The Dionaea House

## 10.7.2004

Jennifer, friends and family of Mark,

As promised, here are copies of the correspondence I received from Mark over the course of the last month. For the most part, I have merely copied and pasted them from my email application.

As you’ll read, he requested this, in hopes that you’ll better understand why he did what he did.

I made this site because it’s the most efficient way to share Mark’s emails with all of you. I’m not advertising this to anyone. But I do think it would be wise to pass this URL along to anyone who may help with the investigation. As I collect more information, from various sources, I'll update this site to keep it an accurate record. I'll have that link at the end of the series as well.

If you need to speak with me, Jen has my number. Thank you for your patience, and again, I am profoundly sorry.

- Eric

## 9.6.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Monday, September 06, 2004 8:17 AM**
**subject: an old friend**

Eric,

Hey man. It’s Mark from Houston. The Saturday night gang. Feels like a long long time ago, doesn’t it? I found your email from your website, looks like you’re out in LA now, cool. I remember telling you, you should be out there, doing the California thing. You still with Connie? I’m in Dallas now, I met someone who works in my building, we’ve been seeing each other for two years now.

Listen, the reason I’m writing to you out of the blue is because I got this newspaper article in the mail. Maybe you got one too. It’s about Andrew. You remember Drew? Travis would pick him up most of the time. Messy hair. Sort of the fanboy type. I didn’t remember his last name until I got this thing, and now it’s really disturbing me.

Do you know what happened? Did you hear about it already?

Let me know if you have some time to talk. I can call you or you can call me if that works better. I’m going to see if I can track down Travis and Dave. A quick search didn’t seem to turn up any leads, but maybe they just don’t have websites. If you still talk to either of them, let me know.

Thanks,

Mark

## 9.8.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Wednesday, September 08, 2004 7:44 AM**
**subject: re: an old friend**

Eric,

Thanks for quick reply. I didn’t mean to sound cryptic in my first email, I’m just... Reluctant I guess. I hadn’t really seen or thought about Andrew since he stopped showing up for game night, and that was five years ago. That was about the time we all went our own ways, back in 1999. You moved out west, I moved up to Dallas, etc. So when I got this article in my mailbox, it caught me by surprise.

And yeah, I’ll transcribe the thing for you. I wasn’t sure if maybe you were the one who sent it to me. I’ll put it into this email, at the bottom.

> I remember him. He was never the kid with the idea, he was

> the kid who agreed with yours. Slowest to get the joke, usually

> laughed the longest.

That’s Andrew in a nutshell yeah, at least that’s how I remember him. He got on my nerves sometimes, but damn if he didn’t love being part of the gang. He’d ask me for some poker chips on card night, or borrow dice from my bag, that sort of thing. Whenever we played Tecmo Bowl on your Nintendo he always wanted to be on my team. Which would’ve been fine if he was any good.

> I haven’t heard from Travis or Dave in years. They fell off

> the radar about the same time you did. None of us made

> much attempt to stay in touch. It was just one of those things.

That’s okay. I wasn’t trying to point fingers. It happens. But I was hoping you had already heard about Andrew, like you’d gotten a copy of the article. I still haven’t been able to get a number or email for Travis or Dave. Maybe they know more about this than we do. Andrew usually hitched a ride with Travis most of the time. It was on the way home for Travis. Didn’t Andrew live with his mom? Like in an apartment? And his stepdad was a real estate broker, had that one house way out past Highway 6. You remember that?

Andrew was scared to death of that house.

Here’s the article. There’s a photo of Andrew with it, looks maybe like his driver’s license photo. Still had messy hair.

> \*\*\*
>
>
>
> GUNMAN SHOOTS TWO, KILLS SELF IN BOISE RESTAURANT
>
>
> Diners at the Roadside Breakfast Café on Interstate 84 fled to the parking lot in a panic yesterday afternoon when a man entered and began shooting patrons inside, killing two.
>
>
> The couple – John and Lucy Madson – were having lunch when 26-year-old Andrew Hughes entered, wielding a Smith and Wesson 59 pistol, according to police. Witnesses claim the perpetrator was muttering to himself as he approached the smoking section and opened fire into the first occupied booth, fatally wounding the Madsons. Soon after, he turned the weapon on himself.
>
>
> All three were taken by paramedics to St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center, where John Madson and the shooter were pronounced dead. Lucy Madson, 37, remained in critical condition for several hours but did not survive the night. Police are investigating Hughes’ work and personal background, but as of this morning a motive for the attack is unknown.
>
>
>
>
> \*\*\*
>
>

If there’s more to the article, I didn’t get it. That’s where it was torn off. The other side is part of a Dillard’s ad.

This is really bothering me, Eric. What the hell was Drew doing in Boise? With a fucking gun? He hung out with us for almost two years. I just don’t get it.

And something else is eating at me. I can’t figure it out yet.

