In the spring of 2003, 34-year-old Eli Weatherford left his apartment in rural Oregon and was never seen again. No signs of foul play. No missing vehicle. No credit card activity. Just a note taped to his bathroom mirror: “If I don’t come back, it means I found it.”

Friends and family were baffled. To them, Eli was quiet but intelligent—a nature lover, a skilled backpacker. But in the years leading up to his disappearance, he had become increasingly consumed by stories of a phantom town, one that didn’t appear on any maps, had no postal code, and no known residents.

A town called Derosia.

The story of Derosia is a persistent local myth in parts of the Pacific Northwest. Described in scattered second-hand tales and obscure message boards, Derosia was said to be: Hidden deep within the Cascades, Perpetually shrouded in mist, A place where time behaved strangely, and, A town you couldn’t find unless it wanted to be found.

Eli believed it was real.

Over the course of several years, he collected old newspaper clippings, Civilian Conservation Corps maps from the 1930s, and even interviewed elderly locals who remembered hearing “Derosia” whispered about as children. Most dismissed it as folklore. Eli didn’t.

In April 2003, he packed a bag, withdrew $600 in cash, and set off toward the Cascades. He was never heard from again.

In July 2023, exactly 20 years later, a hiker exploring a remote ridge in the Mount Jefferson Wilderness stumbled upon the collapsed remains of what looked like an old ranger shack. While poking through the debris, he found something buried beneath a rotting floorboard: a rusted tin box.

Inside, wrapped in layers of wax paper and plastic, was a leather-bound journal, weathered but readable.

Authorities confirmed it belonged to Eli Weatherford. And the final entry was dated April 27, 2003—two days after Eli was presumed to have vanished.

The Diary: “Derosia Is Real… But It Doesn’t Want Me to Leave”

The contents of the diary are unnerving.

Eli’s earlier entries track his hike—names of trails, weather conditions, notes on terrain. Then, about a week in, the tone shifts. He writes of a clearing that shouldn’t have been there, structures not on any map, and people in outdated clothes who wouldn’t speak to him.

One chilling entry reads: “It’s like a play that resets every morning. They wake, they work, they eat. No one acknowledges the sky. Or me. But they know I’m here.”

He describes trying to leave—marking trees, retracing his steps—but always ending up back at the same fog-covered gate at the town’s edge. Over the days, he becomes disoriented. Sleep-deprived. Paranoid.

His final entry: “Derosia is real. But it’s not a place. It’s a trap. If someone finds this, don’t look for me. Don’t look for this town. It doesn’t want to be found. And it won’t let go a second time.”

What Happened to Eli Weatherford?

Search and rescue teams returned to the site where the diary was found. No human remains were located—just traces of an old bootprint and what might have been a crude fire pit.

Locals, cryptid researchers, and paranormal enthusiasts have reignited interest in Derosia, with some claiming Eli’s story is proof of a time loop, a dimensional anomaly, or even an intentional disappearance orchestrated by a secretive group.

Skeptics argue the diary could have been faked, planted, or even part of a creative hoax. But for those who knew Eli, the handwriting, tone, and references are unmistakably his.

No one has seen Eli Weatherford in over 20 years. No one has been able to find Derosia on any map, satellite image, or historical record. And yet, the journal exists. His last words are real.

Some believe Eli is still out there—trapped in a place that doesn’t exist on paper, only in whispers. Others think he made it up, lost himself to obsession, or simply didn’t want to be found.

But one thing is certain: Whatever Eli found in those woods, he believed it was never going to let him go.