Officer: Police department. What seems to be the emergency?
Woman: Hello? Hello?
Officer: Hello, ma’am. You’re breaking up.
Woman: They… they’re all dead.
Officer: Ma’am. Who is—?
Woman: He’s here. Oh God, he’s trying to get inside.
[buzzing noises]
Officer: Ma’am, you’ll have to turn down your chainsaw. I’m having trouble hearing…
Woman: He killed my dad!
Officer: Who did?
Woman: There’s a man, a big man. He’s… All my friends are gone. I went outside to look and I saw… pieces… God, there were pieces of them… [inaudible]… A hand.
Officer: Ma’am?
Woman: And my dad’s car is here, but I can’t find him anywhere. I think the man…
[crash noises]
Woman: He’s inside. Please come.
Officer: What is your address?
Woman: 4217 Everway Bend. The old cabin.
Officer: Ma’am, all units are currently unavailable, but as soon as someone…
Woman: Get away. You monster! You… you killed them all! No! No, don’t… You… [screaming]
Officer: Ma’am?
***
Knotting County Daily News
One survivor in teenage bloodbath
Four bodies were discovered this morning in various states of dismemberment, suspected victims of former mental patient Cletus “Hack” Williams.
The victims, three high school students and a local parent, were found outside a cabin on Everway Bend. Police have yet to release the causes of death, but a local witness says there was “a lot of blood and fragments.”
The sole survivor of the attack, Cindy Hudson, was able to subdue Williams with his own chainsaw.
“She just went to town, man,” reported the policeman on duty. “Took his head clean off.”
Hudson is currently recovering in a local hospital. Her official response: “I got him. I actually got him. Dad always said I could take care of myself.”
Author bio: Evan Purcell is an American living and working in rural China, a land of ancient traditions, friendly people, and absolutely no cheese in a hundred-mile radius. Except for that last part, he really enjoys his life abroad. He also writes a lot of horror and sci-fi short stories, as well as the occasional romance novel. You can read about his travels and his weirdly eclectic writing at EvanPurcell.Blogspot.com. And if you see him walking down the street, please offer him some American cheese. He misses it so much.
Going Home
By Michael McGlade
Case #BF7180206461
Journal transcribed from an iPad.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
December 13th
Subject: Goodbye
Daryl,
I'm going home and you won't change my mind. Since losing Julia, I hate London. Too many things remind me of her. I have to leave.
I guess you already know this. You've known for weeks, tried to stop me like a good friend should, but I've made my decision.
As far as business is concerned, I'll sell you my shares. I need the money, Daryl. Restoring my old family home will take everything I own … I need to do this – Julia always wanted it.
Don't be stubborn and refuse my offer because I'd prefer to sell my shares to you instead of an outsider.
You've been a friend and more. I'll miss you.
Will call soon as I've settled in.
Hugh
December 13
Managed to drag some of my luggage out of the undergrowth. I'm amazed I found my way here at all. Could hardly see two feet in front because it's been storming hard all morning and I had to walk a half-hour from the only access road. Lazy contractor was supposed to clear a path.
The access road should have closer, according to the building contractor, but it doesn't surprise me he was ill-informed, considering he hasn't started the agreed upon works. Neither sight nor light of the bastard. He was supposed to free the overgrown driveway. He was supposed to deliver a hut for me to sleep in. He was supposed to begin renovations yesterday.
He has done nothing.
I'm here alone and I might be the first person to see this place in thirty years.
I have no signal on my mobile (lost it back at the road, where I parked the hire car) otherwise I'd vent on him Vesuvius-like, rain down magma and fireballs about his shitty lack of adherence to our legally-binding contact. So much for the securing deposit I paid.
To get here a perfectly decent pair of hand-tooled Italian leather loafers were ruined and I wish I had accepted the sales clerk's offer to buy a pair of Scarpa hiking boots when I got the tent. The tent was an impulse purchase, just in case of an emergency, which I'm rather glad I have, considering the amount of rain leaking through the ceiling – even the inside walls are slimy to touch.
I also lost my Ralph Lauren trolley case. Stumbling along the path through the forest, I let go of it for a second to rake rain from my eyes and the bastarding thing goes and slips right off the path, down the steep bank and whimpers into a bog. No way was I going after it. Besides it was a millstone, the wheels useless on this stony, muddy, tree-root-tangled winding, meandering path through the thicket.
All I've got now to survive on is my carry-on luggage, some shirts, trousers, sunglasses and a scarf. No razor, no cleansing products. It's like I'm in the Dark Ages.
Anyway, this house: I'm inside now and had to kick the door in. I haven't been here since my parents moved to London when I was six. Doesn't look like anybody's been here since then. I was born here – at least I think I was – but my parents never really spoke about this place.
My home is, as I expected it to be, shitty. Briers hem it in like razor wire. Got some nasty cuts for my efforts forcing my way through and had to limbo beneath shrouds of ivy just to find the feckin front door.
The air here smells like a bushel of tomatoes gone watery and bad. Hot and heavy, somehow. Catches in my throat like Orchid House vapour, clinging to me like oil.
I won't let this slight misstep deter me. Nothing will put me off. I intend to restore this property and grounds to their former glory. Julia will be proud.
The entrance foyer was big enough to play tennis and even though I called out a few times I heard no echo. Apart from rain needling the slate roof – silence. I'd forgotten what ' sounded like.
It was dark enough that I needed a flashlight to explore the ground floor. Seeing the ' my heart pumped triple-espresso fast. I haven't had coffee (drastic change, necessary) since Julia's murder. No stimulants ever again. Yeah I know too little too late, but guess what this is the happiest I've felt in a long time. It's a clean break.
