FORWARD
My reasons for undertaking this work is to tell the truth about what happened at Banbury Cross. Much has been written and reported that at best smacks of sensationalism and at worst is simply untrue.
Although the events that occurred there were bizarre and unique the hype and propaganda that was spread after the story broke was hurtful, not only to my career as a journalist, but also to the innocent people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, by no choice of their own.
I will begin at the start of my involvement and will tell you only what I know as fact. Any opinions stated within these pages happen to belong only to the author.
I thank you for reading this report - and congratulate you for taking the time to hear the story from someone who was there on the ground - and experienced some of the most wonderful and at the same time terrifying moments of their life.
Best,
Anna Terrence
*
Chapter One - The Scoop
In 2016 I was three years into my career as a writer for the New York based paranormal investigative magazine "The Gnosis". I had seen and written about many things that could not be explained by common sense or science - hauntings, ufos, Sasquatch, demons and even a leprechaun like entity terrorizing a small town in Ireland ("End of The Rainbow" Gnosis Magazine April 2014).
My editor, Tony Mathis, had grown to respect me as one the most well researched and articulate reporters in his bullpen, second only to Sam Norton - Sam, as you may remember broke the story about the Tamala Richards possession ("Devil's Plaything" Gnosis Magazine, February 2012) and became a household name.
On October 5th I was called into Tony's office as soon as I arrived at the office. I was a little hung over having gone out with some girlfriends the night before to celebrate a friends engagement. After gathering a notebook and popping a few Advil I sauntered in.
"You look like you had a good time last night, Terrence." Tony said.
"A little too good really, what's up?" I sat down across from Tony and put my notebook on his desk.
"We have a really interesting story - it has come to us through a few reliable sources, a bizarre and intriguing situation." He clicked his mouse and stared intently at the monitor in front of him.
"What is it? Vampires, ghouls? 'Tis the season..." I joked.
Tony turned his monitor toward me, "The place is called Banbury Cross...." He had a map up on the screen - Upstate New York. "I..." I started.
"Look, I understand," he interrupted, "you don't want to go up there again, but you are the only one I can trust with this one Anna."
It had been two years since my experience with the Demon of Siskitch - in Upstate New York and the very thought of returning to that part of the state made my blood chill.
"I don't think we'll be dealing with anything paranormal here," he continued, "it sounds like this may be some sort of cult."
The apprehension I felt instantly lifted, the majority of my academic career had focused on the psychology of cults and my masters thesis was about the interpersonal relationships that developed amongst the members of Jonestown cult.
"Ok. What is the intel?"
"Well, we have information that dozens of young men between the age of 18 and 25 who have passed through Banbury Cross - often with their girlfriends and sometimes with parents have refused to leave the small town after spending the night. Sometimes they disappear, sometimes they just refuse to leave. It is one of the strangest tips we have ever received. These friends and family members sometimes receive postcards or short letters from these young men, but never phone calls...." Tony threw a dossier onto the desk in front of me.
I opened the package and pulled out a stack of papers. On the first page was a photo of young man, he couldn't have been more than 20. Stark black hair, a few locks hanging over his dark and penetrating eyes.
It is almost embarrassing, it is so trite, but his eyes felt like they were looking into me.
"Who... who... is this?" I mustered while reluctantly breaking my gaze with the young man who, given my age, could have very well been my son.
Mathis took the photo from my hand, "Oh, that's Devin McNerra, he went to Banbury with his girlfriend, Megan something-or-rather and she said that after a night at a the local theater..." Tony rifled through his stack of papers, "... the Devil's Playhouse production of 'A Midsummer's Night Dream' they went back to their hotel room, fucked, well she said 'made love'," he flashed quotes with his fingers, "and when she woke up in the morning he was gone."
A hot shiver ran through me, "How old is he?"
Tony flipped a papers about again, "Says here he's eighteen."
The shiver ran deeper and hotter, this time with a mighty dose of shame. Tony handed the photo back and I did not look at it, instead pushing it back into the envelope.
"Take a look in there," Tony pointed to the package, "there are a shitload of 'em."
I reached in and pulled out the stack of photographs. Each photo featured a young man more physically striking than the next. Ridiculously handsome features, hair flowing free but not unruly, and the eyes. Again, it is embarrassing, the eyes of each young man. Their eyes all felt like I may have known them from a dream, and not a particularly pure dream, if you know what I mean. With each photo I kept getting tingles and chills. These pictures of these bizarrely striking boys were literally making me wet. Each one more than the one before.
