Project Tubby Bye-Bye
What follows is a true account of what I personally witnessed with my own eyes while working at my local PBS station. I was hired as a prop handler, and occasionally would also disassemble and rebuild sets. I never thought that anything so horrible could ever occur there. I want to forget, I wish I could unsee what I have seen....but I can't.
First I want to ask you some things. Have you ever met anyone who actually grew up, their entire lives in an orphanage? I suppose it is something that many people have done, but I never had up to the time that my story took place. Maybe you haven't either? But they do exist, I assure you.
Another question, how much do you really know about the PBS; or Public Broadcast Station, and where your donations are going? Or about it's many children's programs and of course, regular programming?
One thing you might know, is that we, the 'public', pay for the programming, by donation. Or so you may think, In actuality not all of PBS funding comes from your pockets. Many Foundations, Organizations, and Trusts exist that fund PBS, quite well.
I've come to know that these are the 'Puppetmasters', so to speak. They exist in a dark area, that most people never look into. After all, who is watching 'Antique Roadshow' thinking, "Hmmm, I wonder who or what the Darma K. Fund is?". No one, thats who. It's practically free programming, and you're probably bored if you end up watching it anyway.
But I digress. These Organizations, lurking in the shadows, exist for much more nefarious deeds. And they are using the PBS stations, possibly all over our world, to further their ends.
Now I will tell you my story. Please be warned however: it is not for the faint of heart.
It was the summer, and I was looking for a job. I had just finished high school, and had no money. I mean zero, zip, nil. I needed something fast. Turns out, it took longer than I'd expected, but I found one about 2 weeks later.
I had searched online, in newspapers, and everywhere in between. When finally I heard from a friend that the local PBS station was hiring. I immediately put in an application, and to my surprise and excitement, landed a job as a prop handler.
I had always had an interest in movies, especially the scary horror type. I hoped that this could be my break, to actually get into the film industry. I always dreamed of being a director or writer, working on a big movie somewhere exotic, like France or China.
I started working there and immediately fell in love with it. I could'nt wait to get to work every morning, and hated leaving at night. Mostly however, I was working on the sets for children's programming.
Getting the set ready and prepared for the actors, is much harder than it may seem. Every piece has to be back in its exact spot that it was when the camera was rolling, when they start shooting again. Otherwise it's all off. I also helped tear down and set up. This is when I would see some of the actors on their breaks.
The alcoholic, chainsmoker who played Big Bird, and the slutty girl who everyone had their way with, that wore B.J.'s costume.They weren't bad people. I guess some people just have their vices, y'know?
One day I actually got to speak to one of the writers, but only for a moment. I thought he had blown me off, when I had told him about my own dreams of someday being a writer. That was until the next day when I was approached by one of the head writers.
We spoke for awhile, and he said he may have a position for someone like me, if I could follow him to his office and fill out some paperwork. Of course I would have to pass a writing exam. He asked me if that would be ok, and of course I said yes.
When we got to his office, he handed me the basic application, which I quickly stormed through. When I had finished he handed me a packet of papers, and a folder. He said that inside was a writing outline, and enough paper to satisfy the writing of it.
Guiding me to a nearby room, which was lined with desks, he tried the door. It wouldn't budge. It was locked, he said, probably the damn janitor. So instead he took me into the producer's office. There was a larger table in here, and I could work without being disturbed.
He wished me luck and left the room. I read the outline I had been given, apparently it was for an upcoming new children's show. Many of the characters were poorly created, I felt, but I trudged on. Finally, I allowed myself a break, as my hand was beginning to cramp. I leaned back in the chair and examined my surroundings. This was really quite a nice office. Everything looked expensive, and there was a bar lining one of the walls.
Sitting on the bar was a thick blue folder. I walked over, looking around to make sure no one was coming, and picked it up. On the cover in big bold black letters was written "PROJECT: TUBBY BYEBYE".
It must have been a script for the children's show, Teletubbies, I thought. Seeking inspiration, I opened it up and pulled the pages from inside the folder, reading it. It wasn't an episode of Teletubbies. At least not a normal one. At first I thought it was just someone's twisted take on the Teletubby cartoon, perhaps one of the producers was having a bit of fun, and wanted to play a prank on the director?
