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Post by professor on Oct 10, 2019 19:14:35 GMT -5
I didn't get an email about it shipping, but it did arrive in my mailbox today.
It's very light.
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Post by stupidstupiddan on Oct 10, 2019 20:02:31 GMT -5
Physically light, light on content, or both? Hoping mine hits tomorrow
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Post by dmikester on Oct 10, 2019 21:50:34 GMT -5
I mean, The Weeping Book wasn't exactly super heavy or anything, and we more or less know what the Artifact is going to be here.
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Post by dmikester on Oct 11, 2019 18:31:08 GMT -5
Just created a new thread to discuss the actual product and/or puzzles within. Just as a note, my delivery process via USPS was silly as always. The package was showing as not having been delivered to USPS yet on Thursday evening, which seemed suspicious, so I asked to get email updates on the package. An hour later, suddenly the package was in LA and was going to be delivered today, which it was. Just a little hack in case a package seems to be delayed or missing from USPS for you; it's worked for me multiple times.
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Post by dmikester on Oct 16, 2019 17:52:35 GMT -5
So it turns out that the Epilogue that was discussed earlier in this thread is actually fairly crucial to appreciating the full narrative of The Buried Puppet. Because I'm not sure if it's really accessible anymore, I wanted to post it here in a spoiler tag. Really, you should read this before starting Buried Puppet, but it's also good after finishing Puppet so that you can fully understand the references being made in the final part. Here it is, typos and all: THE WEEPING BOOK: EPILOGUE
December, 1984
It was cold in Montreal, and it felt even colder in Allan’s office. He’d never expected to be rich, but he’d at least thought he would be able to keep the heat on. Business was not good. He needed more patients; there just weren’t enough traumatized children in this city. What an ugly thought. What a cold and ugly thought.
He was about to call it a day when he heard a knock at the door. He situated himself importantly behind his mahogany desk and straightened his name plate.
“Come in.”
The door opened. It was a mother and her son. The mother was young, and might have once been beautiful. But as she stood there before Allan, she seemed like a woman who had lost herself in some great calamity, and whose existence now relied solely on the care of her child.
He had seen this before. Guardians who take on the world, and the world breaks them. What confused him more was the boy. He was almost a young man, his awkward adolescent body trailing behind her, bad posture and a few blond hairs on his chin. Allan could tell the kid wasn’t happy, but neither did he seem capable of causing a life-sized disturbance.
“Dr. Tish?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes? Can I help you?”
She introduced herself, then her son. She said they’d been travelling, and had just recently settled in Montreal. She made reference to her boy having gone through a traumatic event, and needing counseling. She asked if she could trust him. Allan wasn’t sure if she was referring to him, or to her son.
The boy, for the most part, remained silent. His eyes darted around the office, never resting on any one thing for too long. He looked over his shoulder once, and at his mother’s face often.
“I am a professional,” Allan assured her, as if that should answer all her questions. “But can I trust you?” she asked, this time more pointedly. There was something odd about all this, for sure, but he needed the money.
“Yes, of course.”
She hesitated a minute and shared a look with her son. He shook his head. Allan could tell this was not the boy’s first trip to a shrink. Real trust was hard to find.
The mother sighed, then took a deep breath. “Do you believe in witchcraft?”
And just like that, things came into focus. Her mannerisms, her broken nature, the boy’s aloofness. Whatever they have been through, they must have believed the child was cursed. A light of excitement flickered in Allan’s mind. This would make quite the study. He could possibly even write a book.
“I believe I can help your child,” he said with a confident smile. And the mother’s shoulders relaxed.
June, 1985
Seven months later and the nice weird kid who thought there was a witch inside him was Allan’s most interesting patient by far (really his only patient).
According to both the mother and her son, the boy was under the control of an ancient witch named Demdike. Allan didn’t really believe in all that. He did, however, believe that the boy believed. And that was just as relevant.
By focusing his work on how the boy’s fantasies affected his mental health (and vise versa) he seemed to possibly be getting somewhere. Or at least it didn’t appear to be getting worse. The boy’s condition ebbed and flowed. The mother, at times, let her anxiety abate. And there still could be a book in all this.
