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Bottom Cipher" The Hollowed Lady will have a bad trip"

September 24th, 1917
This is the journal of Drake Alexander Travinsky. I am the Staff Sargent of a fire team that will be going into the Argon Forest with Major J.C. Armstrong as a section of A company. He will be leading the 77th division of the 308 infantry into the field of battle for the first time. The reasson why I am writng this is cause one of the medics where a psyciatric doctor and advised me to write in the journal so it can reliave some amount of stress. Any way, my men, Sargent Tank Dempsy,and Privates Patrick McCreary, Jake D. Rooney, (Aka Loony Rooney to the men after the lunch room incident when he thought the cook was trying to poison him), and Clearance Carmichael. We just got replacements and they are, Privates Eric Pendlton, George C. McMurty, and Charles Whittlesey. In all honesty I am not to happy about this since command has been giving my squad nothing but suicide missions for the past three months and we just got replacements this morning and the replacements haven't seen combat yet! How the hell do they expect a bunch of boys that JUST got out of boot camp tackle one of the largest operations our military has engaged in to date? Tank asked me if I needed to try and get myself home on a mental leave from everything that has happened lately. Naturally I told him I was fine, despite trying to get over watching one my men getting torn in half by artillery , as I pulled him to a medic , just last week. He knows I'm full of s**t and is just worried about me. I never believed in the whole "Brothers in Arms" thing Drill Sargent "Barker" tried to drill into us in the beginning. Guess I should have taken what he said to heart.

October 4th, 1917
Our Company had been given gas masks as standard issue equipment the other day after the gas attack yesterday. The French where hit hard with some wired purple gas that the Germans have created. There hasn't been any clear reports about it. Thought that isn't the worst of it. Rooney is losing it and we can't get him out of here fast enough. If the whole," Satan is sending code through our radios to the enemy" s**t he is now flipping out about this! The past two days Rooney has been talking about how he has been hearing some wired voice giving off numbers and every time he starts to here it the wire cuts off to static. I thought they where supposed to give people mental checks before they where let in. Tank and I have been talking about this and we have tried to get him out of here, but we just can't! They don't have time to replace him and said to just keep him covered and off the main lines. As crazy as this might sound- or look on the page - I'm going to listen to the wire tonight and see if I can't catch what it is that he has heard.

October 6th, 1917
9-20 9 -19 23-18-15-14-7 2-5-3-1 21-1-9-4 9 13-1-11-5 9-20 23-18-15-14-7.
A1Z26
"IT IS WRONG BECAUSE I MAKE IT WRONG"
Okay, I started to listen to the wire the other night and I actually heard something! Rooney was right, though I didn't quite here what it said last night. Though tonight it repeated four times and I was able to write it all down above. I took a course back in camp to help my code breaking skills on the off chance I needed to do so and they used a simple code. But there was something else wire though. The voice seemed, wired. It's hard to explain but it seemed, off or other worldly. Anyway, I deciphered it above and have been trying to figure out what it meant so the next few nights I'm going to try and listen to the radio a bit more and find out what is going on, but for now I have to keep this to myself. Last thing I need is my team thinking Rooney is making me crazy too.

Oct 6th 1917 entry 2
I was about to get some rest when it donned on me, our line has been down since 03:00(Oh three hundred hours military time for the grand children or who ever). How the hell could anyone be sending any kind of info? We haven't even heard from command in days. I'm going to try and listen to it tomorrow night. We got pinned down by the Germans the other day and have to stick it out. God please save our souls and spare us from what ever that gas is that we heard about.

Oct 8th, 1917
"The wire message wasn't there last night." Rooney was talking to the men during breakfast this morning. And the strange part is he was right. He was listening to the wire before I could get to it. I sat behind the tree he was at and not a peep was heard all night. The men are still calling him crazy, but going a bit easier on him since they think his sanity is starting to fix itself or something like that. As much as the messages worried me, it worries me that they stopped right as I deciphered the one I heard. Was the message for me? No, it couldn't have been. There is no way they would have known that I heard it. Right? Oh Christ, please tell me we didn't just screw up our chances at ending this war because some one crazy was ignored.

