Just another night

May 13, 1987 2:00 am

I awaken to the sound of the 2 am night show, blinking several times to force away the sleep. I get up. The smell of mold sharpens my senses and wakes me up. I shamble over to the cabinets, carelessly kicking ceramic bowls and cardboard boxes at my feet. Only roaches and webs are inside. That’s okay. I might be hungry, but it’s hungrier. It’s getting more frantic. I need to feed it more. I glance over my shoulder and notice the mail pile is higher. Nothing but overdue bills. That’s all right. My check comes in tomorrow. For now, I must feed it.

I grab my trusty forty-five and a handful of rounds, then head out to my truck. I think Billougby Woods is a good place today.

I park a mile away from the forest. I wouldn’t want to startle them. I trudge deeper into the woods until I see it: Shrouded in darkness behind the foliage, I observe them like a hunter to its prey. The orange light, the giggling, the smell of burnt sausage. This will do. They will do. I emerge from the darkness and raise my forty-five. They beg for their lives. They cry and plead. Laughable really. They should be honored that they’re the chosen ones tonight. He will be feasting well.

The sound of thunder rings throughout the night.

I whistle as I drag the fortunate campers and load them into my truck. Tonight, I’ll be sleeping well. He won’t be bothering me for a while.

August 23, 1987 6:00 am

Buzz Buzz Buzz. The sound of my alarm clock stirs me awake. I slam my palm into the frustrating contraption, and I begin my day. I slip out of my nightgown and wash away the leftover sleep via a cold shower. All that’s left is dressing in my classy suit jacket and serving myself some old fashion eggs on toast, washing it down with some medium roast coffee. Now that I finished my morning routine, it’s time to head over to work.

“Good morning Ms. Barnes. Early as usual I see.” The lady at the front desk greets me as I walk into the pristine building.

“Good morning to you, too, Ms. Adams.”

“Your new client, Thompson Heath, will be with you at eleven-thirty. Here are some things that were listed on the form.” Ms. Adams hands me a two-page form with my patient’s conditions. Jeez, what the heck happened to this man? Pleeeease don’t be a nutcase that won’t hesitate to kill me because I looked at him funny.

August 23, 1987 11:31 am

The little naked flame bends and dances, exposed to the elements and illuminating a small area around it, partially revealing a man's face. The dark rings surrounding his droopy, clouded eyes reveal unwanted past experiences. He holds the lighter close to the cigarette. After serving its purpose, he sets the lighter down. Acrid smoke fills the room.

“You don’t look like the type to smoke.” I smile, a façade, of course. Notepad and pen in hand. What a creep.

“I don’t. Well, not until now.” He rests the cigarette butt between his lips and draws in a large breath. He holds it for three seconds, then exhales.

“Tell me about it. That’s why we’re here today. So you can get your thoughts out.” I readjust my glasses, ready my pen, and flip through my notes. “Prior to this session, you filled out a form. It states that you suffer from frequent nightmares, insomnia, hallucinations, and lethargy. Is all of this correct?”

He doesn’t answer. His gaze was far off elsewhere, and his only response was to seek respite via cigarette. Argh! Another client that has a glued mouth. These people are always hard to get through.

“Ahem,” I cover my mouth with a fist as I clear my throat. “There must’ve been some experience that caused your sudden symptoms. Something that made you turn to cigarettes as a way to cope. Let’s figure out what and then find a way to fix it. I’ll need your help. Your cooperation.”

The man scrunches his face, he seems to be reliving the past. “Well, Ms. Barnes,” he leans forward from his chair, unintentionally dropping ash onto the red wool carpet, “some of the stuff I might blurt out could still be confidential.”

“Nothing leaves this room, Mr. Heath. You have my word. I’m here to help,”

“Well,” He leans back again, relaxing and staring into the distance, “it started when we were trying to solve the mysterious disappearances,” He stares at me and begins his tale.

May 13, 1987 7:00 am

“You’re on night shift again, Thompson.” Chief Denny said without taking his eyes off the paper.

“Damnit, always gotta be me,” I mutter, then I raise my voice. “Can’t you find someone else tonight? I’m burnt.”

“Apologies, kid. Think of it like stress training. For your promotion. Like running the crucible. Sorry for not notifying you earlier; we’re understaffed, as you might’ve noticed. Go get some rest; come back later.”