But then it got weird. Really weird. The story wasn't so much of a story really, it was like an outline. A plan? And as I got further, there were maps, mentions of places in town, particularly an orphanage just outside of town. Then there was a list of names that said APPROVED SUBJECTS at the top, all with numbers, dates, and codes next to them:
- 3009087-'Bobby',KH557
- 2399800-'Kaitlyn',KHLg432
- 3200098-'Dennis',COMPLETE
- 4459980-'Mark',COMPLETE
- 5100090-'Melissa',REJECTED...
The list continued on for three pages, and at the end of it there was an unfortunate guide to the codes that were after the names:
Each subject is to be harvested using the approved methods for the individuals criteria, and harvested 'goods' are to be handled with care and we are to hold ourselves to the highest standard of service possible. The 'TTS' process has proven itself time and time again, and is still held to be the best method to use.
In exchange for their services rendered, our friends meerly ask for more work, and the unused product that we process accordingly.
Thank you for using the 'TTS' Process, and we will enjoy doing business with you in the near future!
Code Product Demand(For your Area)
K or K2 Kidney/Kidney x2 HIGH
H Heart MEDIUM
L Liver VERY LOW
Lg or Lgx2 Lung or Lungx2 MEDIUM
B Brain/Stem LOW
Is or Il Small or Large Intest. VERY LOW
S Stomach VERY LOW
THESE ARE YOUR CURRENT PRODUCT DEMANDS FOR YOUR AREA; SUBJECT TO CHANGE.
Remember, our Number 1 priority is the cleansing of impurities, and the satisfaction of our customers, our funders, and of course our #1 partners the TeleTrubs! --- At the bottom of this page, in the lower right hand corner it said the location of the facility. I won't reveal it here, for fear that they may find me, but it was the very address for the PBS station that I was working at.
I was still reading when I suddenly heard a noise outside the door, so I crumpled up the Map of the building and shoved it in my pocket, throwing the folder of papers back onto the bar.
Just as I had, the door opened and the Head Writer walked in. He asked if I had finished yet, and I told him that I hadn't yet, and that I could use a break to get a drink.nHe said that was fine, and actually told me just to go on lunch instead. Patting me on the shoulder as we left the room, he said "I think you'll make a fine addition, yes indeed..."
I sat outside on the bench surveying the map I had just stolen. There were only two entrances in or out of the basement, which I knew because that was where we stored the props. But here was shown another entrance, in the basement, which led to a deeper level.
I had never seen any door there before, so I decided to check it out. At this point, I was still believing it to be a hoax, a stupid prank.
As I would come to find out, it wasn't. In the dark basment, there was indeed a trap door which led downstairs, deep into the damp darkness.I will admit, that at that point I was getting afraid. If there was a trap door, could there truly be organ harvesting going on down there? And if there was, should I call the police?
I regret what I did next, and it will forever haunt me now. I heard a noise behind me, so I pulled the trap door down behind me, standing low on the top steps in the dark so no one would see me. I heard voices. Something about the last shipment, and the trouble with the TeleTrubs. Suddenly someone was moving something heavy. I heard it scraping along the floor, and my heart sank as it slid onto the door. My only way out.
Now I was trapped here, alone in the damp, cold dark.
I couldn't see two inches in front of me, so I ran my fingers along the walls. They felt cool and slippery to the touch. I slowly guided myself down the stairs, my heart pounding already, and skipping every time my foot almost slipped on a step.
After a point the walls changed from concrete, to dirt tunnel, and the steps became sheer cuts into the dirt. I walked those steps for what felt like an eternity. I have dreams where I'm walking that path forever, never-ending until finally one of them gets me.I always wake up in a cold sweat, which only reminds me more of those wet tunnels.
Finally I came into what must have been a pretty large room, and in the center of the room there was a small light. I still don't know what the light was or what it was doing there, because I heard something in front of me.
It sounded big, and made a noise like a groaning animal.
I immediately went back the way I had come, or so I thought. As I continued it grew colder and colder, and the ceiling began to drip. I started smelling something, just a hint in the air. Like copper?
The smell was getting worse as I went further down this path, and I started to hear metal moving, like machinery.
I thought maybe I shouldn't continue down the path, what if there were people there? I didn't have a choice though, I had no sense of direction, and there was no turning back now.
