Hohenheim Hauntings: Explained

Trigger Warning: Mental Health, Self-harm, Gore

Ethan von Hohemheim has been a subject of several news articles and conspiracy theories in the past decade. In particular, the circumstances of his death and the surrounding events has been a constant point of interest for the paranormal activity community. 

Ethan was born the sole heir of Greggery von Hohenheim, the custodian of the Hohenheim estate. From a young age, Ethan showed a great deal of interest in creative pursuits. He moved out of the estate when he was 18 years old in order to pursue a largely unsuccessful career as an author. Over the next decade, the father and son failed to reconcile over Ethan's choice of career, and he was ultimately disinherited from the estate.

With the recent death of Greggery von Hohenheim, the documents surrounding the events in question have been released to the public by the Hohenheim estate. In this article, I have compiled the key documents that pertain to the claims of paranormal activity.I hope that an impartial review of the raw facts will help clear up the widespread misinformation about this case.

***

The following is a transcript of a TXT file recovered from a laptop in the possession of Greggery von Hohenheim, originally under the file name "Ghosts of my creations.txt". This document is often used as evidence to claim that after his death, the disembodied spirit of Ethan von Hohenheim communicated with his father. The document has been reproduced as is, with consent from the Hohenheim estate.

***

"Hello. This is Ethan von Hohemheim. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Well, you are right. I am a ghost. Don’t need to look around the room, I just intend to talk to my dear father through this little window on your laptop.

Well, that was uncalled for. Why’d you shut your laptop? I can write on frosty windows just fine, but I much rather prefer a text file.

Ah. Now, if you're wondering whether I have come to haunt you - yes, yes I have. You, and you personally. Why, you might ask. As you well know, I am a writer. Well, at least I tried to be, no thanks to you. I wish I had tried harder.

So here I am, my destiny incomplete, trapped in this ethereal prison, free from mortal coils. And, just as I, my unfulfilled creations…

Ah, you've noticed Princess Emily. Yes, right by the mirror. She's trying to decide which earrings she should wear to her wedding. Not an easy choice when you are a child bride who's had every choice and freedom stripped away from her. A doomed marriage pact to save her father's kingdom from an invasion… No! Don't go into the closet! That one scares the crap out of me!

So, where was I? Ah, the pensive princess bride. Don't mind her, she's always been a maudlin one. She was to eventually become queen. Not a power player who could win over her husband's court, no. She would be a disappointment to her father's memory, a tragic story of stoic pride amidst humiliation and adversity. At least, she would have been, had I finished her story.

I wonder if Emily would like to know her story, even if it just ends in a bedside tragedy. But why? Wouldn't you rather just not be, than be a tale of woe and sorrow? I don't know. I, for one, have never understood ghosts.

Like Mr. Nazario Russo here. Trillionaire CEO of a twenty-third century mega corporation, a compulsive control freak, and an absolute menace of a father. Currently taking account of the dirty laundry on the floor and the dirt under the bed frame. He is pretty certain that the twenty-first century already had cleaning robots and washing machines. Your reluctance to purchase and use either of these, however, baffles him. No wonder you have a ghostly rat haunting your rooms and chewing on your charger. That isn't a rat, of course. Mr. Russo just hasn't seen a hare in real life. An easy mistake to make after an extinction event. To be fair, I can't quite tell a hare apart from a rabbit. The white-on-white ghostly color scheme isn't really helping either. You forget how much you rely on colors until you are all ghost.

Oh, apologies, I drifted off on a tangent again now, didn't I? Ah, the twenty-third century! What would it have been like, I wonder? Do we know if there's spring on Mars yet? Do evil megacorps trap kids in cages and exploit illegal spacemen labor? I wish I had written more of the story before the end came. There was a whole world to build, and now it's all gone. Poof. Not like you were any help at all. No, you weren't. Not one bit."

***

The following is a transcript of the viral voice recording from Ethan von Hohemheim during his final moments after a car accident. The contents of the original recording under the file name "Voice Recording 03:05:44.mp4" was submitted to the District Court in the form of a transcript. While clips of the original file had become an internet sensation shortly after the accident, the original file has been lost and could not be recovered. The last few seconds of this file are frequently cited as evidence for the existence of an afterlife.

***

So, this is Ethan von Hohenheim. Uh… am I dying? I wonder if this is a dream. What if it’s a dream? I think I have had dreams like this before. I was on my way to dad's estate and… guess we'll meet in the mortuary. If he comes, that is. I mean, if he still can recognise his son. Huh. Wouldn't that be fun?