-I always hated being on night shift, but what could we do? No one wants to be a police officer in a small dusty town. Underfunded and disrespected. We didn’t even have security cameras in the populated areas. That made things a lot harder. A lot harder.

May 14, 1987 3:00 am

I take a seat down on my hard office desk, freshly brewed coffee in hand. Nothing to do but listen to the night show and read the local paper. “Another two missing, huh? That makes it what, twenty-four within the last three months? Crazy shit. If we weren’t so underfunded, we might actually catch that crazy bastard.”

Chief Denny’s been on a wild goose chase looking for the perpetrator but always ends up reaching dead ends. Whenever we thought we caught the bastard, we turned up empty-handed. The telephone resonates across the empty room just as the coffee kicks in. “Officer Thompson reporting; what can I do for you?”

“Hellooo? Yes, my neighbor is very loud. Can you do something about it?” The frail elderly voice on the other end of the line caused me to sigh internally. Great, another fucking noise complaint at this hour; what else is new?

 “Yes, ma’am, we’ll send someone over right away; name and address please?” and that someone just had to be me.

“It’s Adriane on One Two One Three East Street, just beyond Bland Road, number 4780” The elderly woman’s voice quivers as if she is frightened by something. Might be something interesting.

“We’ll send an officer right away,”

-It seemed like any other night; noise complaints are generally solved with fists if youngsters get too rowdy. Older folk call the cops since they don’t want to confront their neighbors alone—nothing too out of the blue.

May 14, 1987 3:22 am

I step out of the vehicle, resisting the urge to stretch my stiff muscles and begin walking to the older woman’s home. After confirming my identity, she opens the front door.

“Officer Thompson, what seems to be the issue tonight?”

“Yes, my neighbor just to the right of me was making a ruckus; I was hoping you could ask him to calm down.”

“Don’t you worry, ma’am; I’ll be sure to talk some sense into him. I hate rowdy neighbors too. You won’t have to worry about any more disturbances,” I give her a reassuring wink.

“I sure hope so. The screams were too much for an old person like me,” The lady says, shivering. Screams, eh? Interesting, best be on my guard.

-I saw that building as I pulled up into the neighborhood. At the time, I didn’t think anyone actually lived there. It was too dilapidated for an ordinary person to live in; you would tell your kids haunted stories about the house if they misbehaved—that kind of decrepit home.

God, one look at this place, and you would think it's haunted. Every window was smudged and cracked, patched up using duct tape or hidden behind wood boards. I could even see Christmas decorations plastered on the front door’s glass panel. The house was utterly silent. No light came from the home. Holy, I doubt anyone civilized lives here. Probably just some crackheads getting rowdy. Yeah. Definitely. Nevertheless, I knock on the door, waiting for an answer. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

As the door opens, I had to resist the urge to retch. Answering the knock seemed to be a six-foot-five giant. Everything about him screamed alcoholic layoff.

“Is there a problem? Officer?” his voice gruff and raspy. I force out a light cough as I breathe in the smell of his hot, sour breath. Luckily my professionalism kicked in, and I resisted the urge to cringe and take a step back. I began to study the man leaning on the door frame. First, I observed the man’s clothing, which strained to contain his beer belly. I could assume that he had not showered or washed his clothes in a while; grease and sweat stains dyed his threadbare wife-beater yellow, and his faded blue overalls were missing a strap buckle that hung loose. My eyes then shot up to the man’s head as he began to scratch at the thin greasy hair coating his forehead, glistening in the police light. Well… at least he shaved recently. Kinda. I then started studying the man’s chin, ridden with patchy black and white stubble.

“Well? Is there a problem, officer?” He pulled himself upright, impatient from my idleness. I couldn’t quite tell from the darkness, but I could faintly see blackened and crooked teeth lining the rows of the man’s mouth, which reminded me of a medieval pike defense. It took a great deal of mental fortitude to prevent myself from gagging.

I cast a silent prayer before entering interrogation mode.

“Good evening, sir; I’m Officer Thompson, and I would like to ask you a few questions. I received a noise complaint from the surrounding neighbors and have come to ask if there might be any issues with them that need to be resolved?”

“No, none. I don’t talk to them. They don’t talk to me. No problems here,”

“Okay, the neighbors have heard some yelling coming from your home. Is there anyone else living with you, mister…?” I probably should have asked for his name before anything else. I was still new to the job.

