Dear MSIMA reader, after lurking on the Cavalier Forums, we’ve managed to decipher a set of coordinates hidden between the words on a thread about which oil is best oil.

We flew out to Bryson City, North Carolina, where hidden between stones under the bridge on Everett St. was a journal stashed away, belonging to someone, who like us, took an interest in these Cavalier sightings…

30.05.2015

It has been three weeks since I’ve last slept in peace. Ever since we began investigating the abnormal sightings of Chevy Cavaliers and documenting its followers, things have become strange. I have ventured to the source of the sightings in the mountains of the American South.

There is a presence near me… I can feel it. It lurks in the shadows, it’s creaking plastic followed by distant chants and murmurs from something not of this world. The low raspy cry of an in-line four that wants nothing more then death, yet is kept alive for years starved of oil.

04.06.2015

I hear a rustle in the woods as a venture out into Appalachia in search for the truth, only to find more questions than answers. Tire tracks that disappear, caves littered with 10W-40, and barely legible inscriptions engraved into the trunks of trees the tell of these four wheeled abominations. I must venture on.

07.06.2015

Every night, they come. You hear the sounds of the mountains part as they phase in and out of existence. Only their lights penetrate the thick fog, like beady eyes in the night. I know not what they search for, but I occasionally hear a shriek not from this world before all goes black.

Not even when I close my eyes am I safe from these plastic abominations.

13.06.2015

At an abandoned house deep in the Smokey Mountains, I finally manage to catch some rest. The sun set in that quiet valley was a welcome change of pace from the last few nights. Deer graze near by and lightning bugs permeate the air. I need to head east tomorrow, as my supplies have dwindled. However, I think this past week’s torment has brought me to my limit. Once I hit Bryson City, I’m going back home.

The universe faded as I went to sleep, enamored with the peace that night brought and the idea of it finally being over.

However, deep within the house, a raspy noise rung as I woke up. ITS IN THE FUCKING HOUSE. I grabbed what I could into my bag, armed myself, and prepared to run. It’s halogen eyes illuminated the hallway, barring my escape. I loaded my gun, and took aim as it began its charge. Louder and louder, voices of mechanical agony reverberated through my skull. Blinded by light, one deafening shot rang throughout the house drowning my screams as the Cavalier came before all went dark.

I woke up on the floor of the cabin. Hole blown through the door, tire marks on the floor. I was alive it seems. I took this as a warning, my exploration would last no more.

14.06.2015

It took most of that day to reach Bryson, navigating the untamed woods of North Carolina, the paranoia growing until I stumped out into civilization. I write now from the presumed Saftey on a hotel before sending this out. I long for home, and the assurance of being as far away from this place, and those… things…. as possible. Yet I fear there is still more to come, for I noticed a shadow following me once I left the woods. Maybe it was a follower of those horrid machines. Maybe it was imagination. I long to be home.

Well wasn’t that fun! I think we have a new direction to go in with our investigation. Off to Appalachia!