Something Was Off About My Freshman Roommate – Part Three & Epilogue

"Had I been thinking clearly, I would have made sure that Andrea didn’t see the pictures that “Zach” left me on his iPod. But, by the time I looked up from crying, she was already viewing the images, a look of shocked horror on her face.

She asks, “Eric, what kind of monster is this?”
“He’s a psychotic killer. And I think he’s out to get me because I found out his secret. I know that he’s the one that killed the real Zach and he’s trying to stop me before I can go to the police.”
Just then, my cell phone rings. I’m surprised to see that it’s my mother who is calling. My mom never calls me this late at night…
“Hello? Mom?”
“Eric, honey, I think you better come home tonight.” Her voice sounds strained.
Starting to panic, I ask, “Mom, are you ok? What’s going on?”
“Eric, just, please come home. Your father and I need to see you.” And with that she hangs up.
I’m gripped with fear that “Zach” has somehow found his way to my parents’ house. I don’t know if he is playing a sick game, but I need to make sure my parents are safe.
“Andrea, I’ve got to go home to check on my parents. You need to go somewhere safe. Go to your parents’ place. He shouldn’t know where that is. I’ll call you when I can. Then we can go to the police.”
“Eric, I don’t want to go alone,” she retorts.
“You gotta trust me. I think “Zach” might have my parents and I don’t want you anywhere near there. Just go home as fast as you can. You’ll be safe at home with your folks.”

My mind is racing during the drive home. How could all this be happening so fast? Zach _________ was just a name on a roommate info card 8 days ago and now his killer has pretended to be him while living with me, stalked my girlfriend, killed my friend, and is now terrorizing my parents.
It’s very late when I pull into our cul-de-sac. I’m immediately shocked to see police cars with flashing lights all around my house. Could my parents have somehow contacted the police? Maybe they’ve already captured “Zach.”

I park the car and sprint toward my house. After a few seconds I hear someone yell, “There he is! Someone grab him!”
I start looking around anxiously, hoping to identify “Zach” as he’s trying to dash away. All of a sudden, the wind is knocked from me and my vision blurs. I’ve been slammed to the ground.
“What the hell!?! Get off of me! What’s going on?” I can feel my arms being twisted behind my back and I feel cuffs locking.
“Eric, you are under the arrest for the murder of Zach _________. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be used—“
“What are you talking about?! I didn’t kill him!” I scream. “My roommate at DePauw has been pretending to be Zach, but he’s the murderer! I can help you catch him!”
I continue to try to make the police officer understand, but he continues to escort me into my house where I see my parents sitting at the kitchen table. They look distraught and pained when they see me walk in.
“Mom? Dad? Are you guys ok? Did my roommate try to hurt you? Was he here?!” I anxiously ask.
“Eric…” my mom starts to say.
“Mom, the cops are making a mistake. They should be arresting the guy that’s been my roommate at DePauw. He’s been pretending to be my real roommate, but he murdered him! And he killed Joel!”
“Eric,” she starts again quietly. “They found something in your room…”
A large police sergeant comes over to me. “Eric, I’m Sergeant Rosado. We received a tip tonight that you might be responsible for the murder of Zach _________ two weeks ago.”
“What?!?” I yell incredulously. “That’s ludicrous. My roommate killed Zach! Who told you it was me?”
“The caller identified himself as a friend of yours from school,” responds the Sergeant. “He said you were acting strange and thought it had something to do with the death of Zach.”
“But… that doesn’t make sense…”
“We weren’t convinced either. That is until we came here and found this under your bed.”
As he said this, another cop brought in a duffle bag, the same duffle bag that had been sitting on the floor of my dorm room for the past week. “Zach’s” duffle bag.
“Does this look familiar?” As he opens the bag I can see a small cooler inside. He flips open the lid to reveal human organs and ice. A heart, a liver, and a few others.
Stunned, I blurt out, “This is crazy! I’m being set up! My roommate is framing me for the murder that he committed! Ask anyone on my floor at school. They’ll all tell you how strange he’s been acting all week! Call Andrea. She’ll tell you how he’s been leaving origami flowers in her room! He’s framing me somehow! I didn’t do this!” Tears begin to stream down my face.
“Son,” Sergeant Rosada says. “You’re going to need to come with us tonight.”

As they walk me out of the house and to a squad car, I can hear my father ask the sergeant if it’s possible that I’m telling the truth. Is it possible that my roommate is framing me? I hear the sergeant respond that they’d look into it, but that it’s very unlikely.
I spend a long, sleepless night in a holding cell at the police station. A few times I try to plead with the officer on duty to talk to my friends at DePauw. I tell him to ask them about the guy that I’ve been sharing a room with. He just ignores me.
Late the next morning, I’m taken to an interrogation room. Sergeant Rosado walks in holding a manila folder and sits down.

“Eric, can you tell me, in detail, about this person who has been your roommate this past week?” he asks.

So, I tell him all about my roommate “Zach.” I tell him about all the weird things that he did that week: the staring out the window, the sleeping without bed sheets, the late night walks, and the creepily staring at me while I slept at night. I then go into detail about what happened the day before, starting with my discovery of the news article revealing that the real Zach had been murdered two weeks ago. I share about meeting with Joel after class and then having him to go to the police while I went to check on Andrea because I thought “Zach” was after her. And finally, I explain to him about driving down to Andrea’s and finding out “Zach” had been coming there at night and how we found an origami flower and iPod with the images of the murdered Joel on it that had been left by the door while we talked.

“So you have to stop him. He killed the real Zach and he killed Joel yesterday.”

Sergeant Rosado just stares at me and sighs. “Eric, we went up to your dorm room this morning to verify your story. We found this.” With that he opens the manila folder to reveal a set of photographs. The pictures show the same scene that I saw on the iPod that “Zach” left me. But the police photos were taken further back to reveal that Joel was killed and placed into my bed in my dorm room. I stare at them in shock.

“He killed Joel in my room… These are just like the pictures that he left for me on the Ipod—“
“An iPod that only has your and Andrea’s fingerprints on it.”
I pause. “I’m not sure I follow…”
He continued, “Don’t you find it peculiar that there is nothing on the other bed in your dorm room?
Isn’t it strange that your roommate doesn’t have any clothes or personal possessions?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” I scream. “He’s always been super weird. He’s a psychopath!”

“Eric,” he calmly says. “We talked to the other people that live on your floor. No one has ever seen or heard of this roommate of yours. The teachers say they’ve never had this ‘Zach’ in any of their classes. Eric, you’ve been living alone for the past week. You never had a roommate.”

–

EPILOGUE

The hearing and the trial went by in a blur for me. I was tried and convicted for the murders of both Zach and Joel. Additionally, they are currently trying to link me to two similar unresolved murders that happened in the past month, all in Indiana.

I never got to speak to Andrea again and I only saw her once during the whole process. It was when she testified on the stand about her relationship with me and about what happened to her that fateful week. She only looked at me once and I could see the revulsion and fear on her face.

It didn’t make sense! I don’t remember doing any of these things. I pleaded with them that I was framed and that if Joel were still alive, he could confirm meeting my roommate, the real killer. He knew how crazy “Zach” was and he helped me figure everything out. The prosecuting lawyer said it was awfully convenient that the only other person who had seen or spoken to my supposed “roommate” was now dead.

After the trial, they put me in a prison for the criminally insane. They said I have dissociative personality disorder; that’s why I don’t remember killing anyone. I’ve been here for months now and I’ve been told this so often that I’m starting to believe that maybe they’re right. Maybe I did kill those people…

This morning, I received a letter. A rare surprise in this hellhole. I opened it up to see a folded origami flower and picture. On the flower was written a note in handwriting that I immediately recognized:

She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, Eric. I envy that.