“Billy,” the man leaned forward a bit, his raspy voice causing the hairs on my neck to stand on end. Shit! Don’t get close to me with your dragon breath.

“Well. Mr. Billy, is there anyone staying with you? Son, daughter. wife?”

“No. None. Never had. Are we done?” My ceaseless questioning seemed to have agitated him.

My eyes swiftly dart past Billy’s massive frame and catch a glimpse of the inside of his home. Damn! The interior is worse than the outside. I could see not one bit of solid furniture aside from the couch. Boxes and shattered ceramics were strewn across the stained wood floor. A massive mail pile lay beside the couch, clearly knocked over. No doubt that they must all be overdue bills. Just as I was about to stop questioning, it hit me.

Something seems off; not sure what, but something is wrong. I feel like I’ve smelled this putrid odor before of rotting meat with notes of something sweet. I hastily scribble down some notes on my pad.

“Are. We. Done?”

“Yes, thank you for your time, Billy. Please keep the noise to a minimum during nightly hours; we wouldn’t want another complaint now, would we?” I plaster on my most professional smile. Billy snorts as he shuts the door behind him.

“I should pull up some old files relating to this neighborhood. Something about Billy doesn’t seem to sit right with me.” shaking my head as I drove back to the station, unable to shake off the uneasiness.

-I stayed awake for quite some time. I was pulling out records and files that came from Billy Eugene. There was something wrong with him. That smell. I smelled it before. At the time, I had no clue where I smelled it. It was highly uncanny to me. It made me nervous.

May 15, 1987 7:04 am

“Woah. You look like you’ve never seen the light of day,” Chief Denny walks into the break room for a pot of coffee. Rules weren’t strict in the small police department. Most officers prefer to work in the comforts of the large breakroom.

“No thanks to you. Also, I might’ve found something interesting,” I fight back a yawn as I stare at the papers in front of me with crossed arms. “Got a call on One Two One Three East Street for a noise complaint. Fellas a giant, reeks, unsanitary, untalkative. Named Billy. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, that sociopath? Again? Sheesh,” Chief Denny walks over to the scattered papers, mug in hand, as he shakes his head in disappointment. “Been getting noise complaints from his neighbors for the past few months. Not surprised it happened again. Used to be less frequent, however. I think it started happening after his layoff. Poor bastard must’ve lost it.” He takes a sip of coffee and sighs in satisfaction. “Better get some rest. You did well today.” Patting my shoulder as he walks away. I call out to him just as he’s about to step outside the door.

“Chief! Is it possible for me to obtain all records of Billy, including his past work environment and files relating to him? There’s something not adding up. I want to look deeper into this.”

 “Go knock yourself out, but don’t overwork yourself. That’s an order. Got that?”

“Thanks, Chief,”

-You could say this was the entrance to the rabbit hole. Billy Eugene. I’m surprised no one thought to investigate him. Either that or no one wanted to. One look at him, and you would think, “Yeah, he looks like a guy that would kill for sport.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

May 17, 1987 9:15am

I sift through the papers in front of me. Billy worked at a construction company for fourteen years until two months ago, on March 13. Official documents said he was “laid off.” So what did he do after? It didn’t seem like he was trying to find work elsewhere. “Builder’s Job, time to head over to their offices,” I grabbed my coat and proceeded out the door to their main building.

May 17, 1987 9:34am

“Hello, officer; how may I help you today?” The woman at the front desk smiles at me.

“Officer Thompson. Would it be possible to review some documents regarding the laid-off Billy Eugene?”

“Hang on just a sec, let me notify my boss,” she picks up the phone and dials some numbers. “Mr. Williams, a police officer, is here regarding a former employee. Officer Thompson. He wants to know more about Billy Eugene. Yes, I’ll notify him immediately.” She hangs up the phone. “Mr. Williams will be with you shortly. Please take a seat.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

A little while later, a round man appears in front of me. “Mr. Thompson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He extends his hand in greeting, and I accept. He was relatively small, though I wouldn’t say skinny. It’s clear he enjoys lavish meals in the evening, given the button tension in his white collared suit. “Come, come, let us talk in my office. Please, sit down.” He then proceeds to fish out two whiskey glasses. “Bourbon or whiskey?”

I raise my palm as I decline the offer, “Pardon me, Mr. Williams, but I don’t drink on the job,”

“Well, suit yourself.” He shrugs as he pours a healthy serving of whiskey.

