What follows are my journal entries from playing the solo game "A Visit to San Sibilia". Find the game here: https://jimmyshelter.itch.io/a-visit-to-san-sibilia
The intrepid (fearless) journalist -- Sidney “Sid” Silver
Day 1
After years of searching, I have finally arrived. Whether through chance or as a reward for my sheer determination, the way finally became clear. It was so clear, in fact, that I wonder how I never saw it before. The only explanation is that it was never there before. The path through the field that I had searched a hundred times, leading through the forest I had walked a thousand times, and out the otherside, now to a world of which I had only heard whispers.
The stories I’d heard were varied and strange. They had started over a decade ago when a source for a story about factory corruption mentioned casually how easy it would be to imagine a better way, and then let slip they had seen it, and then got very cagey when I asked about where. As I went digging after the only hint they would give me - “think of your own initials, kid” - things just got weirder.
Many people knew nothing, but the few who did had wildly different reactions, from a melancholic longing for some other world to outright fear of ever going back there again. I wondered if I would ever see it for myself, and yet, here I am, and I have to say it is glorious and certainly not something to fear. Though of course, all I myself have is my work, and this may be the very pinnacle of it.
For my stay in the city, I came across a lavish yet sturdy hotel that seemed like it could tell a story or two. When I asked how much for a room, they gave me a quote in a currency that meant nothing to me. At my look of confusion and subsequent showing of what money I did have to offer, I was met with a matter of fact, “Oh, an out of towner,” and given the offer to clean up in the kitchens at night in exchange for room and board. I don’t know how long I will continue to take the patron of this place up on such an offer, but I must say that the first night was not so bad. The smells, though varied, were delightful, and I even had a slice of the most delicious chocolate cake I have ever tasted.
They didn’t seem to want me to bring my camera into the kitchen, but I did manage to snap one photo before I was gruffly asked by the head chef to put it away. Pen and paper seemed more accepted, as long as I got the cleaning done, so I made sure to take lots of notes. Some of the fruits and vegetables I saw were wholly unfamiliar to me, but I want to try to get on the chef’s good side before I go asking what he might consider to be foolish questions from an outsider.
After all the excitement of my first half day here, I have to admit I am exhausted, but I cannot wait to hear what tomorrow will bring. I am writing it all down, and this will bring me an award for journalistic excellence for certain.
Sid Silver signing off
Day 2 - An Illicit memory from times long past
I begin, after just one more day here, to understand why some might fear this place. It has a strange power for those who visit here. That is the only way to explain it.
I do not fear my past, but still, it is strange to see it re-enacted before me so clearly - to walk the streets of this place and to notice a young girl who looks strikingly like me running up to strangers trying to sell stories she has written, just as I once did.
I caught her eye and she ran, and as I followed her around a corner, I stumbled upon another scene from my past, a scene of greater shame, or a slightly older but still young lady speaking in hushed tones with a much older man, leaning dangerously close, leaning forward in a very intentional manner. The man I seduced in such a manner to get my first reporter job is long gone, and no one else remains who knows what “qualifications” I presented to him. That this city would seem to know, to show me such a memory is startling. I watched until the young lady led the man away by the hand, and for once, I chose not to follow a lead.
I saw many more interesting things today, which I have documented in my official notes for the story I know I will write about this place. This strange occurrence, the only thing that has brought me anywhere close to fear so far on this journey, I write only for me, so that I remind myself, should the need arise, what this place may really be.
Day 6 - Serendipitous poetry reading
Today a flyer in the hotel lobby caught my eye, and I could hardly believe my luck! There on the page was the face of one of the very people whose vague musings had led me to this city. Harper Rose was giving a poetry reading that very afternoon. I could have sworn the flyer was not there the night before, but who am I to say for sure. This city is very strange.
I went to the poetry reading, thinking for sure Harper would recognize me, but she was so focused on her reading that she barely even looked up from the page. I recognized the words she read, however. She used many of the same phrases she had dropped to me that drew me deeper into the possibility of this place existing. She described in vivid detail the very field I had found that led me here, in even more detail than she had given me before.
