Memorandum, 1942

"Captain Adrian Clarke was unable to explain how the civilian performer arrived on base in violation of protocols. No papers examined, no background verified. Incident logged under Miscellaneous – Entertainment."

Liverpool, 1949
Corporal Wayne Stockland (ret.) letter to the editor

"I was stationed at a dockside canteen show, and there was a dancer who seemed out of place. I never knew her name, but when I saw your magazine's photo, I recognized her instantly. Same face, same smile. She looked far too young for someone who'd been performing during the war."

Glasgow, 1952
Name withheld, letter to the editor

"She appeared at a charity revue in the city. Everyone thought she was just another chorus girl, but she had a strange aura, like she was both part of the show and apart from it. I hadn't thought of her in years until I saw your article. The pianist was there too, playing with uncanny precision."

Manchester, 1957
Mr. Ronald Higgins, letter to the editor:

"I was a teenager at the time, sneaking into a music hall. There was a blonde dancer who seemed to glow under the lights. I never caught her name, but when I saw the Sightings piece, I knew it was her. She looked exactly the same as in the wartime photographs you printed — no older, no different."

London, 1963
Name withheld, letter to the editor:

"She turned up at a televised talent contest. I remember because my family watched it together, and we all remarked how unusual she was. She didn't seem to belong to the same decade as the other acts. When I saw your magazine's spread, I felt compelled to write. I don't know who she is, but I know I saw her."

Sheffield, 1966
Mr. Albert Jackston, letter to the editor

"...this was back in my longshoreman days, maybe the fall of '66. I dropped in for a drink at a dockside working men's club, don't recall the name, might've been The Riverside or something similar. Anyway, there was a pianist and a revue dancer who performed a short set. No one announced their names. When I saw your photos, I felt a chill. It was her. The same woman from the war years, unchanged. I don't know how that's possible, but I swear it's true."


Reader Letter (received April 2014):

"Listen, you people don't understand what you're dealing with. This so‑called 'Jean Doe' is NOT just some chorus girl. She is connected to the Philadelphia Experiment, mark my words. The Navy tried to make a ship invisible in '43, and what happened? People fused into bulkheads, some vanished entirely. 'Jean' was one of them — she slipped through the dimensional rift and reappeared at Brixton Barracks.

And don't think for a second she's human. The dialect everyone talks about? That’s the speech pattern of the Lizard People who live under London. They've been infiltrating our society for centuries, and Jean is their emissary. Why else would she never age? Why else would she vanish without a trace?

Furthermore, the Green Children of Woolpit — remember them? Two kids who appeared out of nowhere in medieval England, speaking strange words, eating only beans. Jean is the same phenomenon, only dressed up in stockings and garters. She's the grown‑up version, the continuation of that lineage.

You can laugh, but the evidence is all there if you connect the dots. Jean Doe is the key to understanding the hidden history of Britain, the experiments gone wrong, and the reptilian infiltration. Ignore this at your peril."


Editorial Note:

While we appreciate the enthusiasm of our readers, the above letter ventures into territory best described as "highly speculative." Connections to the Philadelphia Experiment, reptilian infiltration, and medieval folklore are entertaining, but we leave it to our audience to judge the merits. We include this correspondence strictly for archival purposes.

Continued page 42.


Expert Commentary: Dr. Nathan Ralston
British Center for Paranormal Research

"Manifestations of this kind are extremely rare. Our case files since the Second World War contain only scattered reports, and most are fragmentary. However, precedents exist. In the 19th century, similar phenomena were recorded in Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and parts of Northern Europe. The phenomenon has been variously described as Genius Loci, Place Memory, or Metapsychic Resonance.

"What makes the 'Jean Doe' case unique is her mobility. Most manifestations are confined to a single location, consistent with what is popularly known as the Stone Tape Theory. Jean, and to a lesser extent her pianist, appeared in multiple places across decades. This suggests a geographically unstable temporal expatriate—a rare condition in which the subject is not bound to one site but drifts across time and space.

"There may be a connection to the 'timeslips' reported in the Northern Hinterlands between 1944 and the late 1970s. The War Office itself employed the informal designation 'Brixton Jean' in mid‑40s memos, indicating official awareness. Leading theorists — Velikovsky, Von Däniken, Sitchin, Tsoukalos — have all speculated on similar anomalies, though none with this degree of persistence."


Editorial Note:

Dr. Nathan Ralston holds a PhD in philosophy from Chamberlain University and has authored several self‑published works on the Electric Universe and Plasma Cosmology. While his interpretations are controversial, his emphasis on "temporal expatriates" adds a provocative dimension to the ongoing mystery.


Epilogue: The Letters That Began It All

When Sightings received the first unsigned letters describing The Brixton Incident, the editorial staff treated them as curiosities — rambling, unreliable, the product of a disorganized mind. Yet as testimonies accumulated, photographs surfaced, and archival fragments were unearthed, those missives began to look less like fantasy and more like fractured witness statements.