“So.” Williams swirls his glass of whiskey as he speaks, “So you want to know more about this former employee, correct?”

“That is correct; recently, there have been some ongoing disappearances, we may have reason to believe he is linked to them.”

“Ah, the mysterious disappearances. Strange, isn’t it? How can a small town like ours have such a terrifying situation?”

“You don’t sound too concerned, Mr. Williams.”

“Whatever do you mean? Officer, of course I am concerned. It’s bad for business, with everyone leaving town. Especially because we are in the middle of building a big mall. You know, this project is guaranteed to make this small town more popular. The disappearances are sabotaging my plans.” His voice came out slow, almost sarcastic. What. An. Ass.

“Mr. Williams, will it be all right with you if I look at the employee records?”

“Hmm, go ahead, but I don’t think it will serve you any good. I don’t hire any of my workers. You’ll have to speak to the hiring manager. He’ll know more than me. I just run the business. Wait here.” Mr. Williams searched the file cabinet until he found the file. “Aha, here ya are. This might contain what you want,” I took the file from his hand and scanned it.

“It says here that George Watson was the person that hired Billy. Is he here right now?”

“Yes, after you exit the door, turn right and walk straight until you find room 122. His name is on the door,” Mr. Williams stood up from his seat, his arm extended again.

“I do hope you come up with a lead. Good luck, officer,” I shake his hand and walk out the door.

“Thank you, sir.”

May 17, 1987 10:19 am

I knock on the door of George Watson’s office.

“Come in,” a deep, nasal voice calls out from the other side of the door.

George Watson looks like an intelligent man. Round black-rimmed glasses sat atop a sharp nose. His crisp grey suit vest added to his look. What a smart-looking fellow.

“Hello, Mr. Watson, I’m Officer Thompson, and I am here regarding a former employee that goes by the name of Billy Eugene,” I stand there awkwardly at the open doorway.

“Yes, I know of the man you are speaking of,” Watson didn’t even bother looking up from his work, “And I, unfortunately, cannot help you with your investigation,” He continues to scribble on several documents. As I was about to question his immediate response, He added to his previous answer. “I cannot help you because I don’t monitor the workers on the field. I only look at their statistical performance. I cannot answer any questions relating to him because I do not know him personally. I can tell you that I relieved him of his duties because the other workers felt uneasy around him in recent months, as well as his poor performance. If you want some answers, go to the construction site where his former colleagues are working on the mall. Find the supervisor. His name is Mike,”

“Thank you, Mr. Watson,” I head off to the construction site.

-Going from point a to b to c felt like a chore. “Maybe Mike will give me something useful,” I thought. I wish the trail ended there. Cause it got weird. Quick.

August 23, 1987 12:19pm

The cigarette has long been turned to ash. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out another stick, lights it up, and inhales. There is silence in the room; not exactly comfortable. Only the sound of my frantic scribbling is heard.

“So, you’ve finally got a lead after three months?”

“…Something like that. Honestly, it felt like another dead end. But there was information that seemed to correlate nicely.” Mr. Heath draws in the cigarette. Inhale. Exhale. “The fact that Billy’s weekly performance began deteriorating in March, which is when the disappearances started. Then, even before then, there were some mysterious disappearances. Only it became much more frequent after March,”

“So the perpetrator was Billy? Was he responsible for the twenty-four disappearances? Mr. Heath?” I pause my frenzied scribbling and stare at Mr. Heath.

“…” His only response is silence. Ash from his cigarette falling onto the carpet as he stares into the seamless void.

“Let’s…change the subject, shall we?” I sit upright and begin flipping over my notes. “You’ve written down that you have trouble sleeping, that you have hallucinations. Could you elaborate on that?”

“…Yes,” His head juts up, and he stares into my eyes. “I see something. Before, it was just a black…thing in the mirror. Then, it would appear in my peripheral. Now…it might appear in the corners of the room,” Hah? What the heck is wrong with this man? He is more schizophrenic than my auntie. And she only has auditory hallucinations.

“Well, what is it? Could you describe it for me?”

     “…At first, it was a tiny silhouette. Then, it turned into some kind of, humanoid, thing. Tall and lanky, hunched over in a squatting position. I can’t get a good read on the height because of that, but it might be eight feet tall. Skin grey and leathery, smile like the Cheshire cat made love to a lamprey.” He shivers a little bit.