After the reading I went to speak to her, but she showed no signs of knowing me, which I found quite odd. In fact, she seemed a bit taken aback when I commented on how she had added more detail to her lines. “This is the first time I’ve shared this poem with anyone,” she told me.
“You shared many lines with me several months back,” I told her.
She shook her head. “That is not possible,” she said. And then her frown became a pleasant smile as she asked, “Would you like me to sign one of my books for you?”
I had no currency with which to purchase a book, still not having managed to move beyond cleaning up at the hotel to pay for my lodging and food, but I had her sign a page in my journalist notebook, the one I keep separate from this personal journal. I wish I had gotten a signature from her somehow when I spoke to her back home so I could compare the two. I am sure she is my Harper, because who else could she be, and yet it was so odd that she feigned not to remember me. Perhaps she simply wishes to maintain her secrets.
Day 7 - Unexpected parade through the neighborhood
This morning, I woke early to a great commotion going on outside my window. Going to see what was happening, I was delighted to see a lively procession advancing through the streets. Children dancing, a marching band playing, wagons and carriages decorated in bright colors. I had heard nothing of a parade today, and know that this is at least not a holiday back home, but it was all so happy and joyous that I could not help but smile.
I dressed quickly and rushed down to join the festivities. I took several pictures before I unexpectedly found myself swept up into the parade myself, marching and laughing and waving, and watching as more people were transformed from spectators to active participants in the parade.
After a couple hours of this joviality, we came to a cafe in a park, with many additional tables set up with food and drink. When I explained to one of the people setting out the food that I had no money to pay, they said it was free for all the paraders, and having become a parader myself, I was happy to partake.
After the luncheon, there was singing and dancing all afternoon and it was not until supper time that people departed, presumably to return to their homes.
I went back to the hotel with a smile on my face. In the closet of my room, I developed the photos I took, which have turned out quite nicely, and now I am recording my personal record of the day before retiring for the night.
This city is so unexpected - full of dark mystery one day and bright excitement the next. It is an adventure beyond what I could have imagined of any ordinary city. I cannot wait to see what tomorrow may hold.
Day 8 - Erratic incident at the bookstore
Today, on a whim, I returned to the bookstore and was surprised to find Harper there, acting quite strangely. She was holding one of the books she had encouraged me to buy at the poetry reading, when I had no money to do so, and very frantically arguing with the shop owner. “Where did you get this?” she was asking the baffled shopkeep.
“You asked me to sell them,” the poor man replied.
“I most certainly did not,” Harper replied. “This is certainly not a title I have published.”
I approached cautiously and said softly, hoping not to startle her too much, “Harper?”
She spun and looked at me, shock and then a vague recognition she hadn’t had before settling over her face. “I know you,” she said.
“Yes, it’s Sid,” I said. “You told me about this place.”
She shook her head, and said, “No, that’s not, that’s not it. Or at least, I think you have it backwards. You… you wrote a story and it brought me here.”
Before I had a chance to respond, she spun back around to the shop-owner, slammed the book down on the desk and said, “and you, stop selling this book!” She marched out the front door, the tinkling of the bell signaling her departure very much at odds with the anger in her storming out.
“I’m very sorry,” I said to the shopkeep, feeling compelled to say something. “She certainly did ask you to sell that book. I was here the other day when she read from it.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned myself and rushed out the door, hoping to catch Harper, but I could not spot her anywhere. I asked a very passers by if they had seen her, but no one was of any help, and I spent the rest of the day wandering around trying to determine if there was somewhere I could make a little coin to buy one of Harper’s books. I should very much like to see why she had so drastically changed her mind about it being sold.
Day 12 - Calculated meeting with ruffians
Over the past few days, I have grown more and more curious about what is truly going on in this city. The strangeness with Harper and with that day I saw images from my past made me wonder what sort of other strange tricks this city plays on its visitors. Is there something in the air that affects our minds while those who live here are immune?