- Mark

## 9.9.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Thursday, September 09, 2004 2:00 PM**
**subject: Andrew**

Hey,

I know how you feel. It’s hard not to think of the times he sat next to us at the table, smiling like a fool, rolling dice and moving his pieces around the board. He loved Monopoly night. Always wagged his tongue when he counted money, I don’t think he realized he did that.

It’s impossible to think of him shooting up a diner.

> There’s no return address on the envelope?

No, but the postmark is Idaho. Not CA or TX.

> not sure if you’ve already considered this, but it’s possible

> the whole thing is a fake. Some sick practical joke made to

> mess with your head. You can get newsprint paper for

Yeah, I’ve considered it. I didn’t tell you this earlier, but I called up Saint Alphonsus and asked if they’d had a patient named Andrew Hughes admitted in the last month. They had no record of him. I asked if it would show if he’d been pronounced DOA, and I got transferred to ER, where they keep paramedic records and info on all DOAs.

They have him listed.

He showed up on August 28, died of a gunshot wound to the head. Pronounced dead by ER resident at 3:14pm.

I asked for some contact info, like a phone or address where he might have been living. I got brushed off, told to call the police for that stuff. The hospital wouldn’t give out any personal info, at least not without some signatures. I haven’t called the police yet. That’s probably the next step.

Glad to hear that you and Connie are going strong. Sorry to sort of dump all of this on you, I just didn’t know who else would care to listen.

I’ll write if anything else comes of this. At this point I’m thinking maybe Drew’s mom sent it to me. Maybe Drew kept track of me when I moved to Dallas and had my address. I’m listed in the book. That would explain the logistics part.

I’m overthinking things.

Take care,

Mark

## 9.10.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Friday, September 10, 2004 3:11 AM**
**subject: thoughts and concerns**

Hey again.

I know it’s late, or early, depending on how you look at it, but this Andrew thing won’t go away. I finally realized what’s eating at me and I need to spit it out.

Do you remember what went on just before Andrew stopped showing up for game nights at your place? I do. He was gone for two weeks because he had to housesit for his stepfather. Mom and stepdad went on a big vacation every summer, for like 10 days, and Andrew was just expected to stay behind. He usually just stayed at his mom’s apartment, but that year he was asked to mind that house his stepdad owned, the one out in that old rich subdivision west of Houston. Maybe the guy had a bunch of houses. He was big on real estate, wasn’t he?

The guy had inherited this dog from one of his clients, somebody who moved out and didn’t want to take the dog with them. I want to say it was an Australian Shepherd. Do you remember any of this? Andrew talked about it the weekend before. Dog had behavioral problems – whined, barked, scratched at the door, pissed on the carpet. Didn’t want to be inside, always wanted to be outside. Dad kept it in a kennel except when it rained. Andrew was supposed to take care of the dog, plus a few other things like mow the lawn, that sort of crap.

But Andrew didn’t want to go. Dave got into that argument with him about how it was the perfect setup for a young bachelor, house all to yourself, party time, Risky Business, and Andrew kept saying it was too cold there for a party. Too cold. I distinctly remember that. And how he kept asking us to drive out and stay with him while he was housesitting. I don’t think anyone went out there, did they? I never did.

We didn’t see him for two Saturdays in a row, then Travis picked him up like usual, since he was back at his mom’s place.

That’s the one night with Andrew I remember the most. I bet it’s the same with you. It was the most bizarre, frustrating night I had with the group.

Andrew walked in quoting some commercial verbatim. I want to say it was a Tide ad. Travis told us he was like that in the car all the way over. Commercials, shows, movies, radio songs… The first couple of hours gaming was like being in the room with the TV on. Then he started parroting us. He’d just copy something we said. You remember? Tell me you remember this. I can see it in my head, so clearly.

Oh, and what was his response to anyone’s complaints? “Okay.” Drew, stop quoting ‘Law & Order’ episodes. Please give the Pontiac commercial a rest. Dude, shut the fuck up and roll your dice. “Okay.” And then he’d launch into something else a few minutes later. It wasn’t just that he would regurgitate that crap, it was that he could take it so far. Whole reams of dialogue that he’d somehow memorized from one throwaway TV episode. Lyrics to entire songs. It went from odd, to funny, to disturbing in the first hour.

Look, I’ll come out and say it. Whatever happened in those ten days, it changed him. He wasn’t the same person after that. We all know this. We never talked about it, at least not with me around, but fuck if we didn’t know instantly that the person who came back from that house was not Andrew.

I wrote before that I hadn’t thought about Andrew since ’99. That was a lie. You know the way your brain sometimes reminds you of things you hate to dig up? The ones that sour your stomach? I’ve thought about him a few times – about that night.

Was that the start of his madness? Or whatever it is that drove him to shoot up a diner?

Were we there to see him first lose his grip?