The implications for the author are unsettling. According to their own convoluted testimonies, "Jean Doe" is merely one of many identities they have adopted during innumerable time‑traveling excursions. The letters speak of portals, anomalies, and therethens — temporal fragments which the narrator claims to have lived and experienced. Initially dismissed as delusion, these accounts now demand closer examination, particularly since the preponderance of evidence supports the existence of 'Brixton Jean' herself.

If the narrator is to be believed, they are not merely describing Jean — they are Jean, or at least one of her incarnations. The Pianist, too, appears in their recollections, bound to them by some inscrutable connection. Whether this is quantum entanglement, metapsychic resonance, or simply coincidence remains unknown.

Editorial Conclusion:

The letters remain unsigned, the author anonymous. Yet their words have shaped the investigation, forcing us to confront the possibility that The Vanishing Cancan Girl is not a singular apparition but a shifting identity across time and space. If so, the writer of those letters may be more than a witness — they may be the phenomenon itself.

Bonus feature, page 67.


Letter to Sightings – July 2014
Unsigned, postmarked Brixton

You've got it all wrong. They're temporal anomalies, not historical events. They start, they end, they flash out of existence, blinking on and off like the eyes that guard the Alcove before the Doorway. Never quite open, never quite closed, until they drag me through. I've never been to Glasgow or Sheffield or Manchester, she's never further than Brixton. I told you before, she's just one of many. So many others, so many worlds, so many wherewhens, so many elsedays.

Can't focus.

Why did you listen to all their lies?

IF YOU'RE GOING TO PRINT MY LETTERS AT LEAST TELL THE TRUTH — it's all I have left now. There's no timeslip, no jaunt, no skipping records. There's just the Portal in the Alcove where they hover and watch and hum all night long. Humming, droning, on and on, hour after hour, day after night. Keeps me awake, dusk to dawn, over & over, never sleep, never doze, never know when they're going to take me.

You got everything wrong.

There's no pianist, there was just THE PIANOMAN that one time. I have the lightpix to prove it, I sent them to you didn't I? So difficult to remember these days, worse than before. They take everything, rip my mind out and put something else in whenever I pass through the singluaaaaaaaarity. Two suns in the sky, cracked gray earth underneath, and I WASN'T EVEN HUMAN. I screamed and screamed until they brought me back through.

Why don't you listen to me?

Jean is only one of the forms I've taken. I told you, the Portal leads to worlds that never could have been, never should have been, and I'm different in each one. I change, I shift, I melt and weave. Everything changes — my face, my form, my mind, my soul. It’s not backthen, it's sidewise. There were no handphones during the war, can't you see that? I only saw the Pianoman once, thought he was part of that world, but perhaps he belongs to this one — another traveler on the edge of forever like in that episode of Star Trek.

Took a sedative. Helps.
Will try to explain. Again.

It isn't time traveling. Past, present, and future lose all meaning when you cross the threshold. Four dimensional space, being and nothingness — they're all the same in there: meaningless illusions. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You have the photos, the lightpix — what other evidence do you need? Jean was only one, one of many, e pluribus unum, just another shadow inside a mirage and there are so many more. I can send you proof. If you want evidence I'll post it to you next time.

Not now, not today. Can't think, can't remember, can't forget. Two suns in the sky. Need sleep, but the portal won't let me. The Alcove tortures me day in and day out with its incessant humming — worse than crickets, worse than cicadas, worse than wasps or bees or dragonflies in the mid‑summer heat. Sleep no more Macbeth does murder sleep and the wasps are at the Door. Go away, I'm not home, the eyes are staring, please go away. All I want for Christmas is my

Cell phone. Photos. Lightpix.
Not enough? You want more?
I can get you more.
As much as you want.
I have to. Have to make you believe, make you understand.
Have to prove it's all true.
Have to prove they all lied.
Have to show you
have to
have to
have to go out, take a walk, mail this letter. Then maybe I can lie down, close my eyes. So tired, so deadly tired, feel as though I could sleep forever — even if I don't know where I'm likely to wake up. Don't care, doesn't matter, as long as the things in the doorway aren't watching me with their hideous three‑lobed eyes. All I want for Christmas is

please go away


Jane Doe
Frame from 35mm filmstock dated 1964.
Courtesy of Sightings Magazine.

Correspondence

Author: 

  • Transfemme

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • 500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre: 

  • Transformations

Character Age: 

  • College / Twenties

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

Tracy Lane, 2026.