I spent these past days roaming the streets and watching for those who seemed they might have some idea what’s going on. I noticed, in this venture, several boys and girls, perhaps 12 or 13, who often seemed to be lurking about. They were often whispering to one another and sometimes to other people. I watched thim pickpocket an elderly gentleman and fought my instincts to intervene. These are the types of people I want to talk to - the ones who are just beginning to become dangerous, but are not too dangerous yet.
Tonight I made my plan. I watched them do their work and then as they retreated into the alley I had watched them go into the two nights prior, I followed and confronted them.
One, presumably the leader, turned around as soon as I entered the alley. “Whadya want, lady?” he demand. “I seen you been following us.”
“Information,” I replied.
“And whadya got to pay with?” he asked.
This is where I decided to take a risk. If this children knew something, the money I brought from my home might actually be valuable to them, and if they did not, then it didn’t matter anyway. I took out two $20 bills and presented them to him.
“So not from around here then,” he said. “Charlie!”
As he called out the name, a girl stepped forward and gestured for me to hand her the money, which I did. She looked at it carefully, sniffed it, and then even licked it. Then she nodded. “Legit,” she said, and stepped back.
The leader stepped forward again and nodded. “Alright, lady, whadya want to know?”
I took the full notes of what he told me down in my other journal, but to summarize here, this city is something different to everyone who comes here. He at least pretended to not be surprised by my description of Harper. “Out of time,” he called her, living her days here in a different order than the rest of us.
When asked if the city could read my mind, he scoffed. “The city don’t reach into you,” he said, “you reach out to it. And when you good like us, you can bend it as you like.” And at this point, he whistled and gave a gesture that led Charlie to step forward. He took the $40 I had given her, held it tight in his hands, and then showed me how the currency had been transformed to the bills I had happened to glance around this city. “The city takes its cut,” he told me, “but if you reach out and ask nice, it responds.”
I’m still not sure I was “reaching out” when I was haunted by ghosts of my past memories, but I skipped over that part, and asked him if, for a cut of his own, he could transform more of my money. He warned me I had to believe or it would revert. I’m doing my best, and it hasn’t reversed yet, though it's only been a couple hours since the encounter.
I’m not sure I’m any closer to understanding the why of this place, but I think I understand a bit more of the what. And at the very least, now I have some money I can actually spend.
Day 16 - Isolated funeral procession at dawn
Today was a strangely somber day, unlike any I have experience here so far. I was awoken to the sound of trumpets, but not of the upbeat variety I had heard on the parade day. Rather they were in a minor key and playing at a slow, plodding pace. When I looked to my window this time, I saw people dressed in black, walking through the street, different groups of them gathered around sets of four carrying caskets. I watched three caskets go by before I threw on a robe (newly purchased with my converted money) and went downstairs.
The man who runs this hotel was all dressed in black when I came down, and before I could even open my mouth he said, “It’s funeral day. Twice a year. Honor all the dead. Best to stay inside if you can.”
So I did stay inside, but watched from my window as more caskets went by. I can’t imagine they all had bodies inside. I’m quite sure I also saw the same people marching past multiple times, but doing my best to count the number of dead, I totalled 17. Whether that is a low, high, or normal number for a place such as this, I could not say, and I knew better than to ask. I am still deciding whether I should share this somber occasion in my eventual story about this place, but I think I shall. If we celebrate only life and do not recognize death, afterall, then who are we but deniers? And the whole point of my story is to counter that denial and doubt.
Day 19 - Odd message from a long lost friend
This afternoon as I returned from my various excursions, I was informed by the hotel owner that mail had come for me. This quite took me aback as surely no one knew my name and where I was staying in this place, but I took the letter and went back to my room to read it. I shall reproduce it here in its entirety:
Dear Sid,
I know it's been ages, but I was hoping to reconnect. I could not believe it when I saw you in town the other day. I never thought to find someone else I knew here. I hope you will meet me tomorrow - details to follow. - Samantha Jones
You must understand now that Samantha Jones was a childhood friend of mine. All through primary and secondary school, we were thick as thieves and then when I went away to study journalism, we lost touch.
