From the journal of Eleanor Webb
Grayson Mountain Observatory
September 15
Finally finished the star cluster project today. Six months of staring at the same patch of sky, and everything turned out exactly as expected. That's the funny thing about astronomy—we spend years looking for things, and success means finding exactly what we thought we'd find.
Mark tried to drag me out for a celebratory drink, but I begged off. The headaches are back, and anyway, things have been weird between us since I overheard him calling Patrick's work "glorified science fiction" at the faculty dinner. He didn't know I was standing right there. Didn't know how much it would hurt.
The new sleeping pills seem to be working. Eight hours last night without a single dream. My therapist says the nightmares should fade as I "process my grief." As if grief is something you can just check off a to-do list. It's been a year and a half since the accident, and I still find sticky notes with Patrick's handwriting on books around the house. Little questions he'll never get to answer.
Tomorrow I start routine observations in a new section of sky. Nothing exciting—just getting baseline readings before the real project starts next month. The comfort of routine.
September 18
Something's off with the telescope. Has to be. I've checked everything three times, and the stars in the CV-4273 section aren't where they should be.
Not by much—you wouldn't notice just by looking. But when I compare the positions with our star charts, they're slightly off. Their light signatures are wrong too—subtle differences in the wavelengths I'm measuring versus what's in our database.
I've put in a maintenance request. Probably just something knocked out of alignment. Meanwhile, I'll work on other sections of sky.
My therapist would be proud of how calmly I'm handling this. "Finding practical solutions instead of catastrophizing," she'd say. Though I admit it rattled me at first. When your entire field depends on stars staying put where they're supposed to be, even tiny changes can be disturbing.
The sleeping pills are still working, mostly. I've noticed some weird visual stuff at dusk though—blurry spots at the edges of my vision. The information packet says that's normal.
September 22
Wrong wrong WRONG. The equipment is FINE.
I ran the tests again. And again. 3 AM now and I keep checking. The maintenance team says nothing's wrong with the telescope. Every single test shows it's working PERFECTLY.
Which means either I'm
(don't want to say it. Don't want to think it)
or something is happening out there that shouldn't be possible.
Checked against THREE different star catalogs today. My hands shook so hard I spilled coffee all over the printouts. Had to start over. The discrepancies are real. The stars aren't where they should be. Not all moving together either—that would make SENSE at least. Each one off in its own way, like something is... warping that region of space.
Haven't told anyone. Can't. Mark already watches me with those pitying eyes. "Poor Eleanor, back too soon after everything." If I tell him about this, it'll be more than pity. He'll think I've lost it completely.
Tried to sleep. Pills don't work anymore. Every time I close my eyes I see stars moving, rearranging themselves into patterns that almost make sense until I try to understand them. Then they scatter like—
like they KNOW I'm watching.
God I need sleep.
September 25
Whatever's happening, it's getting bigger.
I've checked the surrounding areas of sky, and the same weirdness is showing up there too. Not as pronounced, but definitely present. It's like something is distorting space, with the effect strongest at a central point and rippling outward.
I've calculated where that central point is—a seemingly empty patch of sky. No visible stars, no known objects. Just emptiness.
Except it can't be empty. If something is bending space around it, there must be a mass there—like how black holes warp light around them. We just can't see it directly.
I've requested time on our radio telescope. If there's something massive hiding out there, we should be able to detect it even if it doesn't give off visible light.
My doctor upped my sleeping pill dosage. I didn't tell her about the specific nightmares, just said I was having trouble staying asleep. The new dose makes me groggy in the mornings—like thinking through molasses—but at least I sleep through the night.
Though I'm not sure I'm actually dreamless anymore. I wake up feeling like I've been dreaming intensely, but I can't remember what about. Just left with a lingering sense of dread, like a bad aftertaste.
September 29
Radio telescope results: nothing there. No detectable mass where there should be something massive enough to warp space.
I've checked and double-checked the data. Consulted with Steve from radio astronomy without telling him why I was asking. He confirms there's nothing unusual about that region—no emissions, no absorption patterns, nothing to indicate anything is there at all.
So what's causing the stars to shift position?