Correspondence

Sightings Feature:
Brixton Revisited


Following the publication of our earlier articles on The Jane Doe Mystery, Sightings has learned that Dr. Nathan Ralston and his team at the British Center for Paranormal Research have begun a preliminary investigation into rumors of anomalous activity in and around Brixton. While Ralston cautions that many of the more recent reports may be little more than reactions to our coverage, he admits that the sheer volume of testimony cannot be ignored.

Ralston's working hypothesis is that the phenomenon may not be "time travel" in the conventional sense, but rather a form of remote viewing or metapsychic resonance. He suggests that the anonymous narrator whose letters sparked the investigation may be experiencing episodes of remote viewing — psychically witnessing events from the past, but interpreting them as physical transitions into other realms of existence.

"If this is the case," Ralston notes, "we may be dealing with a geographically unstable temporal expatriate. The danger is not only metaphysical but psychological. The narrator's fragile state, evident in their correspondence, could deteriorate into complete breakdown—or worse — if left unchecked."

Ralston emphasizes the urgency of locating this individual, not to expose them, but to offer support and study. He believes that understanding their experiences could shed light on the broader mystery of "Brixton Jean," while also preventing further harm to someone caught in the grip of anomalous phenomena.

Continued on page 14.


Brixton Revisited
Continued from page 9

Dr. Ralston and his team arrived in Brixton under the guise of routine fieldwork. What they found was anything but routine. The streets themselves seemed charged — residents spoke of sudden silences, odd vibrations, and lights that flickered without cause. One witness described "a hum under the pavement, like the earth itself was breathing."

Ralston, cautious but intrigued, noted that many of these reports echoed the anonymous narrator’s letters: the incessant humming, the sense of being watched, the "eyes in the Alcove." He dismissed most as psychosocial contagion—rumors sparked by Sightings' own articles — but admitted that the sheer consistency of detail demanded attention.

"We are not dealing with ghosts or folklore," Ralston told us. "This is closer to a temporal fault line. What the narrator describes as portals may in fact be unstable anomalies — windows into the past. If so, their disorganized mental state is not delusion but the consequence of prolonged exposure."

The team conducted magnetometer sweeps and thermal imaging around the old barracks site. Readings were inconclusive, but several instruments registered unexplained fluctuations—brief spikes of electromagnetic activity, as if something beneath the ground was blinking in and out of phase.

Ralston speculated that the narrator's visions might be a form of remote viewing, psychic impressions of past events misinterpreted as physical transitions. Yet he warned that if the anomalies are real, they could be eroding the narrator's sense of self, potentially leading to full-blown psychosis.


Editorial Note:

The investigation continues. Ralston has urged that the anonymous correspondent be located—not to expose them, but to prevent collapse. "If they are indeed a temporal expatriate," he cautions, "then their mind is the only surviving record of these anomalies. Lose them, and we may lose the phenomenon itself."


From: The Skeptics' Advocate, June, 2014.

Opinion: The Vanishing Chorus Girl – A Case of Collective Imagination

By Martin Kellerman, columnist


"Let's be perfectly clear about this: there is no 'Vanishing Cancan Girl.' There is no 'temporal expatriate.' And there is certainly no portal humming away in Brixton. What we have here is a textbook case of mass hysteria, amplified by credulous magazines and self‑published theorists who mistake folklore for physics.

"Dr. Nathan Ralston's so‑called theories — 'metapsychic resonance', 'geographically unstable anomalies' and similarly ludicrous psychobabble — are nothing more than recycled paranormal excrement dressed up in pseudo‑academic robes. His PhD in philosophy does not grant him authority on physics, psychology or history.

"The recent spike in paranormal reports around Brixton is easily explained: people read Sightings, they see a mystery, and suddenly every flickering light or odd vibration becomes evidence of the supernatural. In reality, those subterranean tremors are almost certainly connected to underground extensions of the Brixton subway line. Civic engineers have been working on the tunneling project for years. Vibrations, noise, and electrical interference are inevitable.

"As for the anonymous letter‑writer, their ramblings read less like eyewitness testimony and more like the ravings of a cross-dressing lunatic. Hanwell Insane Asylum once housed hundreds of patients with similar delusions of portals, voices, and otherworldly visions. To elevate such accounts to the level of 'evidence' is irresponsible.

"There is no astral projection here. No micro singularities. No reptilian emissaries in stockings and garters. Just imagination, suggestion, and the human tendency to see patterns where none exist. The only mystery worth investigating is why otherwise intelligent people continue to fall for stories that belong in pulp magazines, not serious discourse."


From: The Skeptics' Advocate, July, 2014.

Letter to the Editor

Re: "The Vanishing Chorus Girl – A Case of Collective Imagination"

"Mr. Kellerman accuses Sightings and Dr. Ralston of peddling 'paranormal expletives,' but I think his so‑called rationalism is nothing more than scientific arrogance. He dismisses decades of testimony, photographs, and even War Office memoranda as hysteria, yet offers no explanation for why so many independent witnesses describe the same woman, unchanged across thirty years.