I do not think this is a trap. The handwriting is much as I remember it. The only thing I fear is that I could have been subconsciously reaching out to the city, asking for something I did not realize I wanted. In that case, will Sam even be real when I encounter her? I cannot say until I try. I will wait until tomorrow to see what it and Samantha bring.
Day 20 - Isolated day in court — The city moves against you
This is the day I have decided I ought to try to get out of here.
In the morning, I received a note from Samantha that she wanted to meet me at an abandoned tennis court on the outskirts of town - a place I had not yet encountered in my time here. I found it odd, but I trusted Sam and went to meet her.
That was not Sam. It was some other force. It looked like Sam and talked like Sam for a while, but when it turned hostile and attacked me…
I have to believe that was not Sam. I had to defend myself. I left her in the brush in the woods beyond the court. I didn’t have a shovel or anything with which to dig, and I don’t believe I can bring myself to go back.
This is the first time I have felt openly attacked, and it was not by Sam. It was by the city. But if I have some control of the city as that young lad claimed…
I just want to find a way home. I may not take it yet, but if things are getting dangerous here, I want to be ready.
Day 26 - Intriguing news in the broadsheets
Since the incident with the fake Sam, I’d been carefully watching the news for any mention of a body being discovered and was relieved to find none. I know I can rightfully claim self-defense, but if the city itself is turning against me, I don’t know what good that will really do.
Today when I checked the papers, though, there was something else that caught my eye. They are going to build a train station here, with a train that will take residents to far off lands.
In the nearly 4 weeks I’ve been here, I’ve seen no signs of anyone leaving this place. There are cars, certainly, but they never seem to travel out of town, and there are no trains or anything else of the sort. If the city shapes itself to me, perhaps it knows I am ready to go and it is ready for me to go. Perhaps this train is an offering.
I have more than enough photos and words now to write a fascinating story. I will leave out the incriminating bits, of course, and am not sure I should provide much detail about how I got here, but the news of a train being built, well that could be my ticket out.
Normally, such things would take months, a year even, to be built. But as I have seen here, time is strange. For all I know, the train station could be ready tomorrow, or perhaps already was ready a year ago and will just now be revealed.
In any case, I think this means that whatever I did to anger the city, it may be offering, if not peace, at least a way out for us to go our separate ways. In the meantime, I will remain vigilant and continue to make note of any curious happenings. Hopefully none as startling as the past week’s.
Day 31 - Jubilant poetry reading – reality is shifting
I awoke this morning to the sound of a train whistle. Relief rushed over me, knowing this adventure was nearing an end. I was enjoying it until the city tried to kill me, but now I’m happy to return home.
As I exited the hotel, I could not help but notice that the sound of the train was not the only thing different. Everything seemed cleaner, more modern. And things were not where they once were.
The book shop where Harper Rose had her poetry reading and later got into a fight with the owner is now a cafe.
The ruffian children I once asked for advice were now dressed in decent clothing and seemed to be joined together with a number of other children on a class field trip, though I swear the leader looked at me and winked.
All the streets had different names, strange names I did not recognize even in the context of this place.
As I marveled at all of this, the train whistle blew again, and I hurried in its direction.
They were having a grand opening of the new train station, and there standing before the red ribbon, beaming with pride, was Harper Rose herself. She welcomed us all, and with great jubilation, recited her latest poem: “An Ode to Steam and Steel.”
Never have I heard a more enthusiastic reading about a train. I wonder if Harper is as thrilled to be rid of this place as I now am. And what’s more, this time, she seemed to recognize me, and seemed happy even to see me.
“Sid!” she exclaimed when I approached her, grasping my hands. “You finally found it! And just in time, too. So many more will be coming on the rail now.”
“And leaving too, I assume?” I replied, trying to get a feel for her intentions.
“Yes, I suppose,” she said, “if they want to anyway. But I’d love to catch up. There’s a charming cafe I’d love to take you to.”
“Perhaps another time,” I said, fearing this could be another trick of the city as Sam had been. “Do you know when the first train will run?”