“Okay, and is this creature in the room with us?” I scribble in my notepad again.

His eyes instinctively hover over the top left corner of the room. “No…No, it’s not with us right now,” I steal a look at Mr. Heath. Oookay. Weird. He definitely sees something behind me.

“Okay, and has this creature told you anything? Asked you anything?”

“…”

“…Mr. Heath?”

“…No, no, he hasn’t,”

“Okay, visual hallucinations, no auditory hallucinations, yet. Schizophrenia or depression is possible,” I mumble under my breath as I note his responses. “Mr. Heath, what about the nightmares? I understand that dreams are hard to recall, especially if you don’t write down your dreams the moment you wake up. But please try to remember at least one of them and describe it to me.”

He immediately squints his eyes and frowns. Ahhaah. Gotcha. You definitely have something for me.

“I dream of the basement,” he says.

“Basement? Please elaborate on that,”

“I’ll, I’ll have to go back to the beginning; when I went to the construction site.”

And like a hazy film reel, it all seems to flash into his mind as he recounts his tale.

May 17, 1987 12:44 pm

-I had just arrived at the construction site. Strange. It seemed like an eternity ago when the mall was still just a giant pit in the ground. I parked a little bit away, then walked over to the overseer. A strong guy. He and some of the workers had something interesting to tell me.

The sounds of hammers and yelling resonated throughout the open sky. I scan the area and see the overseer. I walk over to him and begin questioning. “Hello sir, are you Mike?” I stick out my hand in a formal greeting.

“Yeah, officer, that’s me. Is there anything I can help you with?” He wipes the sweat off his brow onto the construction equipment he had on before he accepts my hand.

“Yes, do you know a worker named Billy? Billy Eugene.”

“Ah yeah, big fella. He was nice too. Shame what happened.” The man shakes his head.

“Could you go into a little more detail, please? Tell me what he was like before the noticeable changes and after.” I pull out my pen and scratch pad to scribble down some notes.

“Yeah, yeah, he was a hard worker. Tough as nails but wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Super nice person. Needed surgery for his back a couple times, but he always bounced right back.” Mike scratches his chin as he attempts to recall the events leading up to Billy’s sudden change in behavior. “Mmhm, if I recall correctly, his mood changed the moment we demolished the house on Seventh Street,”

“Seventh Street? Was there anything special about the house?”

“Not that I know of, I never went inside, but I know Billy and a couple of others did. You should ask them. Sorry, I wasn’t close to Billy, but I know some of the guys are. You should talk to them.”

I shook Mike’s hand again and thanked him for his time as I began asking more questions to other workers.

“The house on Seventh Street? Shit, man, that place was creepy.” The worker gestures to me to sit down next to him, and I oblige.

“Creepy? In what way.”

“Well. The house is like, fucked up. If you know what I mean. Rotting boards, cracked glass, smellier than your grandpa’s coffin.” The worker began chuckling at his own “humorous” joke.”

“Okay, so an old house is approved for demolition; what went wrong?” I ask.

“You see, what we didn’t realize, and I guess the mayor didn’t realize is that, there lives an old fart. Old lady. No one knows how long she lived there. There weren’t any recent documents of anyone living in the house. It just exists.”

“So an old lady lives in a dilapidated house that isn’t listed, so what?”

“You don’t understand man. The last recorded document of someone living in this house, was like, two hundred-fifty years ago!” What kind of bullshit is this guy spewing? I rub my forehead in frustration.

“That doesn’t make sense sir. Moorehead Town wasn’t funded until nineteen-thirty,” I say.

“W-well you get what I mean right?” I don’t. I look at him in a rather exasperated manner.

“A-Anyways, this bitch just appears out of nowhere, and goes all coo-coo crazy, and threatens to curse us! She was ugly as hell too!” The worker throws his hands over his head for dramatic affect.

“Sir, refrain from using offensive descriptions.”

“Yeah yeah my bad. Anyways she shows up out of nowhere, and of course we all startled. We tell her, ‘You can’t be in here we’re gonna blow this shit up!’ And she freaks out and says she lived in this home for hundreds of years! Like, talk about attachment issues, sheesh!” What? That isn’t possible. How can a house not be discovered until recently? It’s a house.