To wave it all away as subway vibrations is laughable. I live near Brixton, and I can tell you the hum people describe is not the rumble of trains. It is something deeper, stranger, and it has been reported long before any tunneling projects.

As for the anonymous correspondent, Kellerman sneers at their mental state, while hand-waiving the possibility that their psychological decline is the result of exposure to phenomena beyond our comprehension. To compare their testimony to asylum ravings is cruel and dismissive.

The truth is, mysteries exist. Not everything can be explained by engineering projects or mass hysteria. Jean Doe is one of those mysteries. Whether she is a temporal expatriate, a psychic projection, or something else entirely, she deserves serious investigation—not ridicule.

Mr. Kellerman may be content to live in a world where everything unexplained is brushed aside. Some of us prefer to keep our minds open."

— Margaret L., Brixton


From: The Skeptics' Advocate, July, 2014.

Letter to the Editor
CC: Sightings Magazine
Re: The Vanishing Chorus Girl Debate

"You blind fools! Kellerman, Ralston, even Sightings editorial staff — you all hide behind your so‑called science, your conservative investigations, your dogmatic empiricism, while the world teeters on the brink of annihilation.

The signs are undeniable. Nazi Silureans are stirring beneath the soil. Fleets of Glocken spacecraft are massing in the skies. Subterranean Deros are tunneling upward through Brixton's subway network, preparing to breach the surface. And soon, the Thames itself will be flooded by a local species of Deep Ones, the very creatures that Howard Phillips Lovecraft warned us about prior to his assassination in 1937.

Yet you dismiss it all as subway vibrations and mass hysteria. You sneer at the evidence, mock the witnesses, and scoff at the evidence. This is scientific chauvinism at its worst — ignoring catastrophe in favor of tidy theories and polite skepticism.

Mark my words: the encroaching Armageddon will not be stopped by magnetometers or philosophy degrees. It will not be explained away by 'time slippage' or 'remote viewing.' It is happening now, beneath our feet, above our heads, in the shadows of Brixton.

You can laugh, you can publish your smug rebuttals, but when the rivers rise and the Deros march, remember that I warned you. Ignore this at your peril."

— Unsigned, postmarked Croydon


Editorial Addendum – July 2014

The Advocate values the dedication of its readership and respects the wide range of perspectives submitted for publication. However, we remind our audience that letters to the editor represent the views of their authors alone. The opinions expressed above — regarding Silureans, “Glocken” craft, subterranean Deros, and other catastrophic predictions — do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.

Our editorial staff remains committed to encouraging open dialogue, but we do not endorse speculative claims without evidence. Readers are invited to weigh the arguments presented and draw their own conclusions.


Sightings Magazine, July 2014
Editorial Appeal

In recent weeks, Sightings has grown increasingly troubled by the silence of the anonymous correspondent whose letters first brought the Jane Doe mystery to our attention. During their most prolific period, this individual was known to send as many as nine letters per week—fragmented, impassioned, but always consistent in their urgency. To receive nothing for several weeks is, at the very least, out of character.

Together with Dr. Nathan Ralston and the British Center for Paranormal Research, we now make a heartfelt appeal: if anyone possesses genuine knowledge of this individual's identity or whereabouts, we urge you to come forward with whatever information you have. Failing that, we ask that concerned parties contact Brixton's Southend Police Station to request a wellness check.

The narrator's fragile mental state has been evident in their correspondence, and Ralston has warned that without intervention, the risk of complete psychological collapse — or potential self-harm — cannot be ignored. While Sightings has always treated these letters as part of an ongoing investigation into anomalous phenomena, we must also recognize the human being at the center of this mystery.


Metropolitan Police Service
South End Station – Brixton Division

Internal Bulletin: Wellness Check Request

Date: [Filed August 2014]
Subject: Anonymous Correspondent – "Jane Doe" Letters

Following multiple appeals from Sightings Magazine and Dr. Nathan Ralston of the British Center for Paranormal Research, Southend Police Station has received requests to conduct a wellness check on an unidentified individual believed to reside in the Brixton area. The subject is alleged to have submitted numerous letters to the magazine concerning "anomalous activities" and the so‑called "Jane Doe" mystery.

Superintendent's Note:

While the matter itself appears to be without merit, officers are reminded that personal views are irrelevant. Standard protocols must be followed in all wellness checks, regardless of the nature of the complaint. The priority is to establish whether the individual is safe, locate them if possible, and ensure appropriate support services are engaged if required.

Action:

• Assign officers to canvass the Brixton district for any leads.

• Cross‑reference with local postal records for frequent anonymous correspondence.

• Report findings to Southend Station administration within 14 days.

End of Bulletin.


