Visitors 101 Our most distant cousins have been visiting us for millennia. It is only in relatively recent history since the invention of the camera that their surprisingly friendly visitations have been documented on film. Previously humans relied on written accounts or artistic depictions, some of which we hope to show you should they be released to us soon. However this evidence, when it occasionally surfaces is quickly confiscated or ridiculed and labelled as a hoax, so amazingly these visits remain merely a myth until this day. In dusty boxes hidden in shady museums and secure facilities these pictures are mostly hidden away indefinitely until someone discovers them and is brave enough to leak them onto the internet and into public consciousness. Here is our first batch of pictorial documentation of these visitors throughout the ages. Visitor 032 & 56 - c1880s n.b. this is another version of a previous inscription that glitched into a void… Reeeeeee The Photobomber In the shadowed year of 1887, outside a church of timeworn stone and whispered secrets, stood Mr. Greenwood and his progeny, sons with eyes wide and waistcoats neat. They posed, statuesque, for a photograph—a moment captured in silvered stasis. Yet, lurking in the margins of mundane reality, an interloper from realms unseen chose this precise moment to materialise. With fur like twisted brambles and eyes of unknowable depths, a hedgehog, not of this earthly coil but of a cosmic prankster’s whim, appeared behind the unsuspecting family. Spikes glistened under the indifferent sun, a constellation of prickles and quills. The shutter clicked, and the deed was done—unbeknownst to Mr. Greenwood and his sons, who dispersed with nary a thought of the eldritch guest. Only later, in the alchemical darkroom, did the revelation unfold. There, in the print's sepulchral glow, the hedgehog revealed itself, an absurd spectre in the sacred space. A photobomb from the beyond, a creature of knotted fur and mischievous intent, frozen in time with the Greenwoods, a testament to the surreal whims of the universe. "Oh, father," the sons might have mused, had they known, "What strange bedfellows fate has given us, this prickly visitor from the edges of our understanding." The church, the family, and the hedgehog—an uncanny trinity bound by a moment’s serendipity, a tale spun in the eccentric tapestry of existence.