Recovered Files from the 2023 Powdertown Expedition
Compiled and transcribed by J.E. Hamelton Jr.
Author’s Introduction
There’s a place north of Keokuk that locals don’t talk about much anymore. They call it Powdertown, though on maps it’s marked as Mooar. A century ago, it was the largest black powder plant in the world — a maze of buildings owned by DuPont, where men worked with the quiet understanding that any mistake could vaporize them in an instant.
Dozens died in those blasts. Most were never recovered. When the plant closed, DuPont destroyed much of what remained, but not everything. The woods grew over it; the river silt filled in what the flames missed.
In 2023, a small crew of documentary filmmakers set out to record what was left of the site for a series titled Ghosts of Industry. They never released the episode.
What follows is a compilation of their recovered notes, recordings, and field logs — found months later by a volunteer search team just off Powdertown Road.
File 01 — Field Log: October 3, 2023 (Morning)
Recorder: Daniel R. Kessler — Project Lead, “Ghosts of Industry” Series
Weather mild, overcast. We reached the site north of Keokuk around 10:30 a.m. Locals call it Powdertown. I’d read the old DuPont records, seen the maps, but standing here… the air itself feels abrasive, like breathing through soot.
There’s almost nothing left but cracked foundations and what looks like part of a drying house wall, half-swallowed by trees. No birds, no sound except the river somewhere beyond the woods.
The others are unloading equipment. Cameras, EMF, a drone. Our goal is to document what remains of the world’s largest black powder plant — and the “Powdertown Ghost,” a rumor that dates back to the 1913 explosion that killed nineteen men.
File 02 — Excerpt from Notebook (Found beside a torn sleeping bag)
(Graphite handwriting, smeared with ash)
October 3 — Evening.
I don’t like the way the ground feels here. When I walk, there’s a crunch under the soil that isn’t leaves — like thin glass breaking. Daniel says it’s slag from the old smelters, but it sounds too brittle.
Found the old loading shed by accident. Charred walls, but still standing. The smell of sulfur is stronger inside. We heard what sounded like metal tapping from deeper in the ruins, rhythmic, almost like hammering. When we went toward it, the sound stopped.
We joked about ghosts, but no one laughed long.
File 03 — Audio Transcript (Partial, static interference throughout)
Timecode: 22:14:08 — October 3, 2023
[Daniel]: Hey, is someone out there? [Unknown Female Voice]: (distant, barely audible) Dan… [Daniel]: Rachel? You wander off again? [Static, scraping sound] [Daniel]: Christ. Say something— [Rachel]: (clearer now, closer) Dan… over here. [Daniel]: Don’t move, I’m coming toward you— [Sound of footsteps through debris] [Unknown Voice, overlapping]: I said don’t—move—(brief shriek, then silence)
End of recording.
File 04 — Emergency Log (Typed, recovered from laptop found in vehicle)
October 4 — 2:11 a.m.
Rachel’s gone.
We searched every structure, called her name until dawn. The last recording shows her flashlight cutting through the powder fog, then static.
At sunrise, she was sitting by the fire, calm. Smiling. She said she’d just gotten lost.
But her hands are black. Not dirt — fine powder, like soot. It doesn’t wash off.
She says she remembers everything, but her voice… her voice is slower now.
I’m not sure it’s her.
File 05 — “Rachel” (Video Transcript)
(Timestamp 08:47, October 4. Camera propped near fire pit. The woman on screen is facing the lens. Her skin looks pale gray in the dawn light.)
“I dreamed the fire never went out here. That the air still carries them, the ones who burned. They never left, they just… waited for someone to breathe them in.”
(She looks down at her hands. The ash darkens as she speaks.)
“They said it’s warm under the ground, like breath. That’s where they live now. Powder Jack makes them whole again.”
(She lifts her face to the camera. For half a second, the image doubles — two faces flickering over one skull.)
“He remembers us so we don’t have to.”
File 06 — Field Note, Handwritten (Unsigned)
She doesn’t sleep anymore.
We took turns watching her. Every hour, she’s closer to the tree line.
Last night, I saw her reflection in the van window. It smiled before she did.
File 07 — Final Recording
Timestamp 02:37, October 5, 2023
[Male voice, whispering]: She’s outside again. There’s two of her. One standing still. One moving. [Pause — soft crunch of footsteps on gravel] [Voice]: The one in front is calling me. Says she found the old tunnel. [He breathes heavily.] [Voice]: She’s got the same scar on her hand, the one from the camera tripod— [Static. Silence. Then faint breathing, closer.] [Second Voice (identical to the first)]: Don’t you want to see what’s still burning down there?(Recording cuts abruptly.)
File 08 — Field Report Summary
Compiled from recovered data by Lee County Sheriff’s Office, November 2023.
The expedition van was found two miles from the DuPont site. Equipment destroyed, laptop melted from internal battery fire. No human remains recovered.
Soil samples taken from the site contained trace potassium nitrate, sulfur, carbon residue… and microscopic fragments of human epithelial tissue bonded to the powder.
Locals report seeing lights in the trees and hearing voices calling names on windless nights.
The trail has since been sealed. Warning signs posted.
Postscript — Email Draft (Unsent)
To: editor@midwestarchives.org
From: daniel.kessler@ghostsofindustry.tv
Date: October 4, 2023 — 11:59 p.m.
Subject: Upload error — Powdertown footage
I can’t stop the upload. Every time I delete the files, they reappear. The clips are changing.
Rachel’s not in any of them now. It’s me, over and over, walking into the dark.
I think Powder Jack remembers me.
Recovered Note (charred edge, found beside the ruins)
He looks like me now.
He smiles like me too.
Author’s Closing Note
The ruins of Powdertown still exist. Locals claim that on humid nights, the air smells faintly of sulfur and old rain, and the fog that drifts through the trees glows faintly from within — as if lit by something still burning underground.
I drove out there once, in daylight. Nothing moved, yet the woods felt aware, like they had lungs. I didn’t step beyond the road.
Whatever happened to Daniel Kessler’s team, whatever Powder Jack truly is, it belongs to that soil now. And perhaps that’s where it should stay.