The picture was the photograph of Andrea that was taken from my nightstand."

Something Was Off About My Freshman Roommate – Part Two

"Time seems to slow down as I try to process what it means that I have been sleeping in the same room as psychotic murderer for a week and that the picture of my girlfriend is now missing. I try to quickly scan through everything that I know about “Zach.”

He listens to music on his iPod a lot. He likes to look out windows and people-watch. He supposedly goes for long walks late at night. He stares at me while I sleep.

Suddenly, I realize that “Zach” has only begun conversations with me twice in the past week: the night he was staring at me while I slept, and move-in day when he asked me about Andrea’s picture.

“Joel! I’ve got to talk to Andrea! I think “Zach” is going after her.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, but our first day together he asked about her picture and I told him she went to IU. Now the picture is gone!”
I immediately pull out my phone and call Andrea. No answer. Frantically, I call again. No answer this time either, but I leave a voicemail.
“Andrea, it’s me, Eric. Listen, call me as soon as you get this. I’m serious. Call me immediately please.”
“What do you want to do, man?” asks Joel.
“I’ve gotta go down to Bloomington and make sure she is all right. She’s probably just out with friends right now and missed the call, but I need to be sure.” I’m desperately hoping this to be true. “Joel, you still need to alert the cops about this bastard. Can you borrow someone’s car and go to the police without me?”
“Yeah… but I think you should come wit—“
“I can’t! But I’ll be back as soon as I can get Andrea and make sure she’s ok,” I interrupt. “Just please do this for me. The sooner we get the cops involved, the sooner we can catch this guy.”
“Alright, Eric.”

I run to my car while texting Andrea to “call me ASAP.” I pray that she responds. As I begin the hour-long drive down to Bloomington, I’m so nervous that I can’t even listen to music. I just keep telling myself that she’s alright as the sun begins to set. After what seems like ages, my phone rings and my heart skips a beat as I see that it’s Andrea.

“Andrea? Are you ok!?!” Please tell me you’re alright!”
“I’m fine, Eric. What’s going on? I got your message and I’m a little scared. Did something happen to someone? Are you ok?”
“Kind of… Listen, it’s probably better if we talk in person. I’m about 15 minutes away from you right now. Are you in your dorm?”
“No. I’m out with some friends.”
“Can you meet me at your dorm room? I’ll be there in 15 minutes. And don’t talk to anyone who you don’t know!”
“Eric, what’s going on?”
“Please, just listen to me for now, Andrea. I’ll explain everything when I see you. 15 minutes.”
“Ok. See you at my place.”
It’s late when I arrive at Andrea’s, but I’m flooded with relief when she opens the door and I see that she’s ok. After a long embrace, I tell Andrea she better have a seat. I lock the door and sit beside her.
I begin, “Do you remember when I told you Tuesday how strange my roommate was?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, things got a whole lot stranger in the past few days.”

I tell her all about my first week with my new roommate and all about “Zach’s” weird habits. I share about how he supposedly goes for late night walks for hours every night and how he was watching me sleep the previous night. Then I share with her what I found out about the real Zach when I Googled his name. I can tell she’s a little unsure of how to react or what to say, so I tell her that I can prove it. I grab Andrea’s laptop and type in the search for the news article concerning Zach’s murder from two weeks ago. She reads it out loud.

ZIONSVILLE TEENAGER ZACH _________ STABBED TO DEATH, CULPRIT STILL MISSING Last night, Zach ______, 18, was found brutally murdered and mutilated in his bedroom at his family’s Zionsville home. His parents, Richard and Alice ______, found his body in his bed when they returned home around 11:00pm. They immediately called the police.

This gruesome murder is a shock to the normally safe suburban community, as Zach is well remembered for being a likable and pleasant teenager. Before his death, Zach had recently graduated from Zionsville Community High School and was a member of the marching band and an actor in many of the school plays. He was an honor student that was planning on attending DePauw University as a freshman at the start of the fall semester next week.

IPD is reporting that the body had been stabbed repeatedly. It had been severely mutilated and was then purposely tucked back into the victim’s bed. Currently, the police are reporting that they have no suspects and few leads to go on. All blood samples found in the room have been confirmed to either belong to the victim or have been mixed with an ammonia-based solution rendering them unidentifiable. The only clue the police have to go on is an origami flower that was left on the victim’s body.

Andrea’s voice trails off as she finishes reading the article. Her face looks stricken as she slowly backs away from the computer.
I point to the picture of the real Zach and say, “That is not the person that I have been sharing a room with for the past week! I think the guy I’ve been living with has been pretending to be Zach _________. I think he’s the murderer. Andrea? Andrea?”

Andrea is still staring at the screen in horror, but then reaches into her closet and pulls out three objects. Shakily she states, “I started receiving these three nights ago, one each night. The first two were just set out in front of our door late at night. My roommate and I saw them in the morning. The third one was left on my nightstand last night, but I swear we locked the door! Eric, they were cute, so we thought they were from a secret admirer or something!”

In Andrea’s hands are three perfectly folded origami flowers.

“Do you know what time these were left here?” I ask frantically.
“I don’t know… Sometime after I go to bed, which is usually around 12:30. They were there each morning at 7:00 when I wake up to shower.” I can hear the fear seeping into her voice just as I can feel it seeping into my thoughts.
“That bastard! He wasn’t going for late night walks, he was coming here! I don’t know how he found your room, but we’ve got to get out of here. Joel went to the police already. We should go there and join him.”

I grab my phone to call Joel. No answer.

“He’s probably still explaining everything to the cops. I’ll try him again in a few minutes, but we should start making our way there.”
“Eric, a killer was standing next to my bed last night…” Andrea barely whispers. I bring her in close and hold her tight.
“I know, babe, and I’m so, so sorry. But the best thing we can do now is meet Joel at the police station. They’ll know what to do. It will be safe there.”

I go to the door and unlock it, but stop in my tracks. Sitting on the floor in the hallway is a beautifully folded origami flower. And sitting underneath it is an iPod. I know immediately whose it is. I grab them both, slam the door, and lock it.

“What are those?” Asks Andrea timidly.
I show her the flower and iPod and say, “Gifts from my ‘roommate’.”
Andrea starts to cry. I go to hold her again, still holding the flower and iPod. As she’s sobbing into my shoulder, I see that there is writing on the white side of the origami flower. Slowly I step back from Andrea and carefully unfold the flower. In it is written a note from “Zach.”
Eric, you once asked me if I knew what I wanted my major to be. I’ve decided perhaps photography.
And below that:
Your friend looks very peaceful when he sleeps, Eric. But I don’t envy him.

My hand shaking, I turn on the iPod. There’s nothing on it except the factory default programs. There’s not even any music on it. That psycho was listening to nothing all along! I press the Photos button and my knees start to go weak.

There is one photo album with five images in it. Each one is a different shot of a severely mutilated human body. Blood and gore flood each photo. Cautiously, I flip through the photos of carved human flesh and organs. When I view the last image, I drop the phone and begin to weep.

On the iPod’s screen is an image of Joel lying in a bed. The sheets are saturated in blood and sitting on top of his chest is an origami flower."

Something Was Off About My Freshman Roommate – Part One

"It didn’t take long for me to realize that my freshmen college roommate was a very strange guy. But that wasn’t all that surprising as I’d heard about plenty of people that got saddled with weirdos as roommates their first semester of college. He wasn’t strange in the sense of being a LARPer or never taking showers or anything like that, but from the moment I met him, something just seemed…off.

