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Unnerving Oddities of the Gold Coast


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UNNERVING  ODDITIES  OF  THE  GOLD  COAST


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Hello ghosts and ghouls of San Andreas! I'm Mercy, a recent transplant to this horrible place from a different horrible place called Portland. My hometown of Portland is a really weird place with an undercity of old unmapped tunnels and fenced-off suburban parks with weird freemason obelisks. I used to love going around and committing minor breaches of the law (such as trespassing - honestly private property just makes life so much less fun) in order to find and photograph weird shit so I figure, what the hell. New state means new adventures. Not having grown up here though I don't know about any of this weird shit there most definitely is around this drought-stricken wasteland SO naturally I made a blog and here's how it works:

STEP ONE: Comment with weird shit you've seen or heard about or things going on this page.

STEP TWO: I will use my own time and money to go check this weird shit out and write a blog post about what I find there, any mysteries I solve, interviews with weirdos I meet.

Now I'm not going into this with no content either - I heard a juicy rumor about a strange coyote mutilation up north so I'm gonna be chasing that lead alongside any that come in from you commenters. Blog updates will be posted on this thread and linked here as they come out. Stay spooky!

 

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Edited by Hjorthorn
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Mercy and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day


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fig. 1: piece of shit asbo


   Today began with the intent to follow up on the tip from reader SantaMuerte664, as I set out from my motel in Paleto Bay to drive south to Sandy before investigating this [allegedly] haunted O'Neill Ranch in Grapeseed. However, truth is often stranger than fiction, and most of today's excitement comes not from the investigation of that site but rather the events leading up to it.
   I began by stepping into Sandy's 24/7 to pick up some shit food for dinner before heading the short distance to the house. This was about 08:30 - the sky was still red from the setting sun. Upon returning to where I parked my car, however, I found it gone - the piece of shit rental Asbo was missing. I reported it and called a taxi, figuring I'd go get a drink and hope it got found soon. It did not. In a cosmic event of foreshadowing, the friendly taxi driver warned me of other taxis that would try to fleece passengers for fares as high as ten grand for crosstown or out of town trips - that fare was four hundred, a detail which will be important later.
   After going through a total of nine fingers of vodka I figured if they hadn't found my car yet, they wouldn't for a while. The bar I was at was worse than a dive as well - I was able to tolerate it for the cheap booze, but hit my limit when somebody walked in and let their dog shit on the floor (an act which was mostly ignored by other patrons). Figured I'd get some fresh air and hike to Mirror Park to rent a car, hoping I'd be sober by the time I arrived there.
   The hike there was largely uneventful, people of the city largely ignoring my drunken self (thankfully) save for a couple tourist kids in the park and a bicycle-mounted cop. My piece of shit asbo traded for a piece of shit rental station wagon, I hit the trail around 10:00 and started driving (mostly sober) towards Sandy once again.
   This would prove to be a near fatal mistake, and not even because of my drunk driving.
   In the pass near the prison, a blacked-out car with its lights off came up behind me going almost twice as fast as me and slowed instead of passing. They suddenly slammed into my rear and pit-maneuvered me, sending me spinning out of control towards the barrier as they sped off. The rental was totalled, but the bullshit didn't stop there, oh no. Whiplashed and punched in the nose by an airbag, I called 911 and before long a big cop SUV showed up to see if I was still alive. He'd hardly blocked the lane and gotten out of his taxmoney truck when around the curve came a muscle car chased by a shitload of speeding cops. The muscle car clipped the SUV and sent it spinning into the cop and my car, fucking up his leg and pinning me between an SUV and the cement barrier.
   More cops came, pried us out, and I got tossed in an ambulance and driven - - -  back into Los Santos! It was like God himself was determined to keep me from leaving the city. I tried calling a cab at Pillbox Hill but the asshole who showed up told me it'd be TEN FUCKING GRAND to drive to Sandy Shores. Only trust eastern European taxi drivers, readers, or you'll get shafted by these grifting American assholes. Even after I told him to stick his ten grand up his ass and fuck off, he kept following me to try and cajole me into paying up and getting a ride until the cop on a bicycle I saw earlier came riding up. I don't condone developing personal relationships with cops, but she was nice enough to offer to drive me up to Sandy Shores. As I hung out in her house for a few, drinking water and helping myself to her ibuprofen, I got a call that they found my car abandoned roadside between Sandy and Grapeseed. I hopped in the cop's (expensive, tasteless) black sports car and endured the awkward silence back up north to my car, only to find it (fig. 1) totalled. It wasn't going anywhere, and no way in hell was I gonna call a mechanic at this point. The cop was still parked nearby so I came back and hitched a ride to the nearest dealership and just picked up an RV I'd been meaning to buy anyway. Finally, I was able to drive unmolested to...


The O'Neill Ranch


...which is a shithole that gave the dogshit bar I'd visited earlier a run for its money. Absolute let-down. Hardly even spooky.

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there's more hole than door now

 

   I crept up to the window and peered in just to see a door absolutely shredded by buckshot. Figured it was quiet enough to be unoccupied, and there were no cars around, so I let myself in. Dead silent, smelled like mold and rotting food and unwashed human filth. The house was practically falling apart and showed more signs of being haunted by ghouls and gremlins such as myself than by any spirits or poltergeists. I got a few goosebumps from a radio playing in the nearby barn that was a bit distorted by reverb, and every now and then I swore I heard an infant crying in another room. However, there seems to be a 'mad scientist's lab' in the basement, so maybe Frankenstein's monster is about. Keep the submissions coming - I'll sneak into any fucked-up crackhouse you freaks send me to if it means I might run into some weird shit to write about.

