Room Zero

                                    

                                          
It's been a while since I've written anything related to the Disney Corporation, and I'm sure you can understand why.
                          
A lot has been going on since my last post. I've received a lot of questions and concerns from folks who read my first-hand account of Mowgli's Palace... a resort that was built and abandoned by Disney.
                          
I want to thank everyone who mirrored my post. It's been taken down from a few places, mostly corporate sites that were easily leaned on by a larger power. However, for every nuked topic or disappearing blog post, it seems like a hundred more have popped up.
                          
This is something they'll have to face. There's no turning back for them... none for me, either...
                          
I'm definitely being followed. For the first month or two, I chalked it up to paranoia. Any casual glance or half-smile in my direction set me off. Hairs standing on the back of the neck and everything.
                          
The first one, or rather, the first one I was actually able to spot, was a telephone worker milling around my apartment complex.
                          
He was middle-aged, doughy, dressed just as you'd expect, but something just seemed off about him. I couldn't place it, but I knew this wasn't just my imagination acting up. He was awkward and out of place, not somebody who was comfortable doing his routine job.
                          
I followed him around a corner, only to lose him there. When I turned back to go home, there he was. Staring directly at me, about ten feet behind me. Expressionless and cold.
                          
"Exploring?" he asked. That was all he said, and there was an accusing tone to his voice.
                          
Tell me, what blue collar phone jockey does that?
                          
I guess that's the worst part. Never feeling safe. Never feeling alone. That, and the occasional Disney merchandise left somewhere for me to find. Little rubber Mickeys in the mailbox, a Disney Adventures magazine on my bookshelf.
                          
They hide little Mickeys everywhere. Three circles, one big, two small, in the silhouette of the famous mouse's head.
                          
I've started keeping a running list of Mickeys I've found.
                          
Coffee cup rings on my coffee table. One big, two small. Colored glass bottles left on the doorstep, viewed from the top down. (All red.) Graffiti on the wall on my way to work; a huge Earth, small Sun and Moon in the proper locations.
                          
They're everywhere.
                          
People have emailed me about this as well. If you repost anything I have to say, you're going to start finding those son of a bitch outlines. I guarantee it.
                          
The best one by far, one that actually made me laugh because of the horror of it all, was a drawing in chalk next my car. I was taken aback at first, walking through the parking garage, keeping an eye out for people following me.
                          
The outline seemed a perfect match for... well, a "murder victim" you're probably familiar with if you've read my past posts.
                          
Written in yellow... paint, I'm sure... was a single word.
                          
"RETRACT"
                          
The only good thing that has come out of all this is that I know I'm not the only one who's seen something they shouldn't have.
                          
I'm not going to give their names, because... well, if I have to tell you why, you haven't been paying attention.
                          
"Researcher" goes to Disney parks whenever he can, all throughout the year. He's not going to have fun, enjoy the rides, etc.
                          
He's looking for the Gascots.
                          
There's been a long tradition, apparently, of people reporting strange patrons throughout the park. Silent, motionless, staring patrons of every age, shape, and size. Men and women, adults, children, and teens.