Move-in day was pretty odd. The first thing I remember is being surprised at how old he looked when I met him. From the roommate info card that I had received from my university over the summer, I knew that my roommate’s name was Zach _________ and he was from a town called Zionsville, a suburb of Indianapolis. I thought that he was an 18 year-old freshmen like me, but he looked like he was maybe 4 or 5 years older than that. Oh well, I thought, it had been two months since I read that roommate card, so I figured I was simply mistaken and that he was just one of those guys that waited a few years before going to college.

Now all that Zach brought with him to move into our dorm was a duffle bag of clothes. No furniture, no computer, no belongings, nothing. He didn’t even bring bedding. I asked him if that was all that he had, and after an awkward pause he said that we was bringing the rest of his stuff later.

For the next hour, I went about setting up our room. Zach sat down at the desk that came with the room and pulled an iPod out of his back pocket. So he did have at least some other things, I thought. He put his headphones on and while doing so, he would just watch me or look out the window. I tried talking to him while doing this, but his answers would be pretty short.
“Are your parents here with you today?”
“No.”
“Do you know what you want your major to be yet?”
“No.”
“Do you know anyone else here at DePauw?”
“No.”
After another half-hour of feebly trying to converse with him, Zach says, “That’s a pretty girl. Who is she?” I was holding a framed picture of my girlfriend. “What? Oh. That’s Andrea. She’s my girlfriend. She goes to IU.” I set the frame down on the nightstand by my bed. And that was all he said.

After another 30 minutes of awkward silence, I have to get out of there so I go to meet up with the only other guy I know from high school, my buddy Joel. I tell Joel that I think my roommate situation is going to be disaster this semester, and then we go out to grab a bite to eat. I come back to my room to find Zach is gone, but see his duffle bag still lying on the floor. I finish setting up the room and go to bed around 1:00 AM. Zach still isn’t back by then.

I don’t sleep well that first night, but figure it’s due to sleeping in a new, unfamiliar place. I wake up to find Zach sleeping on his mattress with no sheets. During the day, anytime Zach isn’t in class, he is in our room just staring out the window with his headphones on. He nods his head if I said hello, but that’s about it.

I try having Joel over to our room one night, but Zach is there and it gets awkward fast because he just keeps looking out our window listening to his music the whole time we are there. After attempting to watch a movie for about 15 minutes, Joel makes an excuse to be somewhere else.
Frustrated, I angrily ask Zack, “Why do you just stare out that window all the time?”
“I just like to people-watch. There’s so many interesting things to see here.”
“You’re a strange dude, Zach. You need to get out more,” I respond. And with that I follow Joel out. When I catch up with him, he asks me, “What’s up with your roommate?”
“Yeah, sorry, I tried telling you he was a weirdo. He stares out that window all the time. He said he likes to people-watch.”
“Well, he was probably homeschooled our something. Maybe his parents were really strict and he isn’t sure how to handle the wild college life,” replies Joel.
“Yeah, maybe. It’s just that he looks like he’s 23. You would think that he’s lived a little.”
When I go to bed again that night, Zach is once again gone. I have another restless night and when I wake, I see that he is once again sleeping on his blank mattress. He must have come in quietly while I was asleep. I notice that my computer screen is on, which was odd, because I thought I had turned it off when I went to bed. Oh well, not the first time my screen turned on because a draft moved the mouse.

A few more days go by and I’m still not sleeping terribly well, but think it probably isn’t helping that I am staying up much later than I ever did at home.

Each night, Zach is gone when I go to bed late and he is asleep on his mattress when I wake up in the morning. I can’t figure out where he would be since I have never seen him talk to anyone other than me. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any friends. Thursday night of that first week, I’m doing some homework at my desk and Zach, per usual, is just staring out the window like a creep, listening to his iPod.
“Hey, where do you go every night? You’re never here when I go to bed, and I’ve been up pretty late each night.”
He didn’t respond immediately, but finally said, “I like to go for walks at night. I like the quiet.”
“At 2:00 in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do that at home too? Did your parents just let you walk around late at night?”
Again, long pause. “I lived in a pretty small town, so it was safe. My parents didn’t care.”
“I thought you were from Zionsville. Isn’t that pretty much Indianapolis?”
Another, longer pause. Finally Zach says, “I’m going for a walk.” And walks out the door.
Late that night, I’m startled awake to find Zach just standing next to my bed, looking at me.
“JESUS! Oh God! Zach, what the hell are you doing?!? You about gave me a heart attack!”
“You look very peaceful when you sleep.”
“What?” I say groggily. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You look very serene as you sleep. I envy that.”
Thoroughly creeped out, I say, “I gotta take a piss.” I didn’t have to pee, but just wanted to get away from Zach. I go to Joel’s room and tell him what just happened. It’s about 3:00a.m., so I’m not sure Joel is completely coherent, but he lets me crash on his couch.

The next day between classes, I share with Joel again how uncomfortable Zach is starting to make me.
“Have you tried Googling him?” asks Joel, “He’s got to have Facebook page or something online. Maybe you can find something out about the creep.”
“Yeah, I’ll check it out when I get back to my computer.”
After another class, I return to my room. Fortunately, Zach was at class. I typed “Zach _________ Zionsville, IN” into the search bar on Google. Google finds thousands of webpages instantly, but I stare in disbelief at the top listing.
ZIONSVILLE TEENAGER ZACH _________ STABBED TO DEATH, CULPRIT STILL MISSING
I click the link and see an article from the Indy newspaper about the brutal murder of my roommate, who was repeatedly stabbed to death in his bedroom two weeks ago. They show Zach’s senior photo. It is not the same person that I have been sharing a room with for the past week.
I close the browser and sprint to Joel’s room, but he has classes until 4:00. Wanting to be out of our dormitory, I text him, saying to meet in the student commons after his classes. I don’t want to be anywhere near my room if “Zach” should return in the mean time.

Joel finally meets me in the student commons and I tell him everything. I’m trying not to make a scene but as I’m sharing the story of sleeping in the same room as a murderer for a week, I begin to break down and sob. I can tell that Joel is still unsure until I pull up the news article on his phone, then his face turns grim. He says it’s probably best if we go to the police in person and tell them everything.
Joel doesn’t have a car on campus, so we have to go back to my room to get my keys. I’m incredibly nervous, but Joel says if we happen to see “Zach” we’ll just act normal and say we are going out to eat. No big deal.

I peek into my room and sigh with relief as I realize that he isn’t there. As I grab the keys from my desk drawer, I notice that my computer screen has two tabs open on it. One is my web history. The 2nd tab is the news article about Zach’s murder.
“Shit!” I scream, “He was here and saw this.”

I glance around the room and see that his duffle bag is now gone. “We gotta get to the police NOW! Who knows where this psycho is?!?”
As I’m running out of the room, I notice something odd. The picture of Andrea, my girlfriend, is no longer sitting on my nightstand."

Love Letter

"  Hello Darling,

I am writing because I now realize that our relationship is fast approaching its end. While I’d love to believe it could go on forever, I’ve (reluctantly of course) grown tired of our silly routines. The spark has simply faded, and I can’t help but hold myself responsible. From the very first time I peered through your window, I knew that you were special. You were different from the rest, and I still believe that. There is something so interesting, so… desirable about the way you carry yourself. The things you do when you believe you are alone. Watching you is what has kept me here for so very long.

In fact, I remember vividly the first time I watched you sleep. You were so peaceful, yet right when I feared I was wrong about you, that I may grow bored of you so early… A laugh. You surprised me, love. You were never like the rest. There is no way you could’ve been. That is why I fell in love with you. You intrigued me. Nothing made me happier than to spend time with you, To see you in your natural state. Did you know that people are most themselves when no one else is around?