Allan sure hoped there was. He needed something like that — or at least another half dozen kids haunted by made-up witches — if he was going to keep on paying the rent.
October, 1985
He was waiting for the witch-boy and his mother to knock on the door, when Allan heard the phone ring. He picked it up, and there was a voice from the past: Dr. Amanda Stuart. His old mentor. From what, twenty years ago? She sounded as sharp as ever.
They did some quick, only slightly awkward, catching up, as he tried to guess to himself what this was about. She asked how his practice was going, and he lied efficiently. Then she started talking about her own: Her partner was retiring, and they had too many patients as it was... He hummed empathetically. She knew it was a long-shot, since he had his own practice now, but…
“I’d love to,” he said. “Oh. What’s that?” “I’d be honored to come work with you in Vermont. I’d love to.”
She was very pleased. Surprised and pleased. She asked how long he thought it might take — to find other care for all his patients in Montreal, to close down the firm.
“Not long at all,” said Allan, already packing up the office in his mind. By the time they hung up, his apartment was all packed, too.
Then came the knock on the door, and Allan’s one and only patient stepped into the office with his mother. The doctor did his best to hide his own grin.
November, 1986
Chittenden, Vermont was as pleasant a town as Allan could ever imagine. It was beautiful, quiet, and welcoming. Dr Stuart introduced him around and he settled in quickly. A year seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and he had become a beacon of the community.
The work was rewarding, too. He was finding his stride with a host of new patients, making real progress.
Only rarely did he think about the boy in Montreal — his sad mother, and their strange self-delusion. Surely the care he was receiving now, from Dr. Goldberg (who Amanda herself had recommended), was as good as whatever Allan could have done. If not better.
Allan focused on the people around him: the children in his care, and the beautiful English Literature teacher he’d met. Wilma Waters. A striking name for a striking woman. He was going through books faster than ever — one from the library every few days — though sometimes he only skimmed the pages. It was working. Wilma Waters was warming up to him. The whole town was. Life was looking good.
How did he ever get so lucky?
July, 1987
For a while now, Allan hadn’t thought of witch-boy at all. He was wholly invested in Chittenden: his career, his relationship, his new friends. He’d even bought a house. And working with Amanda was better than he could have hoped for. They consulted with each other on difficult cases, researched fascinating studies, and he was still learning from her every day.
He was happy — happier than he ever remembered being.
So when the phone rang on an especially hot day in July just as he was getting ready to head home, Montreal was the furthest thing from his mind, and it took him a moment to recognize Dr. Melvin Goldberg’s voice.
“So you haven’t heard from him?” asked Dr. Goldberg, for the second time, a tinge of worry in his clinical tone. “No we haven’t even been in touch since Montreal. You said he’s been gone how long?” “Six days…” “Six days… And the mother?” “Beside herself with worry.”
Allan started to sweat. Sure the kid had bad days, but he had never exhibited symptoms that suggested he would run away, especially not from his mother. Where would he even run to?
Allan agreed to contact Melvin, and the police, the moment he heard from the boy. Then he hung up the phone. Something had started to gurgle in his guts. It felt like dread. And also, maybe, a small amount of guilt.
As he walked home from work, guts still gurgling, Allan told himself he’d done his best. Melvin was an excellent doctor. The boy was in great hands, probably. Definitely. He repeated these sentiments over and over, so that by the time he got home, the scent of Wilma’s stew wafting through the open window, his mind was again wholly in Vermont.
September, 1987
The story was in the local paper. Not front page, but a decent-sized column on page 3, considering it wasn’t local news. The only reason Allan even stopped on it was the name. Witch-boy’s name.
There’d been a murder in Louisiana, a gruesome killing in broad daylight, in front of a crowd of witnesses. Around noon in a heavy-trafficked plaza, the boy crept up behind his victim with a hammer and bashed him repeatedly on the head, until the man no longer looked human.
The police were there within moments. They arrested the boy and charged him with first degree murder. He was to remain in custody until the trail.