Metropolitan Police Service
South End Station – Brixton Division

Field Note: Wellness Check Canvass
Officer: PC D. Hargreaves
Date: [Filed August 2014]

Summary:
Conducted door‑to‑door inquiries in vicinity of Brixton Barracks site. No confirmed identification of subject. Several residents recalled "odd letters" delivered locally but could not provide names or addresses.

Observations:

Multiple witnesses mentioned a low‑frequency vibration at night, described variously as "a hum under the floorboards" or "like distant machinery."

One elderly resident insisted the sound was "not the trains" and claimed it had been present since the 1940s.

Another witness reported seeing "a woman in costume" near the old parade ground, but details were vague and possibly influenced by recent magazine articles.

Officer's Comment:
While the majority of testimony appears to be rumor or fabrication, the consistency of reports regarding the vibration is unusual. No visible construction activity in immediate area at time of canvass. Recommend logging anomaly but treating with caution.

Disposition:
No subject located. Further canvass may be required.

Memoranda

Author: 

  • Transfemme

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • 500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre: 

  • Transformations

Character Age: 

  • College / Twenties

Other Keywords: 

  • Mystery

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

Tracy Lane, 2026.

Memoranda

Sightings Magazine:
August 2014
Reader Responses


In the week following our appeal for information regarding the Brixton correspondent, Sightings was inundated with letters. The sheer volume was remarkable, a testament to the level of public interest and concern that "Jean" has generated over the past year. Readers from across the country wrote in, some expressing heartfelt sympathy and a genuine fear for their well-being, others offering speculative theories about their disappearance, and still more attempting to piece together fragments of rumor into a coherent narrative.The outpouring itself underscored how deeply this mysterious figure has captured the imagination of our readership. A few representative snippets illustrate the tenor of the replies:

"The Vibrations Are Proof"

"I've lived here all my life, and I can tell you the vibrations people describe are real. They're not trains, they're not construction — they're proof of subterranean portals. I've felt them under my floorboards, heard the humming at night, and seen lights flicker when no one else could explain it. Ignore the skeptics — they're blind to the truth. Jean Doe is part of this, and the anonymous writer knows more than they're letting on. You should listen."

(Mr. David Lomas, Brixton)

"I Danced With Jean"

"I swear to you, I danced with Jean in 1953 at a civic hall event. She was radiant, unchanged from the war years, and every man in the room was transfixed. I never forgot her smile, nor the way she seemed to glow under the lights. When I saw your article, I knew instantly it was her. I can tell you everything about that night if you'll print my story. I have no photographs, but the memory is etched in me as clear as yesterday."

Mr. Colin Havers, Birmingham

"Please Stop Before It's Too Late"

"I've followed your coverage with growing alarm. This poor soul you call 'Anonymous' is clearly in distress, and every new article seems to push them further toward collapse. I beg you, stop Ralston and his team before they make matters worse. What this person needs is compassion and medical care, not more probing into their delusions. If you truly care, you'll intervene to help them, not exploit their suffering for another magazine spread."

Mrs. Eleanor Price, Croydon

"Check the Playbills"

"If you want to know the truth, look into local theatrical reviews from the 1940s —particularly those concerning venues in the Westminster district. Proceed with caution."

(Anonymous tip, Westminster)

"Full Monty for £500"

"I can tell you everything you want to know about Brixton Jean, but information of this caliber doesn't come cheap. For five hundred quid I'll give you the full monty — names, dates, places, even a few photographs I've kept tucked away. You won't get this from Ralston or any of your so‑called experts. I've got the inside track, and if you're serious about solving this mystery, you can contact me via the email address attached to this post."

(Name withheld, London)

"A Plea for Sympathy"

"I don't know whom your anonymous correspondent is, but I feel such sympathy for them. Their letters are heartbreaking, full of fear and confusion, and it's clear they're suffering. Please, someone help them before it's too late. Whether Jean Doe is real or not doesn't matter — what matters is that a human being is crying out for help. I hope your magazine can do more than just print their words. I hope you can save them."

(Miss Sarah Kent, Brighton)

Continued on page 8.


Metropolitan Police Service
South End Station – Brixton Division
Field Note
: Wellness Check Canvass
Officer: PC S. Mallory
Date: [Filed August 2014]

Summary:
Conducted follow‑up inquiries in Brixton district. No trace of subject identified. Residents offered numerous accounts, most inconsistent and lacking verifiable detail.

Observations:

Several locals repeated claims of "humming" or "vibrations" underfoot. In my assessment, this is nothing more than the usual rumble from the Underground.

One witness insisted on seeing "a woman in old‑fashioned dress" near the parade ground. Likely pub talk, influenced by recent magazine stories.

General atmosphere of speculation and rumor, with little substance to support further action.

Officer's Comment:
The majority of testimony appears exaggerated or unsubstaniated. No credible evidence of distress or danger to any individual was obtained. Recommend closing canvass unless new, verifiable information emerges.