Yes, things were so magical then. Now I’ve taken to watching you carry out the same routine over and over. You go to work, buy groceries and that is it. What has happened to you? You were once so full of life, now you’re reduced to chores and hiding in bed. I have not heard a single laugh in months. Do you realize how much I miss it? I don’t think you could ever understand how much you mean to me. How it pains me to hear you cry like that.

I told myself you would never hurt me. That you could never even try. Unfortunately, dear that is where you began to resemble the others. What a pity. Tell me, do you remember the first time we spoke? That day was meant to be so special. I followed you to work that morning, hardly able to contain myself… The excitement of speaking with you that day was far too great. This was at the height of my love for you, in my eyes you could do no wrong. I meticulously planned our meeting, you would never know that I had followed you, and watched you all of these months.

Although when I gathered my courage to speak with you on the train, I was simply disregarded by you. I doubt that you remember our conversation, or the fact that you attempted to ignore me to begin with. I could wager anything in the world that you could not even recall my name if asked today! The conversation was nothing like I had imagined, you dimly passed my attempts at starting it with short answers. Every part of you seemed to reject me, before you even knew me. That hurt, darling.

When I realized that, I let slip a few things I knew from our time at home. Of course I know about your social life, your quirky habits, and even your favorite drinks. I expected a warmer reaction to say the least, I was the one who went out of my way to see you, wasn’t I? I knew I understood you in ways that no one else could! That was when you stopped going out. You seemed to want to close yourself off from the world. As if to take your rejection one step further, your whimsical nature seemed to go missing once you knew about me. Did you want to hide all of yourself away from me, to even take away our time at home?

I didn’t mean to startle you, or scare you away… I love you. I can now say that possibly going to speak with you a second time was my own mistake, and for that I apologize. I was foolish to come to your doorstep, even though it felt like such familiar terrain. You have to understand how lost I was. I had let my emotions escalate, soon it was not enough to see you. To watch you. No I needed more of you than that. I needed to interact with you once more!

Having said that, our painfully short conversation, and a door in my face… Well doesn’t sit well with me. I would simply love an apology for that. What disappoints me the most is that just like the others, you will apologize, though you won’t mean it. I know this because a weapon is a great persuader. After that everything you will do will simply be out of pity. You will see me as crazy, and reject me all over again. You will comply simply to make me feel better. I can’t stand pity, and I don’t want yours.

That is why we must bring this to a conclusion. That way you will be mine forever, we can skip through the usual process as I’ve done all of that before. I will end this before the restraining orders, before I begin to get bitter. While good memories are still young. Even now that I know things are going awry, I can still look at you with no contempt.

You may wonder now, what will become of you? I can assure you darling, just as in life you will be treated nothing like the others. I think I’ll tie ribbons around cut off locks of your lovely hair. They’ll make great decorations for my bedroom. Perhaps I’ll put a tack through them so that they may hang above my bed. Your ribs may find their way onto my living room wall, especially close to the fireplace. That way, I will always know that your bones are warm there by the fire. Finally, I found an antique tear catcher so that your final tears could be encased in it, and that I may have you with me always.

Don’t mistake me, my pet… I’ve never treated anyone, or their remains with such reverence. You are special, and you are mine. Even when I am done with you and we are separated more… permanently, I will still be yours. I will always be yours, with each victim that comes subsequently, even if there ever were a person who could return my affections… You will remain special among all of those who have fallen by my hand.

Love,
Your not so secret admirer  "

The Blood Donor

"   “Donate Blood. Save Lives. We Pay High.”

On any other day, I wouldn’t give much concern about this sign, but today was especially bad. All I sold today were a handful of packs of cigars. I haven’t had anything to eat all day. It was getting late, and helping save a life should make me feel a bit better.

The sign pointed into a 3-story hospital. The facade of the building was faded, probably a decade old. The interior was well-lit, and nothing seemed unusual about this place. The receptionist seemed glad to see me, and I felt a sense of hospitality, so I entered.

The receptionist, Heather, asked what I was looking for. “I’m looking to donate blood. The sign said you pay high?” I asked, quite excited.

“Yes, sir. 100 dollars a pint. I feel you’re interested. What’s your name, sir?”

“Jose. Jose Mendoza.”

“We’ll be done in under half an hour. Come this way, sir. We’ll get you prepped.” She said as she started walking down the hallway. Happy for a chance of easy money, I followed.

The hallway was empty, but for a late night shift in a small town like this, I guess this was the usual. The walls were painted with a faded shade of red, which was quite appropriate for a procedure like this. Empty rooms lined the hallway left and right, which pointed to a blood bank at the end of the corridor. Large swinging doors closed the room off from non-employees.

Heather led me up a staircase into the 2nd floor. It was like a carbon copy of the 1st, save for the blood bank exchanged for a blood testing room. Again, no sign of human life. We walked through the swinging doors into the blood testing room.

“Jose, this is Dr. Noah and Dr. Williams. They will guide you through the blood donation procedure. You’ll be safe. Take care.” Heather left, not before making an eerie half-smile. I was just thankful to see a bit of legitimacy to this hospital. These doctors seemed to be veterans in the business.

“Mr. Mendoza. Please sit. This won’t take long. We promise.” Dr. Noah said. The man had straight, flowing hair extending to his neck, with a deep, reassuring voice.

“So…Mr. Noah. You need my blood type, medical history, anything? I think I’m a Type C.” I was clueless about these things, not like I was ever able to afford to go to a hospital.

“Oh, don’t worry sir. We’ll figure these things out later. Right now we want you to relax. Feel at home.” Dr. Williams said. She put her arm over Dr. Noah’s shoulder. The two must have been long time co-workers, since they were pretty comfortable with each other.

I took my seat on the blood testing area, which had a left and right hand armrest attached to it. Next to me, on the table, was the biggest syringe I’ve ever seen. Good Lord, I could have fainted right there and then.

Ms. Williams seemed to trace where my eyes gazed at, as she tried to calm me down.

“Sir, don’t be afraid. This would feel like nothing more than a pinch of the skin. Here, put on this blindfold. It should help.”

She wrapped a black piece of cloth around my eyes, snugly fit at the back of my head. Suddenly, all my other senses started to kick in. The smell of iron seemed to be stronger now. This room must have had thousands of donations in the past.

My fingers could feel the dents and scratches on the metal armrests – signs of struggle. This is going to be painful. The touch of cold metal didn’t make me feel any better either.

“Mr. Mendoza, we shall procure the rest of the tools needed for your procedure. In the meantime, sit back and relax. We won’t be out for long.” Ms. Williams said. The two walked out of the room.

A sense of eeriness started to befall upon me. I have no idea how this procedure should go. No personal information was asked from me either. Those half smiles, giggles, signs of excitement, are making me think twice of my decision to enter. But the thought of pocketing 100 dollars and eating a nice Big Mac always counter my doubts.

Wait, did I hear crying?

The entrance door to the area creaked heavily. My ears focus hard. A child, male, seemed to be bawling as he walked in the room.

“Who’s there? What’s happening, kid?” I say, as dread and worry washes over me.

“I..I…I’m thirsty. I think I’m dying.” The child’s voice, was dry, raspy, almost like an elderly man.

“Wha…wha…why don’t you go to any of the doctors?” My fear grew ever higher.

“They can’t help me, only you can.” He was pleading, tugging at my jeans.

“What do you want, kid? Get this blindfold off me, and I can help you.” Not only was I keen on helping this kid, but also on getting out of this eerie place.

“Okay, sir. You promise to help me?”, joy finally accompanied his childish voice. He skipped behind me to remove the knot on my blindfold.

