The Adventure Column



Mae Bryant, Journalist

     Since I am the author, you already know my name and you can well deduce that these are my own adventures. As for the many others who through one way or another became a part of my stories, pseudonyms may be used. (For the privilege of privacy, if they so request it.)

  Everything I tell you is true, it really did happen. Not that anything which happened is particularly incredible, it is only enough so where you will find great entertainment from reading about it. Every week or so, (I don’t like definite dates) I will retell some well worthwhile adventure which has happened. And if I do a particularly good job, you will come back and read about it. 




     I have a pattern of discovering things which I should not. Sure it’s only because I seek out these things, it’s happened a few times, but the consistency proves plenty more instances are to come. I can tell you of these mistakenly found out secrets in later stories. This time, I’ll recall the night I discovered a string of strangeness which implied revenge

     Mid-winter, early in the night, Carter and I (Pseudonym, remember.) drove to an unassuming suburban park. Dark and empty, trees and grass, and at its center was an old wooden fence littered with “No Tresspass” signs, and at its center sat satellites the size of meteors, a mysterious white building and an abandoned truck. What a sight for thirsty adrenaline seeking eyes. 

     I had invited two friends, Morgan and Anna. (Pseudonym, pseudonym) Naturally they were very unaware of what exactly it was I invited them for. 

     We all walked through grass up to our knees. The field dipped into a depression, inside the depression the air dropped 10 degrees instantly. Morgan and Anna picked away at me, they doubted if this was worth the risk of trouble. 

     We came to the wooden fence. Across it, “No Trespassing” “3rd Degree Trespassing” “All Trespassers will be prosecuted” was posted like political propaganda. Beside the fence was parked a truck, a very unusual truck. It was made for advertisements and had large banners on all sides; except the banners were torn, shredded, ripped away at and… in the shape of a heart.

     Morgan and I inspected the torn advertisement while Anna inspected the cab and found an, inconsistency.

Under the steering wheel a second set of license plates were tucked nearly out of sight. Carter went to the windshield, he read the registration date. “2018.” 2018? There were two recently used coffee cups on the dashboard. Anna shone her flashlight into the cab. She stared then beckoned us over. 

“Guys, there’s a note in here.” We squeezed beside her. “Film this, film this!” I implored. On the cab floor half under a box, a note sat face up. I squinted and read aloud. 

“A message was left to-” The words were covered, I skipped to what I could see next. “-of Regis Square-” Covered words, “Toyeris R-” Covered. “We use–Please–A 6365—” Just enough was seen to furiously burn my curiosity but not enough was seen to answer any questions, which made it burn all the more.  I tried desperately to make out more of the message, but to no avail.

    Morgan squatted and looked under the truck. She laughed nervously.

“Whoa look at this.” I looked. In marker, almost under the bumper, boldly etched was, “Revenge” Huh, strange I thought.“Revenge” spelled out for someone. It was edgy and exciting and so strange.  

     I knelt and crawled under the truck. I saw a metal piece buried in the dirt. I dug it out and showed Morgan my discovery. It was a lock that had been cut with pliers, clean chopped off. (I would come to find, from the fence’s only gate.) Obviously, someone had cut the lock and thrown it under the truck; hoping it would be eternally unnoticed. I put the lock in my jacket. (And to this day it sits unnoticed in my drawer.) 

     I felt the truck’s secrets were exhausted. We tried to read the note again. I almost jumped over the fence, but didn’t. The four of us sat on the truck, thinking what could this all mean?

“Okay, a scorned lover came here, this was her boyfriend’s truck; then she vandalized it and cut out the heart and wrote revenge!” Said Morgan. “No.” Said everyone else.

 “Or someone wrote the note and then, the note refers to the revenge message.” I tried. “No.” Said everyone else. 

“Someone wrote the note, and then met at Regis Square in the truck. Then the truck was stolen and driven here. The person who wrote the note came here, vandalized the banner as a warning and wrote revenge.” “Eh.” Said everyone else. 

     What’s it all about? Who cut the lock? Who wrote the note? Who wrote revenge? We probably will never know.