Oct. 9th, 1917
I take this moment of relief to honor the memory(though as terrible as it was) of Eric Pendlton and Clarence Carmichael. It just, it just hit us out of no where! These dark purple shells hit our camp and we thought they where duds, but they weren't. We looked to see the Germans retreating and assumed they used the last of what they had and where unprepared for their remaining shells to be duds, but we where so wrong, oh so ******** wrong! Armstrong started to order everyone to run and put their masks on and failed at this attempt. They where cheering to loud, though the men I was in charge of heard me repeat the order and did so... except for Carmichael. His mask had been hit the day before and rendered useless. The shells busted open and released the purple gas that we heard about and quickly understood why we where told nothing specific about it before and or why the reports where so jumbled and impossible to understand. The men quickly went from cheering to screaming in agonizing pain from neglecting the order. God the screaming... I can't tell if it is just stuck in my head or if their screams are just so loud they can reach us here. Pendlton went into the gas shortly after it hit and pulled Carmichael out, hopping it wasn't to late. Carmines flesh was white as fresh ashes from a wood fire and his veins and eyes where pitch black. Pendlton hadn't had a good look at the poor guy and when he saw our terrified faces he looked to see what it was we where gocking at, Carmichael had his teeth at his throat. Carmichael, the one man in the entire US military that was a vegitarian, just tore out Pendlton's throat! Right in the throat. Soon as we raised our riffles there was screaming, howling, gunfire, and this purple haze all around us as we where charged. The men unloaded on him as his now crimson face was just inches from my pale face. Carmichael, or what ever he was, had me on the ground as he tried to take a chunk out of me and didn't let up till Tank kicked him off and blew his brains out. Armstrong ran out as they got me up and we had to run into the woods deeper than we where. Where we are now still in this gas we can still hear the faint screams of fear and insanity in the far distance. Unfortunately, McMurty, and Whittlesey fell behind us and we dropped half our guns so we could move on faster. Armstrong, Tank and I have our 1911's and knives, but all the others have are there bayonets and what ever they can pick up. Armstrong gave his knife to McCreary while Tank and I decided not to give Rooney a better weapon since he was so unstable for us to even think about it. Though, I have to stay close to the others now. I have been hearing whispers. I can't tell what they are saying, but they seem to go away when I am focusing on this or what the others are discussing.

October 9th 1917 entry two
We have been moving for a good while and haven't seen McCurthy or Whittlesey, though we finally feel safe enough in the new found silence.Though our situation is worst than expected. The gas is still in the air and everything, includeing the air, has been stained this dark purple. If it wasn't for this fire it would be just solid darkness out here. We have been talking about how this gas should have dispated by now and are starting to question how this stuff worked. By now it should have thinned to nothing, or blown away like mustard gas. Instead, it's just lingering as if it was the air we casually breathed in, however, this is the last thing Rooney needed. He was paranoid and crazy before, but now... he was mentally insane now. He thought those "monsters" were everywhere and was talking about how he could hear something repeating 0's and 1's in strange patterns. McCreary told him to keep the mask on and calm down. It helped quite a bit. He wasn't as jumpy until Armstrong went on a power trip and told him to check the perimeter. Rooney and Armstrong went at it until McCreary stepped in, but Rooney got spooked and ran. He started to yell and ran off. McCreary ran after him , holding a lit branch as a torch,and I hadn't been to far behind when I tripped over a root. After I had picked myself up out of the dirt and caught up with them through the sound of what was going on I could hear McCreary talking to some one as if he was trying to apologize to someone. The last thing I heard from him that was clear was something about him being sorry for ending the suffering of his niece Alexis. The rest became gibberish soon after. When I finely caught up I saw the lit stick in a clearing next to Rooney who had suffered a miserable fate. One of the Germans had been hit with the gas as well and made a meal of the helpless Rooney and what ever else Rooney had in his stomach. The solider or monster or, what ever it was, seemed to have been knocked off and his head was obliterated. My attention turned to Patrick as he rambled on and slowly started to repeat random patterns of 0's and 1's. I walked closer until to see blood stains over his boot. It's pretty safe to assume he crushed the monsters head in till it was nothing, but he started to growl and look back at me with his eyes glazing over black. Half of his mask had been torn off to expose him to the gas and turned into one of those creatures from base camp. Needless to say I was able to hold my own safely with a stick half on fire, though I wished the rest of us would make it to our family's. Though I had a lit path, I could hear the voices again. I could hear faint words muttered. "Kill" "Animal" "Survive" "Hell"... the voices left when I was able to sit and write this and hope we can sleep tonight.