Jesus, Eric, why the hell didn’t we say anything?

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Friday, September 10, 2004 11:38 AM**
**subject: the door is open**

Eric,

I woke up to the phone ringing this morning. Turned out to be the reporter from The Idaho Statesman. She finally called me back (did I tell you I called to track down the source for the article?). She didn’t have any new developments on the story, but will continue to follow up with the police.

I asked if she had any other details about the crime, stuff that didn’t find its way into the article, and we sorta went over her notes. Most of it I already knew, but there was one piece of info that caught my attention.

She wrote in the article that Andrew was mumbling or muttering to himself when he entered the restaurant, but she didn’t put in what he was saying. According to witnesses, he kept repeating: “The door is open.”

Does that make any sense to you? The door is open???

write me back,

Mark

## 9.12.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Sunday, September 12, 2004 5:10 PM**
**subject: a plan**

Eric,

Haven’t heard from you. Just writing to let you know I’ve had a day to put some distance from the whole thing, and I’ve made a decision.

I’m going to drive down to Houston and see if I can find someone in Andrew’s family. I once rode with Travis to pick Drew up. I think I know where his mom used to live. From there maybe I can find stepdad, and the house. I’ve tried the Boise lead already. I called the cops and got more questions than answers, and now some Lt. Perez plans to call me back in case he needs more “testimony” from me. Like I know anything. Apparently Andrew was living alone in a rental up there, working at a Blockbuster Video. That’s about all I got from the cops. And Idaho. So I’m aiming for Houston.

Even driving my own car, and a cheap-o motel, it’s still going to cost me about $200 for the trip. Jenny is worried about me, she’d rather I stay and pretend the police will figure this out on their own. But I have to go down there, Eric. Here’s why:

I think Andrew was afraid of that house for a reason. Whatever that reason was, during those ten nights, something emptied him. Gutted Andrew like a fish. It yanked out whatever he was inside, or shocked him into forgetting it all away. He was hollowed out.

To fill the void, he absorbed any input he could find. Television, radio, conversation. Soaked it up and presented it as Andrew. He could walk and talk, and he wasn’t injured, not physically. But he wasn’t the same, either.

There’s a gap I need to fill, in my head, like the time in that house. I have these pieces of Andrew that don’t match. I need something to match. Hell, I’ll feel better if something will just make sense.

I won’t ask you to fly down and join me, but I could use your help all the same. I have some questions you might be able to answer. Please call me or send me a note if you know any of these.

My phone is [removed – Eric].

- What was the stepfather’s name? First or last?

- What was his mom’s name? Was her last name also Hughes?

- What was the name of the subdivision where stepdad’s house was? I think Andrew mentioned it.

I hope I haven’t freaked you out too much with my crazy talk. I know it probably comes off sounding absurd, some of it. Or maybe not. You were there for some of this. If you really think I’m off my noggin, tell me. By all means, tell me.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Mark

## 9.13.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Monday, September 13, 2004 8:22 AM**
**subject: re: a plan**

Eric,

Thanks again for calling. I got your email as well, and it mentions a few things we didn’t discuss over the phone, so I want to add a comment or two.

> What I remember was what Travis told us, that time he

> went to pick up Drew and had to go up to his room to get

> him. This was the last time Drew gamed with us. Travis

> went upstairs to his room and the kid was pacing back and

> forth by his bed. Everything was all neat and tucked in,

> but the carpet was worn in a line where Drew was pacing.

> Like it’s all he did.

Yes! I remember this too. And the way Travis told the story, like he wanted it to sound funny but he didn’t believe it was. And Dave laughed. He said “Man that dude’s a broken record” and we all agreed. Nodding and chuckling. Fuck, we all just let it go at that. Like it was easier to write him off.

But Travis was the last one to laugh. He’d seen that room with his own eyes.

> go, I really would, but Connie got sick last night, and she’s

> still throwing up this morning, and I don’t feel right leaving

> town with her like this.

Understandable. You stay there. I’ll continue to email you on this thing. I can’t really talk about Drew with Jenny. She never knew him. She doesn’t get why this is so disturbing, outside of the horror that took place in Boise. That’s why I keep writing you. Nobody else gets it.

Hey, maybe I’ll somehow find Travis or Dave while I’m in town.

- M

## 9.14.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Tuesday, September 14, 2004 6:51 PM**
**subject: I made it**

E-

Made it to Houston.

The drive was hell. Traffic and a persistent rattle in the trunk wore me down. The A/C unit in my motel room sounds like a submerged Cessna engine. It’ll be hard for me to sleep with it on, and impossible with it off. Well, at least the whole Internet access bit works, and I’m able to check my email.

Tomorrow is a long day. I’ll be prowling Braeswood and your old neighborhood to zero in on an apartment complex I went to ONCE. Joy. Wish me luck.