I've been looking through Patrick's old research notes. His specialty was theoretical physics, complex stuff about how space-time behaves under extreme conditions—not directly related to what I do. But I keep feeling like I'm missing something important. His last project involved mathematical models of space distortions that couldn't be explained by conventional physics.
The department thought he'd gone off the deep end. "Mathematical poetry," Mark had called it at that faculty dinner. "Pretty but ultimately meaningless."
Patrick had been furious when I told him, not at Mark but at the limitations of our observation tools. "They can't see it, so they assume it isn't there," he'd said. "But the math doesn't lie, Ellie. If the equations point to something, it exists—whether we can detect it or not."
Two weeks later, he was dead. Car accident on the mountain road leading to the observatory. Black ice, they said. Though it had been an unusually warm February.
I'm being irrational. Grief is making me connect things that aren't related—Patrick's theoretical work and these star position anomalies. The human brain is wired to see patterns, even in random data. It's why people see faces in clouds.
The medication is definitely affecting my thinking. I've caught myself staring at the same data for hours, seeing connections that vanish when I look closer. I should cut back on the dosage, but the thought of the nightmares returning is worse.
October 3
Oh god oh god oh god. It's spreading.
I found a pattern.
The stars—they're MOVING, but not like normal stellar drift. It's like they're being pulled AWAY from that central point. Like they're trying to escape something.
I made a map. It looks like a lens, or a bubble. A perfect sphere. Growing.
Two years. That's when it started. I checked old star charts until my eyes burned.
Two years ago. Six months before Patrick's—
[Coffee stain obscures some text]
This isn't coincidence. CAN'T BE. Patrick was working on his theories about space distortions, and then actual distortions start appearing in EXACTLY the spot his equations predicted?!
He knew. He must have. Was that why he was driving up that night? Ice on the road in February when it was 55 degrees that week?
I FOUND SOMETHING in his computer tonight. A locked folder. "Anomaly," he called it. Can't open it. Not yet. But I will.
Had the dream again. WORSE this time. I was there, floating near the center of whatever this is. I SAW it. Not just empty space. A sphere. Perfectly black. Not like a black hole—those bend light AROUND them. This... erases light. CONSUMES it.
It was turning. Slowly. Creating a vortex in space itself.
And it's growing.
(I can't tell anyone this. They'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I am. Maybe grief has eaten holes in my brain and I'm filling them with cosmic horror stories.)
But what if I'm NOT crazy? What if Patrick wasn't either?
What if it's REAL?
October 7
Three days going through Patrick's files. Eyes burning. Head pounding. Found nothing useful except that DAMN locked folder I can't access.
I've named it now. "The anomaly" sounds too clinical. This is a WOUND. A lesion in reality.
The distortion PULSES. How did I miss this before? It expands and contracts in perfect 37.6 hour cycles. Nothing natural does that. Nothing.
Missed therapy appointment. Dr. Lowell called. "Concerned about my isolation" and "workaholic tendencies." HAHA. If she only knew.
Stopped the pills. Dreams are TERRIBLE now but my head is clearer. Last night…
[Handwriting becomes more erratic]
I saw SYMBOLS on it. The sphere. Geometric patterns that shifted when I tried to focus on them. Woke up SCREAMING and drew what I remembered before it faded.
Then I found one of Patrick's old papers.
THE SAME PATTERNS. He called them "mathematical representations of phase transitions in quantum vacuum states."
What if these aren't dreams? What if it's REACHING into my mind somehow? Using dreams to communicate?
Or what if I've just lost my fucking mind?
Steve is analyzing the radio data tomorrow. He doesn't know what he's looking for. Better that way. Need objective eyes.
October 10
37.6
I got in. The password. "Ellie37.6"
HOW DID HE KNOW? Two years ago? The EXACT pulse cycle?
Oh god, Patrick. What did you find?
His notes. Thousands of files. He was watching it. FROM THE BEGINNING. Six months of observations, calculations, journal entries.
Started scientific. Clinical. Then changes. Grows AFRAID.
Last entry, day before he died:
"It's responding to observation. The more we watch it, the faster it develops. Heisenberg was right, but not just for quantum particles—observation affects reality at the cosmic scale too, at least with this thing. God help me, I think it's awake now. And it's looking back."