October 10th 1917
Well morning couldn't have gone any better. We where just starting to feel the affects of not being able to drink or eat anything because of this ******** gas and Armstrong had been going on a power trip. Armstrong started giving us demands and orders left and right. Tank and I tried to reason with him about the situation, but it just all got out of hand when he pulled his gun on Tank as Tank pulled out his own. After a minute of yelling Tank blew off Armstrong's head, but at a price. When Armstrong's corpse was falling it twitched and the gun in his hand fired. Though it missed anything important , but it tore mask and he was now breathing in this crap. He gave me his and Armstrong's gun and ran off. We both knew what was going to happen, though him running didn't change anything. I took the ammo that I could and began walking again. I decided to take a break and I noticed something... bizarre. It should have been high noon. Even with the purple stained air there was a since of day and night. Now it is as if the air is turning black and I can hear the voices louder now. Among them trying to implant dark thoughts into my mind I can hear the 0's and 1's again! Not even writing is helping anymore! If anyone finds this, please, take this to my family in Mt. Sterling Illinois in America. Just as long as humanity hasn't fallen to this weapon that Satan has given to the German bastards... God save us all.


November 11th, 1917
I made it. Nearly died but I made it. I know the date has jumped significantly so here goes the explanation. Shortly after Tank left me he came back, but more screwed up than the others who had breathed this junk in. His skin was white and veins where black as the others, but only the iris on his eyes where and the air he exhaled was like the black like the fog surrounding us in the clearing we met in. He clenched his knife as he glared at me and fear ran down my spine. There was not just insanity, but also rage in his eyes. He was pissed and seemed to have some degree of intelligence left. He- IT never said a word. It didn't need to. I knew very well why it was here but I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it. It lunged at me to go for the kill, but I had shot the hand that held the steel blade but he kept coming at me. They teach you how to kill an enemy in boot camp, but they never tell you how to kill an enemy with your friends face. I know it wasn't him, but the recognition of a person you fought along side with for so long and having to put them down...it was just to much at that moment. It tackled me to the ground in my hesitation and was trying to eat me. I was able to hold him back with my left hand at his throat and I reached for my gun with the right. He was clawing at me like a feral wolf or coyote fighting with it's own kind for a small meal to survive that little bit longer. I realized to late that I couldn't get my gun. He tore the filter of my gas mask off as I ripped my trench knife from it's sheath and rammed it's blade to the side of it's head. I threw the corpse off of myself and looked at it's face. Tanks face. My "Brother in Arms" so to speak. It all hit me like a train and it began to build up. The rage, the memories. All of it. The thought of this monster wearing his face as if it was it's own. I ripped what was left of the mask off and started to see red and felt my face was getting wetter from each passing second. I had gotten so pissed I stabbed his face until it was non existent.... Than I could hear them. My family's voices telling me that I was just an animal for what I did. I was no better than a rabid dog. Where the voices right? Am I just an animal? The shadows grew nearer as I knelt down, running out of air and unable to breath from the unrelenting anxiety and voices. I felt my screams escapeing my lungs, but I couldn't hear it through the voices. Soon the 0's and 1's where overshadowing everything as I could see my fallen comrades and the black fog creeping nearer and nearer until I passed out. I remember waking up in a white room where there was a figure with a faint outline with no real features. Just an outline of a person that spoke. It told me that he could only save one of us, I assume it was referring to those who I traveled with, and that I so happened to survived long enough to be saved. It told me that it would send me home to live out the rest of my days on one condition. That condition would be to come back one day to help him with something. I agreed and woke at home with a piece of paper with this series of 0's and 1's.