Mark

## 9.15.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Wednesday, September 15, 2004 9:06 PM**
**subject: lots of stuff**

Eric,

Great news. I have a solid lead. The whole day felt like I was pulling a string from the sand, but it’s pointed me in the right direction. (These emails are becoming more of a journal for me, to help me log my progress. I hope you don’t mind.)

It took me an hour of driving back and forth around the Gessner and Braeswood area before I zeroed in on the right side street. The landmarks had changed. I was 90% sure I’d found the right apartment complex, but I was still grasping air.

With no name for Drew’s mom, and no guarantee her last was Hughes, I went to the manager’s office. And I just got lucky.

Her name is Nancy Hughes, and she stopped paying the rent in September of 1999. Drew paid it for the rest of the lease term, which ended the following February. According to the note in the resident file, he paid in cash. Seems mom moved out, or just up and left one day. Poof.

Andrew was living alone in the apartment then?

How was he paying for rent with just a minimum-wage job?

I showed the manager the article about Andrew, and then I lied. I said I was a private investigator. I don’t know why. Maybe to justify why I was having her dig up rental information from five years ago. Anyway, she got off on it, and kept rooting around in the Hughes file for me, like a movie sidekick.

She found something. A third party check, covered rent for December of ’98. Kurt Malone. I’m thinking this is stepdad. The manager photocopied the check for me and ten minutes later I was calling the phone number printed with Kurt’s address in the upper left hand corner.

No luck there. Disconnected.

So I took another approach and called 411 for a local realtor service. You can do a search for contact information for a specific realtor, I remember hearing about this from a coworker who’d sold his place in Greatwood. Malone was listed under a little Re/Max affiliate office in Katy. I got that number and called there, left message.

Evelyn, the owner, called me back and said Malone hadn’t worked there in forever. He up and vanished, left her with all kinds of issues. She thinks he had financial problems and bailed for Mexico. I find it hard to swallow a theory told to me in stage whisper, but maybe that’s just her personality.

Still, that’s two people gone. Before, I thought maybe mom just moved in with stepdad. Now, I don’t know that the hell to think.

The call went on for half an hour as I got to hear the HR “nightmare” Evelyn went through thanks to Kurt’s disappearance. Halting his benefits, freezing the 401k plan, surrendering documents to the police, etc.
I finally broke in and asked about the house. The one out in west Houston he owned.

She got very quiet after that.

It took me another ten minutes to answer her questions about who I was. This time I was honest and up front with her. I guess it paid off, because she believed me, or at least believed in my intentions, and she checked her records.

I have an address, Eric.

Kurt had his own home in Sugar Land, but get this – he was renting a house from a client. Way out west, near Pecan Grove Plantation. The paperwork was curious, since he was supposed to be selling this place, but the previous owners had signed off on it, in multiple places, like it was no real conflict of interest.

She didn’t know what happened to the house after it was seized by the bank. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when I drive out there.

I’m close, man. I’m real close.

## 9.16.2004

**[Note: Mark was able to send text messages from his phone, but I frequently received them late; sometimes hours after he sent them, as is the case with the September 21 messages.]**

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Thursday, September 16, 2004 3:33 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

WHERE R U? CALL ME.

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Thursday, September 16, 2004 8:25 PM**
**subject: the house**

Holy fuck.

I tried calling you five times today but I got your machine. I really need to talk. Call me soon as you can.

Where do I start? The house is still there. It’s this generic one-story thing, bricks and siding. It must have been built at the same time as the other homes in the neighborhood, but it just looks older. The roof is scarred in places. The driveway hasn’t held up like the others have. Cracks in the pavement. A plank is missing from the side gate.

I rang the doorbell and figured I’d just talk to the new owners. No one answered. I couldn’t really hear if it worked or not. Blinds and curtains in the windows kept me from peering inside. There was a dusty pickup truck with a warped front fender parked in the driveway.

A neighbor across the street saw me checking it out. He talked to me for a while, as he watered his shrubs. He hasn’t met the person who lives in the house now, or if anyone is living there really. He remembered Kurt, but not by name, just as the guy who stayed there for a few months. The previous owners – Kurt’s clients – didn’t live there that much longer. They had all sorts of problems with the house. Electrical, heating, that sort of thing. They moved out, left most of their furniture behind, he said. Packed into a big RV one day and just drove off.

He still remembered their names.

John and Lucy Madson.

## 9.18.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Saturday, September 18, 2004 7:59 AM**
**subject: re: update**

Hey Eric,

We’re playing phone tag. When you called, I was already on the plane, and when I called back I guess you were at the hospital again. Really sorry to hear about Connie. Any idea what it is yet? Food poisoning? Something else? What are the doctors saying?

I’m in Boise now, yeah. I nabbed a ticket on short notice, got on standby. I left my car at the George Bush airport in Houston. Jen freaked out when I told her, then she got very terse, said I should do what will make me happy, and hung up. What will make me happy? Christ.