“So then, since the building isn’t listed in records, we technically don’t need a warrant to enter, so it’s not breaking and entering! So Billy enters the house to remove her, and that bi-ahem. That old lady screams, ‘I’ll make sure your life is ruined! You’ll be the host of a hungry entity!’ And began clawing at Billy’s face! So we rushed to his aid and pried her off him. Someone called the cops after. And there you have it. The story of the old rinky-dink home, and the crazy old lady that lives in it.” The construction worker puts his hands to his hips and raises his nose towards the sky, as if satisfied with his story.

“And, and where is this old lady now?” I asked.

“Oh well, where else is some bat-shit crazy lunatic that randomly appears in fucked up houses gonna go? Jail of course. Locked her up nice and good. It’s her new home now.”

“Sigh, and that’s the time when Billy started acting strange?”

“Yep! He was fine the rest of the day, but after…” The worker’s energetic aura leaves him.

“We demolish the building the next day, and Billy doesn’t look too hot. Said he couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t think much of it, but it got worse over the next few months. You know, not showering, sleeping on the job, mumbling under his breath. Looked like a complete nutjob,” The worker shook his head as he recalled his story, then took a swig of water. “The nail in the coffin was when he came to work a mess,” I raise my eyebrows, a look of curiosity painted across my face.

“A mess in what way?”

“Well…Well, he was completely hysterical. The fool gone crazy. Came to work covered in blood. Head to toe, claiming that ‘it needed to eat.’”

“What? Why didn’t you report this to the police department!” I was furious. Lives could’ve been saved if the workers had reported this to the police.

“The fuck? Why you angry at me? Why do you think it wasn’t reported? Looks bad for the company. Mike told us to keep quiet, and he won’t report the thousands of dollars of theft. He wrote it off as a nosebleed.”

“Theft? You stole from the house?” My blood begins to boil.

“Shit. Spoke too much. So, the items in a house become forfeited prior to demolishing it. So what do we do? We maybe find new owners of forgotten items.”

I stand up, brush off my pants, and pack up my scratch pad.

“Thank you for the information. It’s been very helpful.” I sigh in disbelief.

The worker rises with me. “Hey hey hey, you’ll keep quiet about the whole ‘finding a new owner for the forgotten items, right?’”

“Trust me; I wouldn’t have gotten far without you. I’ll keep my promise,” I hold out my hand for confirmation, and he shakes it in acknowledgment.

August 23 1987 1:07 pm

“Mr. Heath, you still haven’t explained the basement yet.” I sigh, taking off my glasses.

“I’m getting to it; I just need to finish the rest of the story.” He lights up another cigarette, already burning through half the carton.

“So, I find out that Billy is the culprit behind the disappearances. But I still don’t know if he’s responsible for all of them. For all we know, there might be others aside from Billy.”

May 19 1987 8:04 am

“And you’re positive it’s Billy?” Chief Denny's eyes narrow as he stares at me.

“Yes, I just need a search warrant; I am confident it’s him.”

“What makes you so sure? Officer Thompson, that it’s Billy? Just because he’s a low-life degenerate doesn’t make him a prime suspect.” Chief Denny slaps his desk in frustration.

“Chief, remember the smell I told you about when I visited his home? Well, I recognize that smell.” I pace around the room, growing frantic. “The smell was of rotting meat with notes of something sweet. At first, I thought it was his breath. But the smell didn’t come from his mouth. It came from inside his house. That smell Denny. Do you know what I’m talking about? It’s the same smell as when we investigated Gilhart’s residence.” Chief Denny’s eyes were so wide they nearly popped out of their sockets.

“You’re shitting me. The smell of death and decay.” Chief Denny shakes his head. “We need a warrant, but I’ll figure something out later. I trust your word on this. This is the first lead that doesn’t reach a dead end. We first need to catch that bastard.” The Chief rises out of his seat, grabbing his revolver.

“Let’s head out to his home; we’ll see his next move.”

May 20, 1987 3:12 am

“There he is, leaving through the garage, where’r ya goin, you sly bastard?” Chief Denny turned on the car’s engine and began to follow the rust-covered truck.

“Neighbors said they never see him leave via the front door,” I say.

“Well, it seems they were right about that.” Chief Denny never took his eyes off the truck and followed it into the dead of night.