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the bathroom is surprisingly clean

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Edited by Hjorthorn
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Username: Spazzmophobia
Comment: During my brief time serving upstate, I managed to see and hear quite a lot of fucked up stuff about Chiliad's Wilderness Park. Whilst I don't recommend you head up there due to actual human-provoked activity that might cause your head to end up on a pike. It's entirely up to you to scourge about and see if you find the dreaded scarecrow men across the forest.

PS: I'd take a knife and a phone.

Edited by Blackbird
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Username: Mercy
Comment: Spazzmophobia I've been trying to find even an ounce of solid proof this shit has really been happening but people in Paleto are saying only two sightings have occurred in the past month and nobody will tell me anything about it. I can't post my findings until I get at least a photo of one of these scarecrows and it's like they're avoiding me or went to ground as soon as I showed up. Still going to keep hiking around every day and looking though.

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Username: Brooklynn99

Comment: We spoke briefly at The Bay Bar in Paleto. I don't know if it's connected, but, there is an old wooden fort located in the West region of Mount Chiliad, overlooking the fishing pier. I took my bike up there a few days ago and it was derelict, but someone mentioned that a group of people may have been sighted there at night. Maybe just a camping trip, but there's been several sighting at a distance, and thought it "might" be connected to your case about the "totems".

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Gordo Beach Unpleasantries


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   As some of you I've met in my gallivanting around northern San Andreas already know, I've moved out of the motel for creeper reasons and into an absolutely miserable and slow as hell blue RV which I have converted into a goth hideout. This significant downgrade in my lifestyle allows me to change camping spots on a daily basis and keep weird people I meet from being able to break into my motel room to rob or rape me or whatever. That's the idea, at least, and only time will tell how well it works in practice.
   I have repeatedly been asked in my travels if I am aware of the 'Mt Gordo Ghost' The answer is yes, I am aware of it, and so are so many people in this state and beyond that it's not even worth doing an article on. However, reader MJWx1996 posed the question in such an atypical and specific way that I perhaps wondered if it was bait to get me to be in a certain place at a certain time, by certain individuals involved in a certain longer-term investigation I'm doing. So after my usual nightly bar-haunting in the county, trying to trawl for what scarce clues I can regarding that lead, I figured I'd go to the place I'd been deliberately avoiding and see if I could scrounge up some trouble. As it turns out, not only could I, but it would be more than I bargained for.

 

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   The Mt Gordo Lighthouse is a well-known landmark, and is somewhat eerie at night. Maybe I have some kind of synesthesia but my mind seems to expect such a tremendous and bright light to make some kind of audible sound, but it just silently revolves as it towers above the rough coast, heedless of weather or visitors. Its harsh bright lights sweeps rhythmically across the landscape, briefly illuminating everything in its gaze in a harsh and ghostly white before turning its baleful eye towards sea. I spent a few minutes here trying to discern which stretch of sand near Mt Gordo would be classified as Gordo Beach (the answer is all of it, but I didn't know that at the time).
   The night is already dark in the county, but here in particular it seemed as black as pitch. My RV's worn headlights seemed to struggle to pierce the darkness, as if it were submerged in the benthic murk of the sea. A short drive away from that luminous beacon brought us into the thin forest at the eastern flank of Mt Gordo, where a small and scarcely-used campground lays. Here I floundered in the dark for a few minutes trying to find a flat spot to park, before shutting off the rig and stepping out into the unknown with my trusty flashlight.

 

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   Here's a tip, hunters - the place is lousy with rabbits! They all went scampering away as I exited the RV, and during my whole ordeal here they'd continue to dart into the path of my flashlight and give me an increasingly small fright. I proceeded into the tall weeds and wildflowers to again attempt to locate a cliff overlooking a beach, as described in the comment, and observed remarkably little of interest. A cliffside shine operation, an empty campsite (related to the shine, perhaps?), and finally a particularly conspicuous cliff overlooking the coast below.

 

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   I looked over that conspicuous cliff, flashlight aimed at the churning surf below, and I did see a face! An RV was submerged at the bottom of the cliff, and floating in the water there was a bloated corpse with a bullet hole in his head. Thank god it didn't smell or I probably would have blew chunks and contaminated the crime scene. I decided I did not want to fuck with this place any longer and promptly absconded, stumbling around in the dark and waving my light around like an idiot as I tried to make my way back to the car. That's when I started to hear footsteps all around me, as if somebody was running from tree to bush around and beside me, but as I waved my light around I shit you not there wasn't a soul around except rabbits. I started jogging, almost tripping into one of the tents, and as I got to the van a voice whispered 'hello' right in my ear. I am not joking when I say I spun around and, again, nobody there. So I guess all the rumors I passed off as being just unjustified occult tourism aren't so inflated after all. Ladies and gentlemen, I do know and have heard the so-called Mount Gordo Ghost as well as his dumped body friend.


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You may spot the author's humble office here and there throughout Blaine County and beyond.

 

   In my week living alone in the woods and backroads of Blaine County, I have come to see how eerily lonely the stretch of country is. Even in the towns, it can seem terribly empty - only the occasional passing car, shadowy figures walking in the pools of black between streetlights, coyotes darting across the street outside of closed liquor stores. It's a dreadfully quiet, mournful place at night between the wind and the sand and decaying buildings.

   I continue to diligently chisel away at the 'big one', dear readers, and promise that a feature-length post will come as soon as I have something substantial in my grasp. For now, however, I have very little to go on. I'm excited to announce that tomorrow, however, I'll be following up on the biggest lead I've had so far; though there's always the risk it'll be a dead end.

Edited by Hjorthorn
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