“Oh not for several days hence,” Harper told me. “But do come looking for me if you’d like to get a cup of tea. I’ll be - oh -around.”
Cryptic as ever, that at least seemed true to the Harper I knew. I thanked her and walked as close as I was allowed to marvel at the train. “Several days hence.” Would be three. Could be three hundred. I guess all there is, is to wait and see.
Day 36 - Distant Week-Long Festival – You change the city
The trains started running yesterday and I got the first ticket I could, to the only place I could go: “The Festival.” I packed all my things, checked out of the hotel and set out on the last train out last night.
And now, I find myself back in my room, kept for me by the hotel owner who seemed all too sure I would be back.
The train took us to what can only be described as a party in the woods. It was loud and the people already there were dressed very strangely. They all had long hair and were smoking cigarettes that smelled quite odd to me. They seemed to be having a wonderful time, but I could tell this was at least as far from my home as it was from San Sibilia. I spent the night in this strange forest that was certainly not the one I had first come through, and returned home on the first train the next day, the festival still roaring in the distance.
Home. Strange that I would call this place home, but as that comes to mind, I ought to at least leave a mark of myself, I think. As soon as I finish writing this, I will pull back that bit of loose wallpaper I’ve noticed and carve my name into the wall. “Sid Silver was here.” Nothing too drastic. Just a small mark to remind someone who might stay here in the future, or perhaps in the past, that I made it, and hopefully by then, I will have truly departed as well, and not in the death sense but in the homeward sense.
I will continue to watch the train schedules until I find one that will truly take me home.
Day 38 - Intriguing letter from a city official
Today when I went down from my room to check on the train schedules, I was greeted once again with a letter, but this time from “The Mayor” addressed to “The Journalist Sid Silver.”
Given the outcome of the last letter I received here, I was hesitant to say the least, and when I read that the mayor wished to meet me at her office at city hall, I was not sure if that should make me more or less fearful. Somewhat public, yes, but also at the very heart of this city that may or may not (I’m starting to doubt any intentions of anyone and anything) tried to kill me.
The letter gave no date that I should meet her, so I simply wrote back to inquire for more details as to what this might be about. I thought about mentioning that I meant to be leaving town soon, but I was not sure what that would serve. If the mayor already knew, because the city knows one’s very soul, then it would serve no purpose. If she did not already know, I didn’t want to reveal information unnecessarily.
I did decide to walk to city hall and take some photos which are now developing in my closet. You never know what a photo might reveal. I will see if word comes back tomorrow or the next day or the next. Had this missive come on day one, I certainly would have gone. Things as they are now, as intrigued as I am, I wish to gather more information of my own first, at least whatever the pictures might reveal.
Day 39 - Long overdue show of a street performer
No word came back from the mayor today, and the photos I developed were quite unremarkable, but an event did occur that reminded me of the reason I came here to begin with. I came here for a story, and today was quite a tale. It was so remarkable, I’m not sure anyone will believe it, but I will write it down nonetheless.
Ages ago, when I was just a little girl, I went with my family to a circus and saw a man juggle knives and breathe fire. His name was “Captain Magnificent”, his stage name of course, and he was a sight to behold. I was so enthralled with him that I begged and pleaded with my parents to let us go back to the show the next night.
They finally gave in, only for us to find that “Captain Magnificent” was not to be found that night. My father even asked the ringmaster after the show and was told the man had simply disappeared, poof, into thin air.
Well, one mystery is now solved, though it doesn’t bode well for my plans to leave this place. “Captain Magnificent” is here. He gave several performances about town, out in the streets this morning, in exchange for whatever coin passersby could spare. He looked just as I remembered him when I first saw him two decades ago. He seemed a bit nervous, but excited. I marveled at his performance, though not like I had as a child.
Late in the afternoon, having followed him about all day, I finally approached, gave him a few coins, and asked him how long he had been here.
“Oh just a day,” he told me.
“No, not how long you have been doing your show. How long have you been in the city?”
He looked confused. “A day,” he said again.
“And where have you been the past twenty years?” I asked.