“I promise. What do you want anyway?”

Right before he could answer, the blindfold fell out of my eyes. The 2 doctors walked in. One was holding handcuffs, and the other with dozens of syringes. Then the child whispered into my ear:

“A pint of blood, ice cold, freshly drained. You can give me that, right?”

The monster behind me sneered. The shock froze me on my seat. Paralyzed in fear, the syringes pierced deep, up until every ounce of blood was drained from my body.

The last thing I heard was the monster slurping his delicious drink of blood.       "

Sewers

"A laptop computer was found in the city sewers on Monday, April 22nd of 2013, after screams were heard echoing from below. As far as authorities could tell, there was no owner. All picture files on the hard drive were corrupted, and forensics failed to reconstruct all but one of them. The reconstructed photo partially revealed a terrified man in his late teens or early twenties, and some sort of face behind him.
Analysts have disputed whether or not that actually is another face, or simply image noise created as a result of the reconstruction of the photo. Apart from the single image, all that remained on the laptop was a cryptic word file left open, unsaved. Some see this as the suicide note of a deranged lunatic. Others see it as a prank. All that is known for sure is that over the past three months, there have been over twenty disappearances, all leaving no trace.

**********

I guess it all started three months ago, when we found that secret room. The room in the sewers with the little trap door under the rug. When that happened, everything went wrong. But I’m getting ahead of myself, I have to tell the full truth. Or else it will get the rest.

I’m nineteen years old. Me and my three best friends have always been fond of the sewers. We would go down there and explore, at first using rope, then chalk signs, then nothing at all as we learned every twist, turn, and passage to the point where we could find our way around in pitch darkness, something we’ve had to do on at least three occasions when our flashlights died.

Now, what’s strange, is that we never found the room. It was when James asked to join us that the room was discovered. James was more of an acquaintance than a friend, but we often found him hanging out with us. We never told him about our excursions to the sewers; most people thought of that as strange. We had known James for probably six months before he overheard us speaking about the sewers.

Of course, he wanted to know what we were talking about. So we told him, about how we went down into the sewers every now and again to explore. He, of course, wanted to join our next expedition. We said it was fine, and we went early the next Saturday.

James wasn’t very good with darkness. We found that out the hard way. Or maybe it was the darkness coupled with claustrophobia. I don’t know. But, once we got into the deeper levels of darkness, where the daylight ceased to exist, and the tunnels became black, he began to hyperventilate.

At first, it was almost unnoticeable. His breathing got quicker, and he moved closer to me. Then, without warning, he began to breathe wildly, and he dropped his flashlight. It hit the ground and went out, and just like that, he was sprinting, sprinting and screaming for help, down the dark tunnels.

We chased after him. Following his screams, we started to lose all of our sense of direction. We went deeper than we thought possible. We thought we knew these tunnels. But there was one small niche, that we had never noticed before, that led into an even older series of tunnels. We had to crawl on our stomachs to get through it, and it opened into a tunnel not much bigger than that. We had to crouch down to the point of being on our hands and knees to traverse it.

It’s in those same sewers that I’m sitting now, with hundreds of white Christmas lights strung up around me, and stretching down the tunnel. These won’t last forever. The battery I’m running them off of can only keep them lit for a few hours. But they keep me comfortable, and serve as a warning. The thing can’t stand to be in light. It’s coming for me, I know it. But the lights will go out before it can get to me, so I’ll know.

I’m hiding here because this is the last place it will expect me to go. It’s looking for me. But it wouldn’t think that I would go into its sewers, its very back yard. I know that it will find me, and soon. But I just hope that this will prolong the inevitable. Long enough for me to get my story out. I’ve got my phone programmed to dial 911 in two hours. And I’ve got a camera, with night vision, ready to record when it shows up. So the cops will know, to stop it.

I just hope they can.

We eventually tracked down James, and he was sitting outside a big rusty door. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. Somehow we convinced ourselves to open it and oh my god I just wish we hadnt this crap would have NEVER HAPPENED IF NOT FOR THAT STUPID DOOR OH MY GOD IM GONNA DIE AND

I have to stop. Panicking won’t do anything to help me. I’m past help. Have I told you our names? There was me- Curt, and then James, Alan, Josh and Chris.

Writing down facts help me calm down. Just bear with me. I’m almost there.

We went in the door. That was a mistake. In the room, was an ancient chair, and a threadbare rug. Not much else, except a table full of disturbing instruments. And a calendar. The calendar was old and faded, and a dark yellow, but I could just barely make out dates in the faded ink.

The calendar was dated for 1903. Over a hundred years prior.

The table had what looked like torture tools set on it. I recognized a thumbscrew. Josh cut himself on some kind of twisted knife-hook-thing. Hammers and nails. I shudder thinking of what some of the other instruments were used for. There was what looked like the remains of a skeleton on another table in the corner of the room.

A rectangular table with Metal rings at each corner, and decayed ropes through those metal rings. I felt sick.

We decided then that we needed to get out, but Alan tripped over the rug and kicked it to the side. There was a trap door under it. Again, curiosity got the best of us, and we opened it, against James’s protests. It was pitch black down there. An old ladder led down, but that was it. We shined our lights in, and there were several things that might have once been human remains, but were now nearly dust.

At this point, something came over James. He climbed down the ladder into the hole, against our protests. After a moment, his light flickered and then died. Nothing but silence from down below. We were just beginning to panic when he casually walked into view.

He smiled up at us.

His eyes were just empty bleeding sockets.

We all just stood there in stunned silence, and then our lights wavered and flickered out. Mine flickered back on for a split second, and we saw some THING standing behind him. I don’t know what it was. Yes I do.

It was IT. The thing that’s been hunting me and my friends.

It looked very angry. It looked horrifying. It was dead blue skin and decomposing face. I could see its skull through its cheeks. It looked female. It had long decayed hair, and a bony frame. What looked like slashes in its dead cheeks, and gashes around its empty sockets. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I think, that if I would have seen it for more than a split nanosecond, I would have gone insane. Gone insane or dropped dead.

The light lasted for a fraction of a second, a fraction of a second that has haunted me every minute of every day since then, and then everything was dark and James was screaming. I ran. Everyone else ran too, but I was the first. We scattered. Floundering in the dark, in the unknown. I don’t know how long I was down there. It felt like centuries.

Eventually, I made it to the surface. It was pitch dark in the dead of night. I remembered that we had gone in during the early morning hours.

I went home. It was four o’clock in the morning. All I remember is turning every light in the house on, blasting Looney Tunes on the TV, and then passing out.

The next day, I found out that only Alan and Chris had made it out the previous night. We went to the police and they organized a manhunt. Twenty people went into the sewers that night. Me, Alan, and Chris were not among them. We vowed to never step foot in those tunnels again. The manhunt never found that room.

We never told them about it. We agreed to tell them that we had found a section of sewer that we hadn’t explored before, and gotten separated and lost.

The search was unsuccessful. After a week, the police were forced to call it off. And the rest is history. Over the next several months, everyone who went into those sewers has disappeared, without a trace. Alan, Chris, gone. I’m the only one le

Oh fuck I think a light just went out. The darkness is coming, and I think I can see her or it whatever the fuck it is shit

Im the only one left you cant go into the sewers. They need to find the room and SHUT THE TRAPDOOR and SHUT THE OTHER DOOR so it cant get out

oh god the lights are going out oh shit oh fuck fuck look for my camera and shut the doors PLEASE YOU HAVE TO

**********

Police found a dropped camera deep within the sewage tunnels. No one has spoken about what footage is on the camera, and all to see the footage have committed suicide soon thereafter. Police are currently working with city records to conduct a coordinated search of the sewer system to find the location spoken of in the file….