So, yeah. Getting my thoughts out before the blood loss. So many ways I thought this'd end. Seaside and soft pillows. Definitely older. Richer. No, just more "renowned". Yeah that's the word. A great writer. They'd all come begging for my time. Favors. Money. He'd come, that prideful… Huh. I'd dreamed of better deaths. Lots of orchids, I think. Nurses maybe. He'd say sorry, and I wouldn't even know who he was. Fun times. Make a new Hohenheim trust, buy the old one, beggar him.

Yeah. No… Could've made it. Just… almost. Too many tomorrows. I said I'd write tomorrow. I mean today, it's early morning. I don't know. I always convinced myself I would, and never did. Sort of like how I was sure I would make that turn. Didn't even try. Flew right off the cliff. 

Yeah…

Huh.

I won't lie, the dreams weren't all just good. Wasn't all Mediterranean hotel suites. Never considered bleach, that was just tacky. Good poisons are harder to get, and back then I wasn't great at pilfering my accounts. Now that I know where to get them, I can't access the money. There were these… very pretty crystals, for some science project. We bought a ton more than we needed. And afterwards, I went looking. I always liked a spectacular death, especially if I had planned for it. A funeral bash. Dad would invite all the kids, all so wound up in guilt that they never tried to include me. Never tried making friends with the rich loner daydreaming at the back of the class. They would realize the awful people they were. They might try to be better. That would at least have been something. Meant something.

Now that I'm here, I wish I had just gone old school. Silk tie and a chandelier. Better than dying by pinecone through the gut, huh? Wait. I'm just getting a little thirsty now. I can't… get that bottle. Oh man. It’s getting too real. This can’t be a dream.

Who's that? There's someone next to me! No one's supposed to be… oh. Yeah. That's just me... Or my body. There's a whole branch poking out of his guts. My guts? Ouch. No way I could've got out of that mess. 

So. Father, if you're listening… I'm sorry. I wasn't wrong. I didn't just want to shuffle your money around and pretend it was mine. I had something. Something good. If I had made it happen, you'd see. Just, too many tomorrows. So, guess I'm not sorry for all that. Just sorry that, uh, both of us didn't see it the same way. So, sorry dad. I mean, sir. Whatever, doesn't matter. Just get me some water, yeah? I'll wait. Good. Sounds good. Peace! 

*** 

The following is one of the few writings by Ethan von Hohenheim that are available to the public. It was published posthumously by his editor, Clara Longair. In this document, Ethan writes about a celebration where he includes certain characters from the "Ghosts of my creations.txt" document. 

This piece of writing is controversial among the paranormal activities community because of the inclusion of characters from a different time period. Some claim that it is evidence of Ethan's psychic abilities to communicate with paranormal spirits of actual individuals. The fact that the following untitled text precedes "Ghosts of my creations.txt" is uncontested by all sides.

*** 

"Thank you all for coming here for this celebration! I, Ethan von Hohenheim, am a bestselling author! Cheers to me!"

A roar of cheers swept through the barbecue place. I felt like a proud father spoiling my already spoiled children. Glasses clinked and champagne splashed around. Except for Emily, because she was underage. "Go ahead, order whatever you'd like! On me!"

"What will Rabbit eat?" Emily hadn't taken her eyes off the menu cards.

"It's a barbecue place. I'm sure they have carrots."

Nazario grunted with disapproval. There probably was some special kibble for hares in the twenty-third century.

"What's taking them so long?"

"We haven't ordered."

"Well, Emily, just pick something! Or don't, it doesn't matter. It's just barbecue, not like they have a ton of options."

"Precisely," Nazario chimed.

It took some effort to ignore the jibe. Poor Rabbit got all jittery and froze whenever we fought. He had found a comfortable cushion on a napkin to lie down on.

The waiters took down my order for the table and left without making a comment about the hare on the table. It is a barbecue place after all, they would have a hundred baby rabbits running around in the kitchen.

Emily folded her cards and stared into her lap for a good several minutes. Against my better judgment, I decided to break the awkwardness with Nazario.

"Did you read my book?"

"No," he said between sips of what seemed like the most disgusting water he had ever tasted. "What was the story?"