Next day: car crash. No mechanical failure. No other vehicles. Just... lost control.
[Coffee cup ring stain]
Can't stop watching it now. Stars near the center aren't just displaced anymore—they're SMEARING. Like watercolors left in rain.
Last night wasn't a dream. I was THERE. Fully conscious. My mind pulled across space to the sphere.
Patrick was there too.
NOT DEAD.
TRAPPED.
Trying to tell me something. Not words. Mathematics. Blooming in my brain like flowers made of equations.
Woke up. Found my notepad. Pages of equations in MY HANDWRITING.
I don't remember writing them. I DON'T UNDERSTAND THEM.
October 13
72 hours. No sleep. Can't risk it. It PULLS when I close my eyes. It WANTS me to see it. Feeds on observation.
Patrick's research—it makes sense now. Not an object. A CHANGE in reality itself. A localized rewriting of the rules.
Growing.
[Several scratched out lines]
If it keeps expanding—200 years until it reaches us. When it does, physics STOPS WORKING. Reality REWRITTEN by something that thinks in geometries we can't comprehend.
Need to stop watching it. ALL OF US need to stop. Observation strengthens it. Feedback loop.
How do you un-see something? How do you un-know knowledge?
Mark came today. His face when he saw me... must look worse than I thought.
Showed him everything. Data. Simulations. Patrick's notes.
He patted my hand like I was a CHILD. "Complicated grief," he said. "Projecting meaning onto random data."
DIDN'T SEE IT.
REFUSED TO SEE IT.
Maybe that's how we survive. Blindness to threats too big to comprehend.
Or maybe I AM insane.
Haven't been able to look in mirrors. Afraid of what I'll see looking back.
October 15
can't tell if I'm awake or dreaming anymore
the boundary is gone
feel it PULSING even when I'm not looking through telescopes
pulled so close last night could see its STRUCTURE
not solid surface but millions of smaller spheres rotating independently yet COORDINATED
and at the center through gaps in the rotation an EYE
it BLINKED
and I UNDERSTOOD
not alien not from "elsewhere" in space from ELSEWHEN a piece of future reality bleeding BACKWARD where physics works DIFFERENTLY
the beginning of a change that has ALREADY HAPPENED
unless we stop LOOKING at it stop MEASURING it stop THINKING about it
observation collapses quantum possibility into certainty by watching we make it REAL
destroying everything patrick's research my notes all digital records
if you're reading this I FAILED the distortion grew despite my efforts
one piece of advice: DON'T LOOK UP DON'T STUDY CVn-4273 DON'T SEND PROBES PRETEND IT DOESN'T EXIST
to observe is to create
and some things should never be created
October 17 - Note from Dr. James Abrams, Observatory Director
This journal was found in Eleanor Webb's office after she disappeared on October 15th. Her car was discovered at the summit viewpoint, but despite extensive searches, we've found no trace of Eleanor herself.
Given the concerning nature of these entries, I've ordered psychological evaluations for all staff who worked closely with Dr. Webb. Initial assessments suggest she was suffering from severe delusions, likely triggered by unresolved grief over her husband's death.
I've also personally reviewed the astronomical data referenced in these entries. There are no significant anomalies in the Canes Venatici region. All star positions match catalog values within normal margins of error. Steve Chen confirms there are no unusual energy fluctuations at the specified coordinates.
Whatever Eleanor believed she was seeing existed only in her mind.
As a precautionary measure, I've temporarily restricted access to the CV-4273 sector data pending further review. This is simply to prevent other staff from being influenced by Dr. Webb's detailed delusions.
The observatory will resume normal operations tomorrow.
Personal Note - J. Abrams (unsent)
I've been staring at the blank observation screen for an hour. The telescope is pointed at CV-4273. The instruments show they're receiving data. But the screen remains empty.
Not showing distant stars. Not showing static from equipment failure.
Empty. As if that section of space has been... erased.
I keep hearing the last thing Eleanor said to me before she disappeared: "It doesn't want to be seen anymore, Jim. It's learned how to hide."
I'm shutting down this line of inquiry permanently. I feel some things should remain unobserved.