**********

Detective Alexander Sherridan sits down in front of the television. He had requested a copy of the tape that has so disturbed anyone who has watched it, and now he has it. He feels apprehension building. Should he watch this? Some think it is cursed. However, Sherridan is not a superstitions man. He puts the tape in and presses play. A young man comes on the screen, the same from the picture. He is screaming, while behind him the lights are rapidly going out, moving in sequence towards him. What he is screaming is mostly incoherent, and what Sherridan is able to make out is simply more of the same of what he said in the word document– “close the doors.”
Suddenly the last lights flash out spectacularly, and there is a small glimpse of the laptop before the camera goes dark. What ensues are some of the most horrifying screams that Sherridan has ever heard, but he only barely registers these. He refuses to believe what he thinks he saw. To be sure, he rewinds the video, and plays it again. And again. And again.
Finally, he pauses it and goes forward frame by frame, until he sees the image he feared. Just as the lights flash for the final time, there is a woman grabbing the young man. Except he is not sure that she is a woman. It has no eyes. They look like they were gouged out at some point. There are slashes in her face, or what is left of its face. It is mostly decayed bone, with some skin stretching over it. The teeth are worn nubs. Sherridan averts his eyes. He can’t look at this thing anymore.
He notices at that moment, in the background, stand other things. People that have disappeared. All decaying. All with no eyes. They seem to be looking directly at him, accusingly almost. He tells himself that that is impossible, as they have no eyes. Then he notices motion.
The woman holding the young man pulls her face in some caricature of a smile. Then, she begins digging her fingers into his face. He begins screaming, as she literally rips his eyes out of his head. Sherridan runs forward and presses the power button on the TV. Nothing happens. The woman/thing continues to rip the eyes out of the man’s head, and Sherridan begins screaming with him, as he feels his sanity begin to slip. He rips the plug to the TV out of the wall.
Nothing happens. He retches as the thing pulls the remains of the eyes out, and begins pressing them into her own sockets. He turns and runs full force towards the wooden baseball bat mounted on the wall. He grabs it. He intends to destroy the TV. As he runs back towards the television, the he raises the bat. Just as he’s about to swing and destroy the screen, the thing winks at him with its new eyes.
Whatever vestiges of sanity that are left in Alexander Sherridan shatter at that moment. He drops the bat and stumbles backward into the next room. All he knows is that that thing knows where he is and how to get to him. And he knows that he doesn’t want that to happen.
As he presses the barrel of his police issue Glock into his temple, he vaguely recalls some urban legend or quote or something he’d heard somewhere about how if someone dies a violent death, their spirit stays there, angry, forever. “Fuck that,” he says out loud, before squeezing the trigger.
On the television screen, all that is seen is a terrified young man in a bright flash of light. Nothing more."

An Eye

"The girl who pushed open the shop door was too young for the cane she leaned on. I examined her from under the brim of my dark baker’s boy cap.

I sat in my tall swivel chair behind the counter, feet kicked up next to the register. Two knitting needles clicked in my lap, the motion so mechanical I never looked down. They manipulated the strand of yarn into a nearly-completed scarf. The little ball danced on the ground as I pulled from it.

“Morning,” I said.

The girl flashed me a smile. “Good morning.” She was polite, and didn’t stare or even give a second glance to my eye patch, partially hidden under the brim of my cap. Since I had turned, I had never felt bad about taking what I needed, but this girl seemed oddly bright, naïve even. What a waste. I couldn’t wait any longer, though.

My good eye never left her as she limped through the store. It wasn’t hard – the shop was more of a nook than anything, and the bright and airy front windows did nothing to make the shelves seem less crowded. They were looming and solid, full of open-front cubbies that displayed neatly stacked skeins of yarn. I had sorted them by weight and by color, careful to tuck all the loose ends away.

I glanced down for a moment to finish off the scarf, looping it around my neck once it was free from the needles. When I surveyed my shop again, I saw that the girl had knocked a skein to the ground. She perused a nearby cubby, unaware. Spots danced in front of my eye. For a moment I expected to feel the accelerated pounding of my heart, as well. But then I remembered.

“You dropped one,” I said, my voice stiff.

“What was that?”

I gestured toward the rogue skein. “You dropped one.”

“Oh,” the girl said, smiling, and replaced the yarn. She had to stoop down awkwardly, keeping her weight off her bad leg. Only once everything was back in order did I breathe deeply, feeling the passageways in my mind open back up like undammed rivers.

I adjusted my baker’s boy cap. “How long have you been knitting?” I asked, leaning my elbows on the counter.

“Ever since I got hurt,” she thumped her cane to emphasize her bad leg. “I couldn’t walk at all for a while, and I needed to keep busy.”

“What happened?”

“Car accident,” she said simply. Her eyes met mine and I felt the emptiness under my eye patch.

“We have a knitting group here sometimes,” I offered, struggling to keep the pushiness out of my voice. It crept in anyway. “We could use some new members.”

“I’m all set, thanks though.”

“You don’t even have to come,” I said with a charming smile. “Just sign up and you get a free skein of yarn. All I need is your name and an email address.” I could see her resolve breaking. “Preferably one you use, but hey, I’m not picky.”

“Fine, but only because I need this,” she held up a skein of expensive alpaca yarn and smiled again.

“Sign up sheet’s in the back.” I slid out of my tall chair before she could change her mind.

I led her into the only other room in the shop – my windowless office that was no larger than a breadbox. The florescent light flickered slightly. The desk was small and shoved into the corner, covered in neat stacks of paper. The faint smell of cleaning product hung in the air, and not a single mote of dust could be found. I produced the signup sheet from one of the perfect stacks of paper.

“This is cozy,” the girl said as she filled out her name and email.

“It’s really a supply closet.” I closed the door and stood behind her. The cane leaned against my desk. I unwound the scarf from my neck and gripped an end in each hand.

“Sorry about this,” I said flatly, and looped the scarf around her neck, pulling it tight and cutting off her windpipe. She struggled, but her bad leg gave out and we both fell to the floor, crashing against the closed door on the way down. Her hands clawed at mine, but she grew weaker and was still after a few minutes. I loosened the scarf from her neck and wrapped it back around mine. That was easier than last time.

The girl slumped forward, her hair spilled into her now-puffy face. I pushed her onto her back and yanked my eye patch down around my neck, exposing my raw, empty eye socket.

Mechanically, I pulled the girl’s right eyelids wide open with one hand, and with the other I scooped my fingers under her eye, popping it out with a sickening squelch. I didn’t flinch. Once upon a time I might have, but not now. Tendons popped as I freed it completely from the dead girl’s distorted face. Careful not to drop it, I pressed the organ into my own waiting eye socket, squeezing my lids shut over the foreign object.

Warmth slowly radiated out from the new eye back into my face and head as my body adapted. I blinked rapidly, but my sight didn’t return immediately so I repositioned the eye patch once again.

I walked out the front door of the shop, not bothering to lock up. I wouldn’t be back here. Dismayed, I saw that the girl had left shallow scratch marks running up both of my forearms. Those would need to be replaced too, then. Just when I thought I was done for a while.

I adjusted the baker’s boy cap, pulling it lower over my eyes to block out the beams of sun that flickered between the low square buildings that populated the outskirts of the city. My legs were new enough that I walked normally, without the shuffling that usually plagued others like me. I was grateful to still look human. The warmth in my new eye grew more intense. I whistled as I walked down the sidewalk, eventually pulling off the eye patch and dropping it into the gutter, my eyesight restored.