As I came around a corner in the tunnel, I saw light, dim light, coming from up ahead. As I got closer I saw that there were two large, thick, clear plastic sheets hanging in the entrance. Before I even opened them, I could smell it.
It was the most god-awful smell I've ever encountered, and just thinking about it causes me to gag. It smelled like what I imagine an animal slaughterhouse smells like. Putrid rotten flesh, combined with weeks of feces and urine all piled up onto each other.
As I waded into the smell filled room, it was brighter than I had expected, but I guess the thick plastic curtains had been keeping the light in. I will never forget what I saw in there.
The images are seared into my memory, never to leave, forever to remain. It was brighter by far, but still fairly dark I'd say. A large machine filled most of the room, a giant grinding machine. At one end was a feeder, which I saw was filled with.... with.... children's body parts. As it ran through the machine it came out the other end, as a fluid pulp.
This was then packaged in large metal canisters, at the far end of the room. This was horrible enough, but the work was not being carried out by humans. These things, which I have come to know are 'TeleTrubs', were tall, at least twice my height, and there stomachs had large square shaped boxes, that glowed in strange whirling and psychedelic patterns. They looked like giant Teletubbies! Only they had no eyes, and came in many different colors. This and the fact that they were badly beaten, and chained tightly together at the ankles.
They moved with grim purpose, like machines themselves. Carrying out their tasks, over and over. I could see off to the left another room, behind more curtains. I couldn't be in there anymore, not with those bodies, not with that crunching noise, not with that smell..
I regret going through that curtain... I regret ever being there.
I cowered in a corner of that dimly lit room, and watched them. Along the wall were small cages with shivering children inside them. One by one, The children were pulled from their cages by the large creatures, who held them in front of there giant glowing stomachs.
As the children stared deeply into the creatures glow, a giant creepy grin grew across their face, and their bodies went limp. When this happened they would be taken over to large hooks that hung from the ceiling.
What happened then was horrible, I'm not sure that I even want to recount it for you, but I must. I have to let you know.
The TeleTrub would take the child and slam them down onto the hook, which entered through their backs and speared through the front below their hearts. They must have mastered the art, because none of the children died when the hook entered them.
They hung there, blood pouring from them, but no tears. Whatever the TeleTrubs had done to them caused them to continue grinning widely, even laughing. To see this before my eyes, I cannot forget, but so badly I want to.
The TeleTrub would then continue to pry open each child's chest cavity, slowly and delicately removing organs from them, until finally the child was silent. After a time, the corpse would be taken into the next room for processing.
The organs that were removed were immediately put on ice, and placed on a conveyor system. I thought maybe it went to a shipping room? It was, unfortunately at that moment, my best option. That or stay and die. I hated leaving those children; I just didn't know what to do.
I have a hard time living with my guilt, even today. I've become a heavy drinker, and my nights are haunted by echoes of children's screams, and terrifying monstrosities.
Yes, I got onto that conveyor belt, and left those poor, helpless children behind. My assumption was correct that it led upward, and into a brightly lit room. At the top was an automated packing system, luckily I could get off before the not so automated people at the end of the belts could see me.
The room looked like a hospital, but it was very cold in there. It was storage. Lining shelves all around me were packages and cylinders, and bags. All filled with organs, waiting to be shipped somewhere.
I found the double doors that exited quickly, after referencing my stolen map. I hurriedly made my way back to the main area of the station facility. I saw men in black suits at the front reception desk, speaking with one of the producers. I didn't stop, I walked out the front doors and ran.
Driving home, I constantly was looking over my shoulder. I still do today. I've since changed my name, moved away, and have never contacted any PBS personnel or stations. I tell myself every day that I'm not a bad person, that I just did what anyone would do.
But I can't keep it secret anymore. If I do, am I not just as horrible, just as responsible for those children's deaths? This is really all I know about it; I've never tried to learn any more.
The information I know is out there now, what you do with it is up to you. It's ironic, that I should be dying of sclerosis. They have a transplant for me, but I won't take it. I don't know where all those organs went. So I don't know where this one came from.
I'll die soon enough, but they may still be out there.
Doing god knows what. Forgive me.
Credited to Lloyd Wolfe92
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