Location: M.E.G. Containment Site [REDACTED], Level [REDACTED]
Interviewed: [REDACTED]
Interviewer: Dr. K. J. Erben
Date: [REDACTED]
Notes: Subject exhibits progressive physiological anomalies and cognitive dissonance.
Dr. K. J. Erben: Can you state your name for the record?
[REDACTED]: [pauses]… My name is [REDACTED].
Dr. K. J. Erben: Thank you. You were found coughing up water near the capital of Level 11, correct?
[REDACTED]: That’s what I’ve been told.
Dr. K. J. Erben: Do you remember how you got there?
[REDACTED]: Somewhat. We were mapping Level 7.6… me and my companion, [REDACTED]. Everything was fine—at least it was until she found that godforsaken book.
Dr. K. J. Erben: A book?
[REDACTED]: Yeah. A children’s book, actually. [REDACTED] wanted to check it out, so I agreed to take a short break.
Dr. K. J. Erben: Could you describe this book?
[REDACTED]: The book was soaked and torn… I’m not sure how, but one of the chapters was still readable. That’s the one she read.
Dr. K. J. Erben: And this chapter… do you know what it contained?
[REDACTED]: Yes… [REDACTED] read it out loud. I remember those words as if they were carved into my mind.
*On a poplar, above a lake,
Sat a goblin at evening’s wake.
“Glint luna glint —
may my needle dance asprint.
Sew, sew I a shoe
for land also the blue dew:
Glint luna glint —
may my needle dance asprint.
Today Thursday, morrow Friday —
A cloak I sew, with me sway:
Glint luna glint —
may my needle dance asprint.
Green dress, scarlet shoe
I’ll be married soon:
Glint luna glint —
may my needle dance asprint.”*
Dr. K. J. Erben: And then? What happened after she read it aloud?
[REDACTED]: Nothing at first. But as she continued, water started flowing into the room.
*Morning, more a maiden woke,
Laundry she tied in a cloak:
“Mother dearest, to the lake I’ll go,
scarfs of mine I’ll soak in the flow.”
Ah, don’t go, don’t go to the lake.
Remain at home, my child, for safety’s sake.
I at night had an ominous dream:
Go not, my daughter, to the stream.
Pearls for you I chose.
I dressed you in white clothes.
In a skirt of water’s foam
Don’t go, daughter, don’t leave home.
The white dress her sorrow concealed.
In pearls, tears are sealed.
Friday—a saddening day—
Don’t go, daughter, stay.
She has none, has no peace.
Her want for leave won’t cease.
Her need for leave won’t be eased.
No comfort at home can be seized.
First laundry batch she soaked,
Then the footbridge broke.
And after, the young girl—
Only the lake’s deep swirl.
Waves came crashing from below,
Spread wide from the heavy blow.
And on a poplar along the rocks,
A green, clapping man now stalks.*
[REDACTED]: The next thing I remember is me and her standing on the shore of a lake.
Dr. K. J. Erben: The shore of a lake? Can you describe it?
[REDACTED]: It was quite normal. Rocks, dirt, plants… poplars—lots of poplars. There were also tall rocks, very tall rocks, all around the lake. And the lake… it called to me. To her. And then she… and then I—DOCTOR, I SWEAR I AM NOT CRAZY!
Dr. K. J. Erben: It’s all right. Take a moment. You’re safe here.
[REDACTED]: [breathing heavily] It called to us. I didn’t want to go, but the sound… like singing. It was welcoming us. She heard it too. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.
Dr. K. J. Erben: What did she do next?
[REDACTED]: She walked into the water like it was home. The lake was still—completely still—until her feet touched it. Then it moved, soft at first, like it was breathing, singing, embracing. I shouted her name, but she didn’t turn back. She just said, “He’s waiting.”
Dr. K. J. Erben: Who was waiting?
[REDACTED]: Him. The man. Green, scaly pale skin. Wet, long hair. Grinning. Green coat. Scarlet shoes. Water dripping. He stood in the middle of the lake and started clapping—each clap a step.
Dr. K. J. Erben: Did you try to pull [REDACTED] back?
[REDACTED]: Yes! I ran after her, but the water rejected me. It pushed, thickened, resisted. I dove in, grabbed her arm… but she just smiled and said goodbye. The song stopped, leaving only a bone-chilling hum. Then I felt a cold, deep sting… and now I’m here. My arm… and now I am here, with scales spreading past my elbow. The hum not ending. And sometimes—at night—I hear clapping."