Back at the shop, I knew the girl would be stirring now."

I’m Not Scared

"My name is Daniel Lockwood, I’m a 20 year old British citizen and I’ve been living in China for the last 18 months. My Mother’s name is Deborah Lockwood. I am typing this on an Ipad. It’s around 10.45pm on Tuesday 30th April 2013. I am unsure of my exact location, but I am somewhere in the mountains south of Beijing, on the border of Hebei province, close to a small village named Shidu.

My fingers are trembling as I quietly tap away at the touch screen and tears are flowing heavily from my eyes, creating a satisfying patter sound as they slam against the smooth surface of the tablet. A cigarette is hanging loosely from my lips. This space is tight and unwelcoming, not the kind of tomb I had hoped for.

Please forgive any spelling mistakes or nonsensical ramblings, my vision is slightly blurred and my mind abundant with unimaginable horrors. Isn’t it funny, that even in death the brain is concerned with such trivial things as grammar?

Anyway… This is my legacy. If you are reading this, I hope to God that you are warm and safe, within the confines of a locked room or in a heavily populated area. I hope that your friends and family are close by or that your pet cat is cuddled up on your lap. The tale I’m about to tell is not for the faint hearted, nor is it fabricated or exaggerated. It’s the telling of a desperate man’s final hour in existence, one filled with horror, fear and experiences he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. The purpose of this final entry is to reveal the truth, to let it be documented that there are still things in this world that we don’t understand, that we’ve not discovered. There are still things in this world that haven’t emerged from the darkness to reveal their twisted and unholy faces. But I’m not scared anymore.

If you are reading this, I am surely dead.

Around 11 hours ago, myself and 4 others embarked on a ‘mini-adventure’ outside of the familiar and into the wild. I won’t waste time on back stories and the like, all you really need to know is that the 5 of us were intrepid travellers, a close group of friends who thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company and frequently enjoyed treks and hikes together. Of this 5, only I remain, and soon my life will too come to a grizzly end.

This particular escapade landed us in Shidu, a small and rural village far on the outskirts of Beijing municipality, China. Shidu is famous for its beautiful scenery, adventure activities and serenity. It’s also famous for its rich and colourful folklore, an area of Asia that often attracts crypto-zoologists from around the globe.

If you live in a foreign country for long enough, and take enough of an interest in its traditions, you will reach further and further into the foundations of its culture, learning about the food and history and mannerisms. You will eventually and undoubtedly come across an aspect of that culture that is often a very defining and unique feature – Fairytales and stories about beasts and boogies that hide in the forests or under your bed. Goblins and ghouls that will suck your soul out through your mouth, or drag you kicking and screaming through the earth until you reach the burning core of hell. You’ll learn about graveyards and rituals, superstitions and spells, curses and ghosts. All of these things add a certain charm and elegance to a culture and Chinese culture is brimming with such legends.

I have taken that step from reality into the realm of legends. No longer am I skeptical of the shadows in my cupboard or the creaks from the attic. I now believe that people have been possessed or abducted or probed or haunted or eaten or defiled in horrifying ways by horrifying things. These things I now know to be true. But I’m not scared anymore. I just hope that there is a God who can offer me some form of peace after this ordeal comes to its inevitable end…

We departed from Beijing’s city centre at around 11am, excited and well prepared for a couple of days in the mountains, armed with snacks, cameras and a sense of adventure. As the concrete jungle behind us slowly faded away into the thick layer of smog that frequently engulfed the city, the 5 of us enjoyed a long and comfortable ride through the Chinese countryside, passing large open fields and seas of rotten wooden shacks, which became less recurrent as we entered the sloping valleys and canyons that twisted through south-western Beijing.

The first port of call was a brief stop at the guest house, where we could stretch our legs, wash up and offload any unnecessary baggage. I’m not going to attempt to make this into a cliché horror story by providing falsifying claims of unsettling landlords or shaky warnings from deformed locals, because none of that happened. It was an ordinary guest house within the confines of ordinary mountains, inhabited by ordinary folk living ordinary lives. There was nothing extraordinary about this place just yet.

After a quick shower, a bite to eat and a cigarette, we hopped back onto the bus and started the brief journey to the beginning of the hike, which would take us through the most rural and unexplored section of this particular mountain range. At 5.20pm, we arrived. The driver, a stern but pleasant local man, told us to call him roughly 30 minutes before we wanted to be picked up. We responded by informing him that we should have completed the hike by about 9pm.

I guess he’s getting pretty worried by now.

We purposefully chose to start the hike slightly later than usual, to avoid swarms of other tourists, but admittedly not as late as we did. The sun was already waning in the sky, foreboding the fading light that would soon be devoured by darkness. The last few drips and drabs of sightseers were funneling out of the narrow opening ahead, shooting us concerned looks as we shambled past them on our way up. We had traversed tough terrain in the late evening before, so we didn’t give much thought to the implications of a night hike.

The first hour or so of the hike was relatively undemanding, lightly inclining slopes and steps, paralleled with rows of stone carvings and badly translated signs. All of the stalls and markets that accompanied the first section of the trail were deserted now, save for the one or two remaining locals gathering their cheap tat and trinkets, ready to sell on the next day. We only passed a handful of others, who shot us yet more disconcerting looks as we strolled past them in the fading sunlight. Areas of the mountain had already been swallowed up by shifting shadows, other sections were relishing in the last few minutes of luminosity.

The trail gradually became more demanding as equally spaced steps became less and less frequent. After about an hour and a half of trekking, we came across a tattered notice board which informed us of our current position and distance from the peak, not too far away.

The only sounds that filled the evening air were our voices as we discussed the next day’s activities – water rafting and horseback riding. Gaps in conversation would bring a dead silence. There wasn’t even a breeze to rustle the trees, not a cricket chirping, not a bird tweeting. Just silence. Even the sounds of our heavy footsteps seemed to be drowned away by the enormity of the mountain.

Close to the peak, we came across a small, traditionally crafted pagoda. The path split in two here, one lead straight ahead, further up the mountain and towards the peak. I remember from the map that this was also the exit route, which eventually wound down and intercepted the entry path close to the bottom. The other path strayed off to our right. This route, dutifully named ‘cloud road’, was steep and led to a large raised viewing platform about 200 meters above.

We spent a few moments deliberating whether or not to take the minor detour to catch a glimpse of the setting sun from one of the mountains few viewing platforms. Sarah and Thomas, the couple of the group, decided that they would have a rest at the pagoda. The rest of us, assuming that they just wanted some alone time, sighed and began to make our way up to the platform.

It wasn’t much of a detour, perhaps 10 minutes each away, but a tiring walk nonetheless. Neither of us really spoke much on the way up, the path was too uneven to focus on conversation, but the top of the platform rewarded us with a breathtaking view of the landscape. The mountains stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Even in the waning light, I could see far into the distance. The rolling hills seemed to carry on forever and signs of early summer blossomed and cascaded over the slopes. We spent 5 or so minutes catching our breath at the rest stop. I enjoyed a celebratory cigarette, resting against the lone fir that occupied the platform, appreciating the spectacular view that lay before me.

I found myself unable to take my eyes away from the scene. The hills seemed to twist and ripple around me, not in a sinister way, but in a magnificent display of beauty. It wasn’t until my friend Jay nudged me that I awoke from my day dream, crushed the cigarette butt into the ground and turned on my heels to begin the descent back down to the pagoda.

The sun was hanging very low in the sky now, disappearing behind a large set of mountains to the west as we fumbled our way down. Gradually, the pagoda emerged from behind the shrubbery and into view. Sarah and Thomas were no longer perched on one of its colourful beams as they had been before. My first thought was that they were probably responding to a call of nature in a nearby bush, or that they had gone on ahead without us.
Then Clare saw it. Then she screamed. Then we all saw it.