I don’t know a soul in Idaho. I haven’t slept in two days. I’m charging everything to my Visa, and I have no idea how I’m going to pay it off. My watch stopped working yesterday. I’ve got this weird ringing in my right ear, it comes and goes, annoying as hell. I’ll tell you what will make me happy: closing my eyes and not seeing Andrew staring back at me.

> What are you gonna do once you get there? Do you plan

> on telling the police the Madson connection? Do you

> think the Madsons left something in that house that drove

> Drew nuts, and he killed them for it years later? Seriously,

> this is fucked up.

Yeah. I don’t know what to think. Right now it’s just a connection. They lived in the same house. The Madsons were there for four-and-a-half months, and Drew was there for ten days. I have no idea what it means.

I’ll email you when I figure something out.

> feel like I should pass this along to some people, like to

> get you some help out there. Or bring in the Feds or

> something. I don’t know if anyone else has managed to

> make the connection you did, and it’s an important one

> to the case. Can I forward your emails and contact info

> to someone?

I’ve been thinking about that, because I was going to ask you to do that for me at first. But now I don’t think I’ll get the kind of help I need. Let’s face it, there are enough unexplainable pieces to this thing, I’m going to get two kinds of interest: nuts and skeptics. I wouldn’t mind so much the skeptic except I get this vision in my head of some guy calling Jenny, calling my parents, calling my boss at work, looking to paint the picture of a guy who’s lost his mind after hearing that his dead friend went nuts. I really haven’t been totally honest with Jenny or my supervisor at the office, because this is not something you can easily explain. (I’ve been calling in sick to work. I told Jen I had to go to Boise to attend a pseudo-wake.) I don’t want that to bite me in the ass while I’m looking into Andrew’s past.

Here’s what you can do for me, though. You can hold onto this stuff, as evidence or whatever. If something crazy happens and I’m in trouble, use this to explain the situation for me. Forward emails to my friends or family. Maybe if they read them, they’ll understand what I’m going through.

I know you didn’t mean to inherit this job. I’m sorry to make you do it. But I really appreciate the help.

- Mark, in potato land

## 9.20.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Monday, September 20, 2004 10:13 AM**
**subject: new lead**

Update:

I called the hospital, the one where Andrew was taken back in August, and asked some pointed questions about where Andrew’s body went. Who picked it up? Did a relative or friend show up? The answer was no. But he was tagged with John and Lucy, and I kept demanding some sort of lead, so the intern gave me the names of the relatives who were called in to confirm the IDs of the Madsons and to arrange for funeral home delivery. John’s cousin lives out here. I’m about to head out and meet Greg Archer (the cousin) and his wife.

I’ll write again from the hotel.

- M

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Monday, September 20, 2004 10:40 PM**
**subject: the Archers**

Back.

That was… strange. I met the Archers. I know what you said, last time I called, how I need to stop lying because it’ll make it harder on me later, but I wasn’t about to tell them I’m a good friend of the guy who killed Greg’s cousin. I said I knew the Madsons when they were in Houston. I had some burning questions about what happened to them, as (I claimed) they practically dropped off the map when they left town.
I hadn’t heard from them since.

Greg did most of the talking. His wife Helen was pleasant, in that stiff-smile way, but she found ways to interrupt my chat with Greg and remind him of other things he needed to get done. The more she did it the more I encouraged Greg to keep chatting.

The Madsons, as he tells it, had a long future planned in Houston. John got a transfer to Schlumberger Oil and looked forward to settling down. Then things started to go wrong after they moved in. Just little things that piled up. Their car kept getting flat tires. Lucy broke her ring finger while futzing with the dishwasher. Trouble getting mail. Their phone got disconnected when they didn’t pay the bill for two months; a bill they never got. That sort of thing.

Finally something happened, Greg doesn’t know what. It was enough to get them to put the house on the market. That same week, John sold all his company stock, gutted his 401k, quit his job, and put everything into a big RV. He and Lucy drove off in their new motor home and never looked back.

They’d been driving around the country the last five years, nomadic. Lucy got pregnant in 2002 but miscarried. They still kept on the road. Greg thinks they would have just kept driving through Idaho if the RV hadn’t broken down with an A/C problem. Greg says John called him up out of the blue and asked if he and Lucy could stay over. Greg made the guest room upstairs, and he and Helen welcomed them in their house for a week. This was right before the shooting.

Here’s where it gets stranger.

Greg took me up to the guest room and pointed to some spots on the carpet, right in front of the closet door. Furniture footprints, like something had stood there. Greg says it was the dresser, the one against the opposite wall. They barricaded the closet door for the duration of their stay. It was the strangest thing. He also noticed they kept the bedroom light on around the clock, and bundled up with the spare set of woolen blankets for the bed.