He was starting to look uncomfortable now. “Why training in my craft and then more recently, traveling about with the circus,” he said. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Yes, I saw you in the circus when I was a little girl, twenty years ago,” I said.
He shook his head, “Oh no, I was not with the circus that far back,” he contended. “You must have seen someone else.” And then he went off down the street, shouting about another show to be performed soon.
I only hope that when I finally leave this place, not as much time has passed around me. I also hope I am not dropped twenty years in the past.
Day 41 - Joyous weeklong festival
The city celebrates in ways much more familiar to me.
I don’t know if it was the newly arrived presence of “Captain Magnificent” or some other stimuli to which the city responded, but there seems to be never-ending party in the streets. It started yesterday and is advertised as continuing for another five days hence. I did receive word back from the mayor that she would get back to me after the festival was over, wanting to partake in all the excitement herself.
And I must say, I can’t help but smile when I see the children running about, the games, the entertainment. I know I had been wanting to get out of here, but perhaps I can stay just a little while longer, at the very least until the festival has drawn to a close. I am taking a lot more photos again. If I’m not careful, I will run out of supplies with which to develop them, but I’d much rather run out taking photos of something so joyous rather than something somber and frightening.
I have resolved to continue to enjoy this festival for as long as it will last.
Day 45 - First time rendezvous with new friends – You change the city
The festival ends tomorrow, and so will my time in the city. I am leaving on the train, returning home. I feel it deep within my bones that this time, when the train schedule says it is going simply to “Home” that it means it.
But this last night, I wanted to make it memorable.
I was so excited to be able to return home and tell the wonderful stories of this place, that I was quite loud and boisterous at the festival today, making a rather fool of myself, but having a marvelous time. I drew the attention of several residents I had never really noticed before, but who found me absolutely delightful. We had drinks and made merry late into the night, but not so late that I will miss my train tomorrow.
I even, perhaps under the influence of the alcohol, told them all my story, everything from how I got here to all I had experienced here so far, save the letter from Sam and the body in the woods, and they seemed to believe me. One of them even said she was sure I could make a fortune writing that down into a book. I told her she was welcome to do it instead, and she promised she would.
I’m not sure she truly will, but from the way they reacted to the things I told them, even simple, mundane things about where I was from, I think I made an impression at least on them. It wasn’t until I was leaving for the night that one of my new and temporary friends pulled me aside to say she worked in the mayor’s office and knew the mayor had wanted only to hear about my time here. She asked if I had any complaints.
I had no idea if this was the truth, but I was too exhausted at that point to care, so I suggested simply that they might want see about offering a currency exchange if they were going to have visitors from other dimensions coming here. The city official laughed a bit uneasily, but said she would look into it.
Who knows what may happen. All I know at this point is that I am going home tomorrow.
Day 46 - Home
A most amusing thing happened at the train station before I departed on the train I sit on now. I saw a currency exchange window right beside the ticketing booth! I used it to convert what had become the currency of San Sibilia back into my own. What a strange place this is that I should want for something and on my final day, it should be given. I suppose I should say, what a strange place it was. I can already tell that I am back in my own land. The terrain simply feels familiar.
I do not know if I will ever return to San Sibilia, but I will certainly never be the same. For one thing, I appreciate the linear progression of time much more than I did before. If I were to return to the city, perhaps by train the next time, I think I should want to make sure I have gotten all I want out of my life back home first, just in case I should get stuck in time or out of time or whatever may happen.
I am looking forward to writing my story about this place, with all the pictures and notes I had taken, as well as a few other momentos I managed to purchase, including a copy of Harper Rose’s book of poetry that, as far as I can gather, only existed in San Sibilia. I do hope Harper is okay. I will need to seek her out when I return home to see if our encounter at the train station has happened for her yet.
The train is just pulling into the station now, and thank the heavens things look to be in at least the same decade as when I departed. Watch for my story of this place. I don’t know if it will be filed under fiction or non-. Probably depends on how much I decide people are willing to believe.
Finally home. Sid Silver signing off.
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