Disposition:
No subject located. No further action warranted at this time.


Reuters Newswire

Earthquake Scare at Brixton Subway
London, August 28, 2014

Service on the Brixton–Kentwell line was briefly suspended late Thursday after commuters reported loud buzzing noises, electrical discharges, and violent vibrations on platform two.

Witnesses described the sound as "like a swarm of hornets" or "the roar of a buzz saw," with overhead lights flickering erratically as the 5:35 pm train approached. Several passengers were thrown to the ground in the panic, though no serious injuries were reported.

One bystander claimed to have seen a young woman lying on the tracks near the north outlet, while others reported figures in dark uniforms nearby. The train's driver, Ms. Linda Evans, engaged emergency brakes, later telling investigators she believed the carriage had scraped the retaining wall.

Emergency crews found no evidence of structural damage or persons on the tracks. Transit authorities reassured the public that the incident was contained, attributing the disturbances to possible gas leakage further down the line.

City officials said investigations are ongoing.



PICS Magazine
Buzzing Chaos at Brixton:
Neo‑Nazi Shadows on the Tracks?

Dateline: August 29, 2014

London commuters were left shaken last night after a near‑derailment on the Brixton–Kentwell line, but eyewitnesses insist the real story lies not in faulty wiring or gas leaks, but in the sinister figures glimpsed at the north end of the tunnel.

As the 5:35 pm service screeched to a halt amid deafening vibrations and flickering lights, several passengers reported seeing a young woman sprawled across the tracks — scantily clad, some said "like a cabaret dancer." More disturbing still were the dark‑uniformed figures encircling her, described by one witness as "men in black shirts, like Mosley's lot come back from the grave."

The eerie buzzing, compared to hornets or a buzz saw, only heightened the panic. "It was like the whole station was alive, humming with menace," said Jake Edwards of Kentwell Heights, who stumbled over an abandoned briefcase while rushing to help.

Transit authorities have offered bland reassurances, citing "possible gas leakage" as the cause. But PICS has learned that investigators are quietly probing links to British neo‑Nazi groups, whose uniforms bear a chilling resemblance to those reported at Brixton. Could this be a modern echo of Oswald Mosley's infamous blackshirts, re‑emerging in the shadows of London's tunnels?

For now, officials deny any connection. But commuters who fled the chaos insist they saw more than shadows. And if the blackshirts are back, Brixton may have just witnessed the first act of a darker drama.


Metropolitan Police Service
South End Station – Brixton Division
Report Filed
: September 2014
Reporting Officer: WPC Sawyer
See also: Complimentary Notes by PC Hargreaves

Subject: Investigation of Squatter at Brigsvale Tower Block

Summary of Incident:
On receipt of information regarding a possible squatter at Brigsvale Tower Block, PC Hargreaves and I attended the premises. Upon entry, the apartment was found to be unoccupied. The property exhibited signs of neglect, with scattered newspapers and books across the living room floor, but no indication of recent habitation within the past month.

Notable Observations:

A persistent humming noise was detected within the apartment walls, most pronounced in the alcove before the main doorway. PC Hargreaves reported experiencing vertigo when standing in this vestibule or when entering/exiting the apartment.

The living room appeared messy but not actively lived in. The overall impression was of abandonment.

An old‑style foolscap notepad was recovered, containing numerous unfinished letters addressed to various fringe periodicals, most prominently Sightings Magazine.

The bedroom contained a small but carefully maintained library of occult and conspiracy‑related works, including The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe, John Godwin's This Baffling World, and a 1970 edition of Man, Myth and Magic. All volumes were out‑of‑print hardcovers yet appeared in pristine condition.

A built‑in wardrobe contained both male and female clothing, suggesting the occupant may have been transgendered. A late‑1940s style mackintosh raincoat concealed a 1952 railway timetable with "Paddington" stamped on the inside foldout.

A shoebox at the rear of the wardrobe held post‑war era news clippings, playbills, and postcards. Despite their age, all items appeared brand new. PC Hargreaves speculated they may be modern reproductions.

Neighbor Canvass:
Residents described the lodger as a young adult, approximately 21–22 years of age, suffering from vague mental health issues and subsisting largely on instant noodles, tinned soups, and "fizzy" drinks. Accounts diverged on the lodger's gender, with opinion split evenly between male and female. All agreed the individual kept to themselves and had not been seen for approximately 30 days.

Regarding the humming noise, neighbors confirmed it was a longstanding feature of the apartment, widely regarded as the reason for its frequent vacancy. No explanation was offered for its origin, though one elderly resident initially mistook it for tinnitus.

One neighbor, Mrs Gladys Wheeler, recalled the lodger's name as "John," though she noted it was sometimes pronounced "Jane" or "Jean" (in the French style). Residents described the lodger's speech as having a "Nordy" accent, though none could identify the dialect.