Greg never found the right way to ask a number of questions. I think he felt a little better talking to me about it. I’m not his cousin, but I’m someone who listened to him and agreed it was bizarre.

I left Greg and Helen’s not feeling any better. I feel worse now. I ache the way you’re sore right before you get really sick. I’m trying to put things together, I really am.

I have to go to the police now, don’t I.

I’ll go first thing in the morning. I promise, Eric.

## 9.21.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 2:21 AM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

hey

i just saw this thing on discovery channel, probably a rerun i bet you can catch it sometime. all about natural predators and stuff. wild things. yeah i’m up watching tv since i can’t sleep. anyway they had this thing on the venus fly trap talking about how it lures the curious insect to its lip and then these invisible hairs or something sense when one of the suckers lands on it and wham! it swallows the bug. just like that. later on it spits out the skeleton of the fly and waits for the next victim. some types of fly trap plants emit this odor to entice more food, says the voice on the tv. the fancy name for them is dionaea muscipula.

so i wonder if that’s all this is, this whole thing with the shooting and the anonymous article and houston and the footprints on the carpet, it’s all to get me into the venus fly trap, only the scent isn’t sweet sap, it’s guilt. guilt over all those times i was around drew and didn’t do anything you know what i mean? and i’m flying all over the fucking country and my head is buzzing and i think i’m getting close to the truth but really i’m tickling some invisible hair and the ground is about to fold up on me and swallow me down into that place where nancy hughes and ken malone went.

i’m gonna go take some sleeping pills. ihope connie is going better, man. i miss jen. she has a way of making me feel like i’m home just by being around her. i’m tired of motels. i’m sorry, eric i’m so sorry.

-m

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 12:15 PM**
**subject: where Andrew stayed**

Eric! Bingo.

I went to the police and asked to talk to Lt. Perez. Instead I got Detective Sokloff. He said he was working the Hughes case now. I’m more inclined to think he was just running interference for Perez in case I was a wacko. Anyway, I told him about the Madson connection with Andrew, to see if that would help. He said they’d look into it. Then he started with the questions about me, and I looked for a way to cut the chat short. Police stations make me uncomfortable.

The rest of the talk was rather banal, but at the end of it, almost offhandedly, he asked if I wanted to sign for Andrew’s personal effects, since they had copies of all the important stuff. I said sure, even though it made me feel like they’ve already written off this case.

Drew’s been busy the last four years. He has driver’s licenses for Kansas, Colorado, Arizona, California, and Idaho. Looks like he’s stayed at friends’ homes, because none of the addresses printed on the licenses have apartment numbers.

His Idaho license is just two months old. And it has the address of the rental home where he stayed.

I’m going to drop by this afternoon and see what happened to his things there. Maybe there’s a clue to how he knew where to find the Madsons. Or why he shot them. Perez (or somebody) has done this already, I’m certain, but I’m not sure he looked very far.

Wish me luck,

Mark

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:14 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

STANDING IN FRONT OF HOUSE NOW.

ITS THE SAME ONE. THE HOUSTON

HOUSE. SAME MARKS ON ROOF.

SAME FENCE DAMAGE.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:22 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

JUST TALKED TO OLD MAN ACROSS

STREET. HE SAYS HOUSE HAS BEEN

HERE FOR YEARS. RENTED OUT AS

FAR BACK AS HE CAN REMEMBER.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:25 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

I RANG THE DOORBELL. NO

ANSWER. ITS EXACTLY THE SAME

ERIC I DONT UNDERSTAND.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:29 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

EARS RINGING AGAIN I DONT

KNOW WHAT TO DO

HOW IS IT THE SAME?????

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:33 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

THERES A WAY INTO THE HOUSE

HERE.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:33 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

WHERE R U? PICK UP THE PHONE

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:38 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

IM GOING INSIDE

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:41 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

INSIDE THE HOUSE. NOBODY IS

HERE. AIR IS COLD. METAL SMELL.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:41 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

I FOUND STAIRS. GOING UP.

DIDNT SEE 2ND STORY FROM

STREET.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:47 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

DID U CALL? SIGNAL CUTS OFF

3 BARS THEN NO BARS. IM

LOOKING FOR MORE OF DREWS

STUFF HERE. LAYOUT IS RELLY

BIZARRE LOTS OF ROOMS

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 4:47 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

DOOR AT END OF HALL. MADE

OF METAL. CHECKING OTHER

ROOMS INSTEAD.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 5:05 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

CALL?

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 5:09 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

FOUND SOMETHING - DREWS

BACKPACK. GETTING OUT OF

HERE NOW

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 5:11 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

I THINK SOMEONES HERE. I

JUST HEARD SOEMTHING.

**from: [removed]@messaging.sprintpcs.com**
**date: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 5:77 PM**
**subject: (No Subject)**

THE DOOR IS OPEN

## 9.27.2004

**from: "Condry, Mark"**
**date: Monday, September 27, 2004 1:18 PM**
**subject: for Thursday**

Hello Eric,

This is Jennifer... I'm on Mark's PC now...

