We have retrieved the following file from Dr. Andrew Ashford. As before, audio and visual content has been transcribed, as original materials could not be removed without raising further suspicion.
Be aware that Dr. Ashford is aware of the interest in his work, though we do not believe that he has identified either you or our agent. Proceed with caution.
THE ASHFORD FILES
"The Disappearances at Bitter Rock"
Bitter Rock, Alaska
THE FOLLY OF THIS ISLAND
Final radio broadcasts of the Landontown residents
From the island of Bitter Rock, Alaska
12:48 PM, SEPTEMBER 9, 1973
UNKNOWN: . . . if anyone's hearing this. This is [indistinct] of the Landontown Fellowship on Bitter Rock. Our phone is out. The winds and rain are violent. Mist everywhere. Can't [indistinct] evacuate. Everyone on Belaya Skala has taken shelter in the church. I—
3:45 PM, September 9, 1973
UNKNOWN: Storm is continuing. Flooding is becoming a concern. We don't know if—
<Transmission cuts out. It resumes a few seconds later.>
UNKNOWN: We thought we were alone, but—
5:34 PM, September 9, 1973
UNKNOWN: There are figures in the mist. They're everywhere. Can anyone hear me? Is anyone there? You need to come for us.
<A long pause is interrupted by a distant rumbling.>
UNKNOWN: They have our voices.
12:03 AM, September 10, 1973
UNKNOWN: If anyone can hear me, do not come to Bitter Rock. Do not come to Belaya Skala. Do you hear? Don't come! Don't—
<Frantic voices shout in the background. There is a loud crack, like splitting wood.>
UNKNOWN: He's here. God help us. God help us, he's here!
1:13 AM, September 10, 1973
<At first there is only the sound of static crackling. And then labored breathing. A voice—perhaps the same one, but strained almost beyond recognition, speaks slowly.>
UNKNOWN: There is no salvation.
Note: Landontown was located on the island of Bitter Rock, Alaska. Thirty-one residents were present on September 7, 1973. Only Theresa Landon, wife of founder Cole Landon, was absent. Multiple attempts were made to respond to the final radio calls of the residents, but none of these attempts appear to have succeeded.
All thirty-one residents vanished without a trace. No further communication was received. No bodies were ever recovered.
They were not the first. They would not be the last.
SEPTEMBER 2, 2018
The camera is positioned to one side of a study. Bookshelves line the walls; a heavy wooden desk in the center of the room is covered in orderly but prolific stacks of folders, books, and papers. A photograph on the desk shows Dr. Andrew Ashford standing with Miranda and Abigail Ryder, his wards, in front of a sycamore tree.
In the chair in front of the desk sits a young white woman: Sophia Novak. She is blonde, in her late teens. Her features are solemn, her skin sun-weathered. Dr. Ashford appears from behind the camera and sits opposite her, in the chair behind the desk.
ASHFORD: There we go. Ms. Novak, was it? Is it Sophie or Sophia?
SOPHIA: Either one is fine.
ASHFORD: I see. Thank you for coming all this way.
SOPHIA: I thought I should. Abby said—she talked about you a lot.