A human scalp, sprouting long, blood-matted blonde hair lay on the ground towards the back of the pagoda. Folds of tattered skin were hanging loosely from the main bulk of the flesh. It looked like a piece of road kill and as though it had been clumsily removed using a blunt instrument, or perhaps a giant animal’s claw. It was clearly identifiable as being from Sarah’s head. The rest of her was nowhere to be seen. Long streaks of crimson had stained the wooden floor of the pagoda, and lead away into the foliage just past it. My eyes shifted from the gory mess in front of me to the left, where a detached jaw lay clumsily on the soil. Velvety tendons protruded from the thing. Whatever had ripped it from its owner did so quickly and with almighty strength.

I began to taste acid on the back of my tongue as mouthfuls of thick hot vomit made its way out of my stomach and up my esophagus. I could barely distinguish between the sounds of my friends screaming and the throbbing retches that accompanied the stream of bile that flowed from my mouth. My stomach had emptied itself onto the earth before me, stinging my nose and eyes as it did so. Somebody grabbed me by the shoulder and was yelling maniacal and undecipherable words at me. My legs instinctively began to carry me away from the nightmarish scene and along the unexplored path ahead.
The sounds of heavy breathing and clumsy footsteps rang through the trees and bounced off the rock faces surrounding us. Dusk was settling in and the first few stars began winking in the void above me. We sprinted for several minutes, plummeting through thick shrubs as we lost all sense of direction, fuelled solely by adrenaline.

The path was tight here, barely enough space for two people to stand side by side. I glanced over my shoulder to see that the others weren’t far behind me. Their panic stricken faces only served to heighten my own desperate fear. Another 20 seconds of sprinting led me to take a sharp left turn around a protruding rock, after which I stopped dead in my tracks.

Fear is a horribly difficult emotion to describe. It does things to the human body that can traced back to the earliest species of man. It forces hair follicles to stand on end in an attempt to make our forms seem more menacing. It commands a fight or flight instinct, designed to secure our continued existence when confronted with something potentially life threatening. Fear can also paralyze the human body, a reaction to frightening stimuli that is less understood by those who study it.

This latter reaction, being paralyzed, is the unfortunate response my body decided to commit to when confronted with the terror ahead. The path in front was again long and narrow. It was lined with brooding trees, most of which hung delicately over the lane. Roughly 100 meters along the trail stood, or rather ‘hunched’, a figure. I immediately came to the conclusion that it was not human. It was far too tall, perhaps close to 8 foot, even with its drooping posture. Its arms and legs were massively out of proportion to its body, stretching almost to the floor. I couldn’t quite make out any defining features; it was far too dark to pick up on anything other than its overall size and shape. One thing I did notice, however, was that it was clutching something in its right hand. This ‘something’ was dripping a thick liquid, which was pooling in the earth below.

I assumed that the others had witnessed the same horrific sight as I had; I could sense them standing close behind me. Even in this situation, the closeness of others provided the slightest amount of comfort. I’m not really sure how long we were standing there. It could have been as much as several minutes. I can’t say for sure how I knew it, but I was certain that I was staring into whatever it had instead of eyes. Dark voids occupied the space, a shade of such complete blackness, it was unnatural.

It dropped whatever it had clasped in its claws, extending its slender fingers so that they scraped the ground below. The object, which I now assumed to be a chunk of flesh, splattered onto the soil. The thing began creaking and moaning as it shifted slightly.

Then it began running straight towards us. Life swept back through my limbs as I launched myself in the opposite direction, pushing past the others in a selfishly desperate attempt to put myself ahead of them. The thing was screeching now, a blood-curdling sound that quickly intensified as it grew nearer. I had been running for a few seconds when I heard a different kind of scream. I can only assume that it had mounted Jay, for the most unnerving shriek, obviously that of a male, stung my ears, quickly followed by a loud thud. His screams were soon cut off by a sharp snapping sound that echoed through the night. It certainly was not the sound of a branch breaking.

Tears blurred my vision, making it difficult to navigate the uneven path. Frequent glances over my shoulder confirmed that Clare was not far behind me. Looking past Clare, I could see the thing, sitting atop Jay’s chest and greedily gnawing on his face. One prolonged look treated me to a view of the thing pulling Jay’s eyeball out of its socket with its teeth. The optical nerve stretched to a surprising length, before eventually snapping and bouncing back and forth like a child’s play thing. It slurped the sensory organ into its gaping maw and swallowed it down whole, sending it down into its abyssal stomach.

I turned again, making eye contact with Clare, whose face was a mess of colours as her makeup was sent sprawling across it in a mixture of sweat and tears. My stomach lurched again when I noticed that the thing was no longer in view. Jay’s mangled corpse still lay awkwardly on the floor. I screamed at Clare.

“IT’S GONE, IT’S GONE”

Clare immediately swung her head around in an attempt to confirm my claims. As she did so, her foot caught on a stray root that had defiantly pushed its way through the rock floor. I tumbled to a halt, only catching a short glimpse of her rag-doll like form as she toppled over the edge of the steep bank on her left. I could do nothing but stand and listen to her muffled yelps as she crashed down through the foliage. The drop was at least 20 meters and strewn with ragged rocks and tangled trees.

I made a necessary and self preserving decision right then, to carry on without her. If she managed to survive the fall, then surely the thing would get her anyway. I pelted my way back down, past the pagoda and the scalp and the jaw. I fell down a couple of times, quite seriously hurting myself.
I ran until I could physically run no more, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. My chest and head were pounding violently and for the first time since the start of the ordeal, I had a few seconds to reflect on the reality of what had happened. 3 out of 4 of my friends were certainly dead, the fourth’s fate as yet unknown. This thing was fast and likely had super-human sensory abilities. Was there just one of them? Or had a whole clan of monsters evolved in this untouched region of China. The thought of a group of the things made me whimper audibly.

I screamed quietly as my phone vibrated against my leg. I quickly fumbled it out of my pocket, so as to silence the damned device and use it to call for help, now that I had a chance. Clare was calling me. I answered it immediately and put the phone to my ear. She was sobbing painfully. Through the weeping, I could hear her saying,
“Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me? Why?”
And then,
“It’s here. It’s here now. It’s just standing there. Watching me. Just standing there. Right in front of me”
A screech, a scream and a sickening squelching noise bellowed through the speakers. I scrambled along the ground and into a crevasse in the side of the mountain, behind a bush, and buried my face into my knees. Indescribable sounds continued to stream out of the mobile phone, which I had placed on the ground in front of me. A brief moment of silence followed, eventually broken by the sniffing, creaking sounds of the thing. It handled the device for a few seconds before screeching, dropping it and galloping off into the night.

I threw the phone away from me and rustled through my backpack for a cigarette and my Ipad.

I’ve spent the last 30 minutes chain smoking and immortalizing my last words. It’s almost time, I can feel it. I’m not scared anymore, because I know it will be all over soon. Anybody reading this might think it insane of me to just sit and wait for death as opposed to attempting escape. I don’t really know why I’m not currently cascading through the night; it just feels right that I sit here and wait. I’m not scared anymore.

It’s here now. I heard its silent footsteps a few moments ago. Now it’s standing about half a meter away from me, on the other side of this bush. I can see its pale, scaly, thin legs through the shrubbery. I can see its crimson-stained claws hanging freely by its side, almost touching the floor. I can hear its controlled breathing and croaking. I can smell its thick musk and the drying blood around its face. It’s my turn now, and I’m not scared."