10000-10100-00001-00100-10000-10100-01010-00001-00001-000001-10011-00110-10010-10010-00100-00111-01100-00110-10000-00001-000001-00101-11000-11000-01100-00111

I looked up codes like this and found out that it is the Baudot-Murray code and read up to, " THE THREE" and thought of something. "Why am I worrying about this? I am home and away from war and what ever the hell else happened. Why not put it all away?" And so, I bit this book fare well. Though it bothers me slightly that I am in a new world. One where I never left home to go to war and stayed a store clerk with my wife Amy. What happened to the one I am from?

November 30th ,1921
It's been a few years, but I thought I was done with this. " As of the early morning of November 21st, 1921, Major Charles White Whittlesy had gone missing and has yet to be found. The Major is the noted hero of the "Lost Batalion" from the Meuse -Argonne Offensive during the Great War with George C. McMurthy at his side. No one has an idea of where he has gone off to, but is soon to be pronounced deceased if he is not found with in the week." I never followed the war reports. Some how, some way, that "being" weather it be an angel of god or some greater force, it managed to alter history and placed me into a world where I never left for war. After reading about Whittlesy I remembered the journal and the numbers. I deciphered what it said." THE THREE WILL UNITE SOON." I can't say for sure what the future will hold for me when it calls me back to that place or who I will be with, but the one sure thing is this, I ,Drake Alexander Travinsky, will be thankful for every every day I have to breath after that nightmare and pray that I nor anyone else will have to experience anything like that again.

December 18th, 1942
They have called me into service today. Pearl Harbor was bombed a couple of days ago and saw Frankline Roosevelt on the telie talking about how the 7th will go down in infamy. I knew it would only be a short time before we went to war with the Nazis and Japs. To bad I have to go since my work in "World War 1" was unrecognized and now that nightmare... It's coming. Soon. Maybe as I walk out the door, or maybe right before I take a bullet to the head. It sent me another message. I'm not worried about it right now. I'm sure I'll find out what it says when we meet again. "GSV SLOOLDVW OZWB DROO SZVE Z GVIIRYOV GIRK. Put the first 13 over the last 13."

This is Amanda's Great Great Grandfathers journal from World War I. I read through this like three times to make sure I read it all right. He saw that white room, he saw the figure, he was told something identical as to what I was too. Amanda gave me this because she new how I was reading into horror fiction, creepypastas, and myths about other worlds. I haven't found anything reliable EXCEPT for this. I'm gonna have to look into this more and decipher the message later. Right now, I just need to relax and try and figure out who the third person is. So far the two of us that I know of have a similar connection, AMANDA, her great great grandfather and myself as her best friend. So far my best lead is to follow her family line and see if I can find anything related after I decipher the message. THE HOLLOWED LADY WILL HAVE A TERRIBLE TRIP."

Authors Notes: The Meuse-Argonne Offensive is a real event that took place in World War I from September 26th to November 11th of 1918. Also, Charles White Whittlesey did go missing on the date of November 26th 1921. The story above is a complete work of fiction and not some conspiracy theory. Hope you enjoyed my first two attempts at creepypastas and enjoy the next two in the series. But one last thing, I am curious if anyone has notice my subtle gaming references in my creepypastas.