May 20, 1987 3:47 am

“He stopped, must’ve found his next target, or targets,” Chief Denny kills the car engine and readies his revolver. “This is it, Thomas. Get ready for shit to go south.” I respond by drawing my pistol and exiting the car. Arbor Cemetery, huh, strange place to be at night. Only doped-up college kids came here to party and chill at this hour, which is probably why Billy chose this place.

Further into the cemetery, the quieter it became. I grew pretty restless; this place freaks me out. Then, up ahead, one could hear screams and the sound of a gun. “Shit! Thompson, let's get moving.”

“Drop the gun, Billy, put your hands above your head. Where I can see them.” I aim my gun at him, he looks even more repulsive than last time. His eyes were darting back and forth, his breathing ragged. He had a girl by the hair and refused to let her go, the barrel of his gun pointing directly at her temple. “Billy. Please, let her go.” She looks like a mess, with black eyeliner streaks flowing down her cheeks, sobbing uncontrollably. I would be, too, in this situation. There were two unidentified bodies next to her; the red expanding patches on their clothing told me enough.

“I have to feed it, Thompson. You will understand soon. I am nearing my time. I have given it everything. It is your turn, Thompson. Your turn to feed it.”

“Who? Who are you feeding? Tell me, for fucks sake! Who the hell are you feeding?” I tighten my pistol grip, tighten my stance, and pull down the hammer.

“Don’t shoot Thompson. It’s too risky.” Chief Denny took cover behind a tombstone. His weapon readied as well.

“Please, help me.” The victim in Billy’s arms sobs.

“Shhh, don’t be scared. You should be happy that you’re the chosen one. Thompson, do me a favor. Since it chose you next to help me feed it,” He pulls the barrel off the girl and places it against his head. Chief Denny closes his eyes in realization. Only I was the one to witness the end.

“Billy, just tell me what’s going on, Billy, don’t, DON’T BILLY.”

The sound of thunder rings throughout the night.

August 23 1987 1:32pm

I raise an eyebrow at him, “So you’re saying that Billy committed suicide?”

He nods his head. “So what did he mean by, ‘It’s your turn to feed it?’”

He meekly shakes his head, “I don’t know,”

I sigh, crossing my legs. “Tell me about this basement. You mentioned to me that it appears in your nightmares. Now that you’ve finished your story, I’m sure you can explain it to me,”

He nods, “We labeled Billy’s death a suicide, then issued a search warrant for his home. Aside from the disgusting state of the place, there wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. That is,” He hesitates, chewing on this thumbnail, “until you reach the basement.”

May 21, 1987 9:17 am

“What the hell?” The stench across the door is so powerful that Chief Denny and the others wore wear masks coated in peppermint oil. The door in question was different. Billy replaced the wooden door with a reinforced iron one, eroding past the point of functionality. The rust was so bad that it sealed the hinges together. The only way through was to blast it open. Opening the door is something everyone regrets. Corpses. Lots of them. Strewn into a large pit in the ground. Officers began gagging. I stood there in shock; the smell was foul, the hole disturbing, yet, none of it bothered me as much as it did the other officers.

August 23, 1987 1:41pm

“So, Ms. Barnes. The nightmares I keep having are about the pit. Roughly seven feet wide and twelve feet deep,” Thompson scoffs, “Twelve feet deep. How do you manage to dig a hole that deep without breaking any pipes? Well, my nightmares have me at the pit. The pit turned into a mouth of some sort. Like a, uh, bloodworm. Hungry, begging for food. I can’t stop the urge. It’s calling me. It’s asking for his help.” He cradles his head between his hands.

What. The. Heck? I can only assume that if everything this lunatic is saying is true, does it mean that this “curse” is passed down through suicide? Billy shot himself. The girl didn’t witness his death because she was looking at Officer Thompson, and this Chief Denny guy closed his eyes before the shot happened. Is this the only logical explanation? Or is there more to the story than meets the eye? Probably going to write this off and send him to a mental institution. This guy is beyond saving.

“S-so, ahem. I’m afraid we have to cut this session short. We overwent the time slot. Before we leave, I have some suggestions for you.” I rearrange my glasses and go over the notes.

“So, you’ve mentioned an old lady that lives in the house, who is now in jail. Have you decided to go back and ask her questions?”

“I have.” Ookay.

“And what did she say?”

“To feed it.” He rises out of his seat and trudges towards me. His eyes were glazed and foggy.

To Feed Me.