It felt like the air was being sucked from the room. He read the words again and again, hoping their meaning would change, that he’d somehow misread. But there it was, in clear 11-point Times New Roman, the horrifying fate of the gentle, weird boy who thought he was possessed by a witch.
It looked like a random act of violence, but Allan knew better. The victim’s name rang a bell: Arthur Nowell. He ran to his office to find his notes and felt his stomach turn as he flipped through the pages. On his bad days, the boy would rant about the injustice Demdike had suffered at the hands of a Nowell.
Allan closed the notebook and sat on the floor. His heart was pounding, a thin film of cold sweat coating his skin. If he showed this to the boy’s attorney, whoever that may end up being, it’d surely be enough for an insanity defense. Though he wouldn’t be off the hook, it might at least help the boy get the care he so clearly needed.
But a murder trial could take months. Allan would be asked to testify. He would be away from his patients, away from Wilma, away from his beautiful life in this beautiful town.
Later that night, after a number of scotches, and in the familiar darkness of his backyard, Allan lit a fire and tossed the notebook in. He watched the pages go up in flames.
November, 1987
Wilma sat across from Allan on the couch and let out a deep, exhausted sigh. It was only seven o’clock, but she was already in her pajamas, ready to turn in. Something had been weighing down on her, and Allan knew exactly what it was.
“How was Clayton today?” he asked. “He is such a good kid, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was throwing scissors in the classroom! We’re all so worried.” She closed her eyes and let her head drop onto his shoulder.
“His parents seem nice, but maybe there’s trouble at home...” Then finally she side-stepped into the point:
She and the other teachers had been talking, and they all thought it would be a good idea — if Allan would maybe visit the boy. It was, after all, his specialty.
“I know you’re so busy already and you barely have time. But he’s such a good kid, Allan.” She squeezed his hand.
Wilma Waters could make him scale a mountain with a single bat of her eyelids.
“Okay. Let’s arrange a meeting as soon as possible.” “I’ll call the parents first thing tomorrow and give them your number. Thank you, Allan.” she beamed.
One week later, Dr. Allan Tish had his first appointment with Clayton Barnes.
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Post by jetewabbie on Oct 21, 2019 7:48:22 GMT -5
So it turns out that the Epilogue that was discussed earlier in this thread is actually fairly crucial to appreciating the full narrative of The Buried Puppet. Because I'm not sure if it's really accessible anymore, I wanted to post it here in a spoiler tag. Really, you should read this before starting Buried Puppet, but it's also good after finishing Puppet so that you can fully understand the references being made in the final part. Here it is, typos and all: LOL - I read this thinking it was for the Buried Puppet and wondered why it was not making sense.
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Post by laalbieglna on Dec 14, 2019 13:41:39 GMT -5
LOL - I read this thinking it was for the Buried Puppet and wondered why it was not making sense. It's very helpful if you need to do any library research to round out the Buried Puppet experience.
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Post by Anson longbottom on Jan 6, 2020 17:50:14 GMT -5
Ebra Edit Comments Share Ebra Found this on demonology fandom:
"Ebra is one of the eleven named Servitors of Pamersiel. A nocturnal Aerial Devil, Ebra is known as being a very useful demon when it comes to driving out spirits from haunted places. He is an expert liar and cannot keep a secret. Ebra is arrogant and stubborn and when summoned it must be done from the second floor of a home or in a wide open space."
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Post by Anson Longbottom on Jan 6, 2020 17:59:35 GMT -5
Digging deeper, I've wondered about a few things: Description of Sharp Roots film: clearly Wilma Waters is Aurora Star. In addition, The line in the film review: "shows you its teeth without ever biting because she understands the teeth are all you need to see" is a reference to the drawings of the teeth in the book. Wondered if Mr Bellylaugh had visited Ian in the few minutes a day he seemed absent from the puppet, instigating Ian's adamant questions of "you think you're funny?" Lastly, MPC doesn't typically randomly add numbers into things without them being meaningful in some way? Bellylaugh's rant to Ian about numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4, etc., leads to a string of numbers that look like: 1234341236. Maybe I'm really reaching, but I wonder if that's another code of some kind? Maybe I'm just enjoying going down the rabbit hole a bit too much. Was also trying to find a way to Convert the name Aurora Star into Wilma Waters or vice versa. And, Amber Warren (the clerk who signed the kid out of the detention facility..is the clerk....Warren is one of the names in the list of ghosts/hauntings on the library website. Probably a coincidence. But wondering why the discharge papers were included if they don't have a clue of some kind.