I did like you suggested and I've looked through his outbox and I don't see any emails about this to anyone else. There arent that many really... He didn't tell me a lot of this stuff, Eric... Like now I'm reading the last thing he sent you back on the 13th... I didn't know he was so emotional, why didn't he tell me about this?!?

But anyway, like you said he wrote to you from his laptop when he was in Houston and Boise... And the police up there said they found that in his hotel room, and they're taking their own sweet time checking it out for clues... So yeah I will keep asking for that to be sent down...

Where else should I look? I don't know what else to do here except wait until you come down and look at it. He does have AIM but I cant tell where the chatlogs would be saved or anything if he's done that. Please tell me what else I can do... You know more about what he was up to than anyone else, cause of this old friend the two of you had who went crazy, and now Mark is missing for almost a week.....

Please send me the other emails he sent you, please. I want to know now.

Jen

## 10.1.2004

**from: Postmaster**
**date: Friday, October 1, 2004 1:30 PM**
**subject: Undeliverable Mail**

Unknown user: x

RCPT TO generated following response:

550 unknown user <x@x.x>

Original message follows.

> > **from: x@x.x**

> > **date: Friday, October 1, 2004 12:47 PM**

> > **subject: (No Subject)**

> >

> > HUMAN ARM AND LEG BONES FOUND ON STREET

> >

> > Scottsdale residents got a shock at the start of their morning commute when they found

> > what seems to be human bones lying in the road on Sage Drive.

> >

> > Crime scene technicians arrived within half an hour and began to sweep the scene for

> > more evidence that might help identify this human victim, or at least establish an

> > approximate time of death. Police spokesman Daniel Swift said bone evidence alone

> > isn't usually enough to determine identity or even cause of death.

> >

> > "These remains didn't just appear in the road. They were moved here," Swift said.

> > "Therefore we're asking any witnesses to contact the police with information that might

> > pertain to what happened." No other evidence was found along Sage street or in yards

> > of neighboring homes. More on this story as it develops.

> >

> > -------------------------------------------------------------------------

>

> Whoever you are, whatever you are,

>

> Fuck you. I may not know you, but I can tell what this is,

> and I'm not fooled. Your venus fly-trap game won't work.

> I'll make damn sure to warn Jenny and others, too. So,

> nice try, but no one is falling for your bait this time.

>

> It stops here.

## Updates

It has become painfully obvious that, although I want this to end -- for all of us to have closure regarding Mark's disappearance -- the trail he left has raised too many unanswered questions. Since the time I first published this site for Jen and those close to Mark, new information continues to arrive from a variety of sources.

In my last posted email, I refused to take the bait. I said it would stop here. But it doesn't stop there. Not by any stretch. This page will chronicle my findings and other resources as I discover them. Some may have no connection to how or why Mark vanished. Only time will tell.

A final note, for those of you like Sondra and Nathan Condry, the truth is I don't yet know what to believe with this whole thing.

But I know what I don't want to believe.

\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_

**10.14.2004**

Jen called. She spoke with Boise police again yesterday, and they have finally agreed to ship down the laptop. Once she gets it and looks at it herself, she'll send it my way. If I find anything new, I'll add it here.

**10.17.2004**

Among the spam today I received this email, from someone who seems to have stumbled upon the site:

>
> ***from: "MrParanoia"***
> ***subject: The House***
>
>
> *Very interesting. If it's real, I have some information for you. I don't know Mark but that won't matter once I send you this link. Based on what I've researched, those who have figured out what this "flytrap house" is, risk becoming its next victim. Not everyone is eaten by it/them, maybe. Some may just not be psychologically susceptible to it, the way some aren't able to be hypnotized. But if you walk away knowing too much about it, the house will get to you. Sooner or later (witness the Madsons). Maybe you don't want to know anything else...*
>
>
>
>

Well, regardless of how I feel about it, this site isn't for me. So in case you read it here first, send me what you have and I'll decide if I want to share it, MrParanoia. Also, don't expect me to publish your messages to me ever again. I am not a PR firm.

**10.22.2004**

After trading emails several times with MrParanoia, he finally sent the link mentioned in the 10/17 email. Jen, I've read it already, and I want you to treat it as a hoax, unless you get something in the mail from a grocery store in Arizona. Call me when you've read it and we'll talk. It's a LiveJournal site, which means to read it chronilogically you need to scroll to the bottom of the page and work your way up.

The journal author is (allegedly) a 16-year-old named Danielle Stephens. Here is the link.

**10.26.2004**

Jen, please call me back. I know it must be driving you crazy, but do NOT go to Phoenix. Mark was never there, despite what the postmark says on that box. The keys are just like the article about Andrew: bait. Please, please don't do this. Send me the laptop and we'll figure it out together, okay?