Conclusion:
Given the presence of unfinished correspondence to fringe publications, the occult library, and the anomalous condition of recovered materials, it is tentatively suggested that the lodger may have been the anonymous correspondent referenced in the Superintendent's bulletin.

Recommendation: A full forensic examination of the apartment is advised to determine the origin of the humming noise and to establish any evidentiary links between the lodger and the ongoing investigation.


Metropolitan Police Service
South End Station – Brixton Division

Complimentary Notes: Brigsvale Tower Block Investigation
Officer: PC D. Hargreaves
Date: September 2014

Observations:
During entry and inspection of the premises, I noted a persistent humming sound emanating from the walls, particularly pronounced in the alcove before the main doorway. The noise was not mechanical in character, and I experienced a distinct sense of vertigo when standing in the vestibule or when crossing the threshold of the apartment.

The property itself appeared neglected, with scattered papers and books suggesting disuse rather than active habitation. While the living room was untidy, the overall impression was of abandonment.

Personal Comment:
The humming was of unusual quality—low‑frequency, steady, and difficult to ignore. It seemed to affect my balance and perception, unlike ordinary electrical interference. While WPC Sawyer has documented the physical findings in detail, I wish to emphasize the unsettling nature of the sound and its possible relevance to the ongoing investigation.

Conclusion:
Though no occupant was located, the anomalous conditions within the apartment warrant further forensic examination. The combination of neglected surroundings, unusual materials, and the persistent hum suggests that the premises may be connected to the anonymous correspondence referenced in the Superintendent's bulletin.


British Centre for Paranormal Research
London, September 2014

To: Superintendent Robert Chalmers
Brixton South End Police Station

Re: Possible Connection Between Brixton Subway Incident and Anonymous Correspondence

Dear Superintendent Chalmers,

I write on behalf of the British Centre for Paranormal Research regarding the disturbances reported at Brixton–Kentwell Station on the evening of August 28th. Our team has conducted preliminary interviews with several witnesses, including Mr. Jake Edwards of Kentwell Heights, and we wish to draw your attention to certain details that may bear directly upon your ongoing inquiries.

Multiple accounts describe the sudden onset of a loud, resonant buzzing within the north tunnel, accompanied by electrical discharges and erratic lighting. Several witnesses further reported the presence of a young woman lying unconscious on the tracks, her attire likened variously to a cabaret costume or stage dress. Mr. Edwards, in particular, noted figures in dark uniforms surrounding her before his attention was diverted.

The description of this woman corresponds closely with that of the individual known informally among readers of Sightings Magazine as "Brixton Jean." The anonymous correspondent whose letters have been published in that periodical has repeatedly alluded to phenomena involving vibrations, electrical anomalies, and the appearance of a female figure in theatrical costume. The parallels between these reports and the events at Brixton–Kentwell are striking and, in our view, warrant serious consideration.

While we cannot yet establish causality, the convergence of witness testimony with previously published accounts suggests that the anonymous correspondent may possess direct knowledge of the disturbances now manifesting in public spaces. We respectfully recommend that your office consider the possibility of a link between the subway incident and this individual, and that further investigation be undertaken to determine her identity and whereabouts.

The Centre remains available to provide transcripts of our witness interviews and to collaborate with your officers should you deem it appropriate.

Yours sincerely,
Dr. Nathan Ralston
British Centre for Paranormal Research


Metropolitan Police Service
Brixton South End Division

September 2014

To: Dr. Nathan Ralston
British Centre for Paranormal Research

Re: Correspondence Regarding Brixton–Kentwell Incident

Dear Dr. Ralston,

I acknowledge receipt of your letter concerning the disturbances reported at Brixton–Kentwell Station on 28 August. Your summary of witness interviews and the parallels you have drawn with material published in Sightings Magazine have been noted.

While I appreciate your interest, I must remind you that the investigation of public safety incidents within the London transit system falls under the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police Service. Speculative associations with periodicals or fringe accounts are not considered part of our evidentiary process.

The British Centre for Paranormal Research is, of course, free to pursue its own inquiries in whatever manner it deems appropriate. However, I would respectfully suggest that such investigations be conducted independently of police operations. Our resources are directed toward matters of immediate public concern, and we cannot accommodate external bodies seeking to involve themselves in official proceedings.

Thank you for your communication. No further correspondence on this matter is required.

Yours faithfully,
Superintendent Robert Chalmers
Brixton South End Police Station


Metropolitan Police Service
Internal Memorandum – Confidential
From
: Superintendent Robert Chalmers
To: Senior Officers, Brixton Southern Division
Date: September 2014

Subject: Correspondence Received from Dr. Nathan Ralston, British Centre for Paranormal Research

Colleagues,

Earlier this week I received a letter from a Dr. Nathan Ralston of the British Centre for Paranormal Research concerning the disturbances at Brixton–Kentwell Station. Ralston has taken it upon himself to interview witnesses and now suggests a connection between the incident and the anonymous correspondent featured in Sightings Magazine. He goes so far as to claim that the unconscious woman reported on the tracks matches the description of "Brixton Jean."

