Personal

As a YouTuber, Murphy had enjoyed a teeny dollop of success - appealing to a mix of near death experience obsessives and afterlife junkies who needed a fix. His was just one ghost hunting channel in a bog of seeking and not finding; it was nothing but an unusual hobby and minor claim to eccentricity. Then the trip to The Rarefield happened and shit got deeply real; almost two years later, when the last bit of scrutiny was completed and it was announced that Murphy had, in fact, taken footage that could not DISprove the afterlife, he went anonymous - closing the channel, changing his name, and moving into the woods of some far north where he could be alone with his thoughts and his rescue animals. To protests when he disabled downloads and blistering criticism when he turned down public appearances, Murphy said nothing. To prodding from family that he could, after monetizing the whole thing correctly, be a GD millionaire, Murphy said nothing. Yes, it had been a real ghost behind him at The Rarefield and, yes, it had been terrifying and absolutely the best thing to ever happen at the same time; all of that was true. What they didn't know is that the ghost, once he'd seen the sharpened stills, had been his best friend in college - someone much missed and spoken to when life caused anguish (which it frequently did). The appearance had been for him and him alone - a tap on the shoulder and unmistakable feelings of love and support; it moved him too much to let the world swarm all over it and tear it apart.