I wouldn't have to put this here if you'd answer your phone. I know you visit this page regularly. Call me.

**10.26.2004 (late)**

Lots of responses, I didn't expect this. Thank you for your support (and your technical notes). At this time I cannot involve and will not involve anyone else for a number of reasons. Please respect my decision on this matter. I will keep the contact information for the paranormal investigators, and I will continue to help those close to Mark as best I can. Please, no more phone calls. Connie is going out of her mind.

Thank you.

**10.27.2004**

Sondra/Nathan: check your email. I finally heard back from the Sprint PCS service rep today. No more account authorization hassles. He said their records show (and have billed for) only 14 text messages from Mark's phone on 9.21, the last one timestamped at 5:11. He's sending me a copy of the logs, but I'm not sure if they'll do us any good at this point.

Awaiting the laptop now.

**10.28.2004**

I've been contacted by Diane M., who says she was friends with Lucy Madson when she lived in Houston.

>
> *Hello Eric. A friend linked me to this site asking if this was the same Lucy I knew when I lived in Sugar Land. After doing some reading, I'm convinced it is. I had no idea what happened to her after she and John moved.*
>
>
> *Lucy and I met through a little book club some mutual friends started up. We were both avid readers. Yes, she and John had all sorts of unexplainable problems with that house. I remember seeing some of them firsthand (like the leak). After reading about your friend Mark, I stewed a bit, then called up my father. I often talked with Lucy on AIM when she lived here, and thought maybe some of those old dialogs would be of use to you, but they would've been on my old PC which I gave to my dad, oh, a year ago.*
>
>
> *I went over earlier tonight and dug through the program files for any sign of my AIM chats with Lucy way back when. Dad had removed a lot of stuff (he deletes things) but I did find a scrap from Feb 99. It's the one I remembered; the one that made me curious to visit.*
>
>
> *Note - I don't really think it's a supernatural thing, I'm more prone to think Lucy had a sort of nervous breakdown, and "created" or imagined traumatic moments in the house. The rest of it, like your friend's experience, I can't explain. But I hope you find closure soon.*
>
>
>
>

The attachment wouldn't open, but hopefully Diane will try again.

**Update:** I got the chatlog and converted it to HTML. I don't know if Diane is still using her screen name, or if Lucy's is taken by a new user now, so to protect both from any unwarranted IMs I've removed the numbers from the ends of their nicks. If there are users with the nicks in this log, they are not the same people. FYI. Here is the AIM chatlog.

**10.29.2004**

Laptop arrived! There's a lot to sort through here, most notably some pictures Mark must have downloaded from his camera phone. But his laptop wasn't equipped with Photoshop or any other photo app, so I can't see more than thumbnails. I'll move them to my hard drive along with recent files and see what I can find. Also, it's crunch time at the office, so I'll be working this weekend, FYI.

Maybe we all could use a little mental break from this.

**10.31.2004**

Hooray for automated FTP uploading. If this sees publication, it means I'm still not back from my trip to the neverending suburban grid in the valley. Consider it a precautionary update. When I return I will remove this link, since I can't stand sounding like some sort of martyr, nor do I like to cause a panic. In the meantime, in case it could wind up being important, I've been keeping a personal blog on a remote host.

Don't worry about me, Connie. I'm sure I'll have quite a story to tell.

Love,

- E

**October 4, 2005**

This is Connie. It has been nearly one year since Eric drove off and never came back. I don't know how to do HTML. I don't know if this is how Eric did things. I'll be doing good just to copy this page back onto the website.

What has happened in a year? A lot. Not enough. I don't have any answers, just a million questions.
Let's see. I met Jennifer and Rachel, who is Cam's girlfriend. The three of us still keep in touch. Legally, Eric (and Mark and Cam) are considered missing. That makes some things very hard on us.
What else. I have a mountain of files --- emails, letters, digital photos --- that may or may not have anything to do with their disappearance. Every time I tried to start in, I got overwhelmed. So last week, I hired someone to go through all of it for me and see if anything made sense.

The reason I'm finally learning this thing is that he has found one or two pieces to this puzzle, and I feel a responsibility to continue what my husband began.

This is a test post. Later this week, after I hear back from Jenny, I will post more information.

xoC

**October 12, 2005**

Well, for one reason or another, the new information has yet to be verified. So --- until I hear back from my the source I can't post the link. Now I get how hard this is. You never know who is on the other end of a modem.

Thanks for your patience. All three of you who are still reading.

xoC

**October 14, 2005**

Despite the fact that she just used her diary to lash out at me, instead of answering me privately, I will link to a LiveJournal by a woman who claims to know about what both Mark and Eric were investigating. EDIT: OK I'm still figuring out the link thing. The blog of Loreen Mathers.

Hoping that works.

xoC

*Credited to Eric Heisserer*