"That… is a good question." What was the story? I wrote it, I must know it, mustn't I? "It was… Emily's. Very critically acclaimed. You should read the reviews. I had a couple of historians send mail to tell me how much I inspired their research. Who would have thought, historians without any creativity? Well, glad I could help them. I guess it's only a matter of putting yourself in the shoes of a child bride, you know? What they had to go through. Imagine getting kicked off to a boarding school when you are twelve, but only, it isn't a school, it is a whole new kingdom. And you are an enemy princess. You'd be humiliated! Part hostage, part exotic furniture. There was that part where they accused her of theft for what the duchess stole. Emily had to change her own chamberpot for a whole month! Even the servants would snicker. Not the kinds of things historians knew about, but now they do! Thanks to Emily!"

"Shut up!" A quiet voice peeped through in the din of the restaurant. Emily would have been screaming, if she had ever learnt how to. "You never wrote any of it! Because, you cannot stand how I am only a sink for all your self-pity. Only I am no disappointment to my house and family. I am a princess of two great kingdoms. You are just a failed writer who hasn't recovered from all his daddy issues."

"This is taking too long. Waiter! What's with the service at this restaurant?" I pluck off a leg and toss it into the barbecue. "Don't mind her, she hated how her character turned out. You, on the other hand, are phenomenal! A villain if I have ever read one!"

Nazario's grunt wasn't any more disappointed than his usual self.

"The way you tackled that whole showdown with your daughter's kidnapper. Who wasn't that bad of a guy after all, eh? You just had to get over your inherent earthling biases and find a way to appreciate the foods on Jupiter's moons. The complex flavors of the-"

"Oh, please. I've seen better stories in ad holos."

Rabbit, the hare, limped his way back to his comfort cushion. He hated confrontation.

"You are upsetting Rabbit here. You need to learn how to be kind, old fella. You can't go on living this way your whole life."

"You are one to speak on the matter of change." Emily really had found some fire in her today. She wasn't usually this talkative. "You still snuggle with the Rabbit from your first story. I presume you haven't completed that story either, have you Mr. Author?"

The leg on the barbecue seemed like it was ready, so I snapped another leg off to replace it. It had the perfect crunchy texture and a juicy tender meat. Almost good enough to take my mind off the lousy guests at the table. "Did they just forget our order? What's the matter?"

"The matter is, Ethan, that you are a joke of a human being, who has lost his inheritance to work in an obsolescent profession and you have neither the competence or dedication to make anything of it."

"Whatever you say, evil boss man!" The second leg was almost done, but I couldn't wait. It tasted a bit rawer than I'd like, but the next leg should cook nicely. Just need to wait a little longer.

Only, I couldn't wait that long. I feel myself fidget and grab a handful of the tablecloth.

"You should fix things with your father, Mr. Hohenheim. It is not too late to ask him to change his mind. You could still be an heir to an entire estate-"

"I don't need him for anything, you stupid little princess! I don't need you, or you, and all this negativity!" I turned to Nazario to realize I was shouting. "Where's the goddamned waiter?! Where's my order?!"

I felt a wet crunch as I tore through the tablecloth and the wet puddle of goo inside it. Blood splatters onto Nazario's face and he tries to look away in disgust. Emily starts crying, tears mingling with the spots of blood on her face. An empty restaurant echoes back her sobs. The walls were in a red not like before, dripping with viscous paint.

Rabbit, the hare, stares up at me from my right hand. He looks scared. His limbless torso wriggles through its death throes in my left hand. I clench tighter, hoping to somehow hold the blood in. I sink into a blood soaked cushion at the suddenly empty table. My hands were wet and empty. All too empty.

***

The following transcript was recently released to the public by the Hohenheim estate after the demise of Greggery von Hohenheim. The transcript is of an audio file recovered by the estate, which is likely the last voicemail sent to Greggery by Ethan von Hohenheim. Digital records date the voicemail to the day before Ethan's death. The rationalist community cites this transcript as further evidence to deny any supernatural claims around the mystery of Ethan von Hohenheim's death. The community claims that the estate's failure to release the full audio of the voicemail suggests a financial interest in keeping the controversy alive.

*** 

Hi, this is Ethan. I don’t blame you for not picking up. Hope you’ll at least listen to this voicemail. So, I know you are disappointed. No one is more disappointed in me than I am. The lies I tell myself are far more elaborate than the ones I’ve told you. But, now I think I just got my big break. I have this story that's quite promising. It’s about a guy who's haunted by the ghosts of his creations. Well, he’s pretty much just me. I see these ghosts… They are like seeing dreams during the day. They are very vivid. I don't know. This new character. I’ll probably even name him after myself. All my eggs in this basket. If this fails, I… Well, I can’t afford to think that way. Hope I don't just end up joining the ghosts and haunting myself, haha.