While his tone is polite, I find his intrusion into police affairs unwelcome. The Centre's activities are speculative in nature and do not meet the evidentiary standards required for our investigations. I have replied formally, reminding him that such matters fall under our jurisdiction and advising that his "research" be conducted elsewhere.

That said, I cannot entirely dismiss the parallels he raises. The buzzing, electrical disturbances, and the figure in theatrical costume do echo elements of the anonymous letters we have reviewed. Whether this is coincidence, fabrication, or something more remains to be determined.

For now, I expect all officers to treat Ralston's involvement as a distraction. We will continue to pursue our inquiries through proper channels and maintain discretion until we have substantial evidence. Please ensure that any further communication from the Centre is logged and filed, but do not engage beyond formal acknowledgment.

Yours,

Superintendent Robert Chalmers
Brixton South End Police Station


Open Letter to Sightings Magazine
CC
: The Skeptic's Advocate
September, 2014

"The so‑called 'incident' at Brixton Subway was not a malfunction, nor a gas leak, nor the result of some overworked train driver's nerves. It was the opening salvo — the first wave of attacks from the Reptilian‑Dero Alliance. And what did we do? We sat back on our corpulent backsides, twiddling our malformed thumbs and congratulating ourselves on averting a "potential" disaster.

Sightings, The Skeptic's Advocate, the Metropolitan Police, the entire British government — every last one of you sits idle while the world, this whole damned planet, teeters on the brink of obliteration. You print your polite editorials, you issue your bland reassurances, you shuffle your papers in committee rooms, while the enemy gathers strength beneath our feet.

Have we learned nothing? We stood by and did jack ---- while Adolf bloody Hitler disemboweled Czechoslovakia and wreaked havoc across an entire continent. Now the cycle repeats itself, only this time with an adversary that will make the London Blitz look like a day trip to Brighton.

Mark my words: the buzzing in Brixton was not an accident. It was a warning. And unless we act, the next tremor will not stop at a subway platform — it will shake the foundations of our civilization."

(unsigned, postmarked Croydon)


Sightings Investigation:
"Brixton Jean" Mystery
Update
: November 2014

After several months of silence, our anonymous correspondent — known to readers as "Jean" — has resurfaced with a new communication. The editorial staff were relieved to learn that she is apparently still amongst the living. At the same time, we must confess to grave concern that her mental state has declined since our last contact, as may be seen in the missive published below.


Letter received
November 2014
:

Not sure how long it's been — six weeks, maybe longer — time runs differently Overthere. Been trapped, lost in a place where the quantum fields didn't collapse the way they should. Couldn't return. Trapped Overthere so long I've forgotten who I am. At first I was Jean, but remembered being someone else. Now it's all mixed up — sometimes I'm me, sometimes I'm her. Difficult to remember. Not me not her

They found my apartment. They'll be looking for me. If they catch me again, they'll take me back this time forever. have to write this on the fly.

Focus.

Explain.

The portals are everywhere, not just in Alcove Before the Doorway. People walk through them all the time without noticing, because most worlds look the same and only last a few minutes. But not last time. Last time there were black flags over parliament, iron guards in the streets, and eyes always stare‑watching. I couldn't go home. They wouldn't let me. The interrogation went on forever.

Managed to get away, ran down to the Underline. There was a portal there — I could hear the humming — but they came after me. They caught me on the tracks and dragged me back. No, they came through. That should be impossible, but there they were, and they took me back, took me back, tookmeback.

Out of time. Tell Ralston to stop his investigations. He's just making it worse. Leave well enough alone. The portals are everywhere, and they're hungry. I have to get out of Briggston. Not safe here. Can't trust anybody now. Can't even trust you, but you're the only ones who'll listen. Tell everyone to stay away."

(postmarked Brixton, unsigned)


Editor's Note:
The letter reproduced above is deeply troubling. While our handwriting experts are confident that it originates from our anonymous correspondent, the content suggests a marked deterioration in her mental state since our last exchange. The imagery of portals, confinement, and pursuit is disjointed and fearful, and we cannot verify any of its claims.

We note, however, the recurring references to subway tracks and the curious resemblance between "Briggston" and "Brixton." These details echo earlier reports and may indicate that "Jean" remains in the vicinity of the downtown area.

Though we cannot confirm her identity, we again urge readers to treat this matter with seriousness. Anyone who can provide credible information or verification should contact South End Police Station without delay.


Source URL:https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/110266/witness-statement