Loved this experience and the way it tied back in to the previous one!
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Post by Emric on Apr 5, 2020 1:34:58 GMT -5
Digging deeper, I've wondered about a few things: Description of Sharp Roots film: clearly Wilma Waters is Aurora Star. In addition, The line in the film review: "shows you its teeth without ever biting because she understands the teeth are all you need to see" is a reference to the drawings of the teeth in the book. Wondered if Mr Bellylaugh had visited Ian in the few minutes a day he seemed absent from the puppet, instigating Ian's adamant questions of "you think you're funny?" Lastly, MPC doesn't typically randomly add numbers into things without them being meaningful in some way? Bellylaugh's rant to Ian about numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4, etc., leads to a string of numbers that look like: 1234341236. Maybe I'm really reaching, but I wonder if that's another code of some kind? Maybe I'm just enjoying going down the rabbit hole a bit too much. Was also trying to find a way to Convert the name Aurora Star into Wilma Waters or vice versa. And, Amber Warren (the clerk who signed the kid out of the detention facility..is the clerk....Warren is one of the names in the list of ghosts/hauntings on the library website. Probably a coincidence. But wondering why the discharge papers were included if they don't have a clue of some kind.
Loved this experience and the way it tied back in to the previous one! I'm stuck. Any progression from this? Are the magazine sheets or the discharge papers useful? Also, did you ever find the torn out page from the journal?
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Post by kamiface on May 25, 2020 18:58:14 GMT -5
I got as far as the Admin login on the library page. I read all of it and I don't know if this is the end? This is my first box, I can't tell if it's even over. The last bit about Wilma swearing she'll destroy Ebra makes me think there's more. Does the search bar on the library page even work? Nothing I put in it has given me anything.
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Post by wayneb2010 on Jun 6, 2020 18:36:58 GMT -5
I got as far as the Admin login on the library page. I read all of it and I don't know if this is the end? This is my first box, I can't tell if it's even over. The last bit about Wilma swearing she'll destroy Ebra makes me think there's more. Does the search bar on the library page even work? Nothing I put in it has given me anything. I am at this point as well, did you ever get any further?
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Post by dmikester on Jun 6, 2020 22:05:41 GMT -5
If you've logged in at the library website using the secret admin username and password then you've found the end of the narrative and the experience as far as I can tell. There's been some speculation that there's something more hidden in the magazine pages, but I was expressly told by the MPC themselves that there was nothing additional in them (you can see a quote from an email I got from them earlier in this thread). One important thing to note is that Buried Puppet does not wrap everything up. On the contrary, I assume the plan is to create a kind of trilogy (or an even longer series) of Experiences in this universe, so there are a fair number of loose ends here that will likely be explored in the next Experience in the series.
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Post by distantsmoke on Aug 6, 2020 12:50:25 GMT -5
Well, I finally plunked down money for this. I got an email today with a 25$ discount and a challenge coin added to the experience.
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Post by Sherlock on Nov 1, 2020 22:38:02 GMT -5
The magazine article about twisted roots makes a direct connection: Vermont to Virginia is the same path that the puppet took. Also, What about the deleted entries in the librarian's journal? The same date is deleted multiple times (March 27th, the day the father and daughter were killed). What about the other deleted dates: Feb 18th, Nov. 6th, Jan 18th, Aug 9th, April 4th, Feb 15th. Do they have any connection to any of the articles? Or to the previous story? And, What about the drawings that are not connected to the cipher? The pistol, car, knife, grenade, etc? And that knife with the x looking thing and dripping blood at the end. Maybe I'm just going crazy looking for Pepe Silvia Idk.
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