Looking around, the rooms appear undisturbed since the day my parents moved. I can't understand why they never returned or made much mention of this place. It's a mansion. Must be twenty rooms on the ground floor alone.
I have no memories of my previous time here, of the kitchen with the five-oven Aga, scullery, servants' quarters, front parlour with grand piano. I have no memories. But I know I've been here before. I feel a connection. There's something spiritual about returning to your roots, uncovering the past.
I went upstairs and the spiral oak stairway with its ancient wood felt alive beneath my fingers, warm and inviting, like I'd always been here, had never left.
I knew I was home. I belong here.
The first floor hallway contained twelve doors, a door for each year I knew Julia. The floorboards flexed and yawned with each step. I entered the bedroom that belonged to my parents. Mildewed bed shrouded beneath a rag of moth-eaten sheets. The room smelt bitter and I forced a window open. Slieve Gullion mountain hulked over the treeline. Undergrowth thick-ed up its serrated granite slope like porcupine quills.
Daylight escaped the valley in a matter of minutes. It was night and not yet three o'clock. I was glad not to have been on my way back to the car
because I'd be lost in the dark. I have a tent and food supplies and I can tough it out here for the night, go check into a hotel tomorrow.
The dark in this house is a peculiar thing which seems sluggish to depart even when zapped with my flashlight. Maybe it's reluctant to give up its home after so long alone. But this is my house, my home, and I have enough batteries in my flashlight to drive the dark to the other side of the moon, if need be.
I erected the tent in my parents' bedroom and will spend the night here. The rain stopped. I opened the window wider (tearing a spider's web) in the hope to get rid of the bitter smell in here: it's stagnation, death. The evicted spider and his tangle of insect husks flagged in the breeze.
I lost myself staring out the window for so long a time it could have been forever because there were no sickly yellow pockets of incandescent lamplight, no nearby dwellings, neighbours, traffic. I am alone. At long last, blessedly alone.
The endless dark out here made my breath catch, like a huge weight crushing me, the burden of this blackly infinite imagining. The distended moon ill-formed and so fat it could hardly rise above the mountaintop, and the trees … the trees look jaundiced in this moonlight. Mountains and forest surrounded me. Silence. The vast emptiness beyond my window. I wish Julia was here. Julia would tell me to not let my imagination run away and that but of course this change will take some getting used to but it's worth it because you don't appreciate something when it's easy, you just don't, like I didn't appreciate Julia when she was mine because it was easy, what we had was easy, effortless, never had to work hard in our relationship. That was the problem.
No mobile phone signal. No electricity. It's absolutely quiet. Noiseless. No birds or animals in the forest. Silence like a winter coat (heavy, protective). I could get addicted to this peace and quiet. I ' get used to it.
Julia, I miss you so much so very much.
There are noises in the attic. It sounds like it could be rats. My map indicates there's a gamekeeper's cottage. I might be able to find some traps there. Otherwise, tomorrow I'll go into town and get supplies: a good stiff neck-snapping trap should do the trick. And I'll nail the rat's corpse to the attic wall as a warning to the others.
December 14
Light gobbed through the cobweb cataracts of the windows. I don't remember what time the scratching and rustling in the attic quit, but it must've been around four AM when I passed out. It's now nine o'clock in the morning and the sky is prison grey with clouds low enough you could stretch out and touch them.
This silence here is jarring. No birds trilling and no wakeup call from Mother Nature. It's like everything outside is listening, waiting to hear what I do next. Ridiculous, huh?
Just as I was about to return to my car it stormed again. I'm afraid I might get caught in a mudslide if I go back to the car now. For the time being, I'm trapped in the flux. The sky weeps an ocean.
Still no phone signal.
I explored the property further. This house is an ancient beast. A rug crumbled after the slightest touch, like it was composed of no more than filth and forgotten memories. I found my bedroom. At least I think it was my room. The bed is a fire engine. I always wanted to be a fireman but somehow fell into advertising. Pasted to the wall are some drawing I must have made, charcoal and black crayon scribbles of me and my parents, and a dog with red eyes. I don't remember owning a dog.
Toys are strewn on the floor, as if they were intended to be used again, and my clothes still in the wardrobes. The other rooms contained objects of personal effects (combs, toothbrushes, house slippers) that had been abandoned.
I wanted to inspect the attic because, apart from the rats, there must also be missing roof slates. Boxes were bullied around up there during the night. Wind must be entering gaps in the roof. But first I should locate the gamekeeper's cottage to see if there are any suitable traps.
I walked the exterior of the building, this massive thirty-room, three-storey property. More like a castle than a manor. Hard to believe it could be abandoned and allowed to deteriorate, retreat into nothingness. There are slick veins of ivy as knotted as rope and the gravel crunched beneath my feet like crushed bones..
The rain had lightened and it was almost noon, so I decided to make my way back to the car while I still had the opportunity to do so. I located the path but the mud was thick and sucky with a reek like low tide. I easily followed the path, thinking how silly it was for me to get lost yesterday. Obviously a lot of animals had used it because it was open and quite clear.
After an hour, I knew I was close to the car. I continued to follow the path. A turn. Another turn.
I was back at the house.
I couldn't believe it. I'd gone in a complete circle. Ended up right where I started.
But I followed the path straight.
I went the way I should've, the only way.
The sun set fast even thought it was not yet three o'clock and the rain soon became a torrent.
I stayed inside the tent I had setup in my parents' bedroom. Rain dripped from the attic like a metronome and freckled the canvas canopy.
All this alone-time has given me ample opportunity to think. For the past month I've hidden away from what happened to Julia. Murdered by a mugger. Her wedding ring stolen. Senseless stupid petty ridiculous pathetic thing to die over. I buried her with the engagement ring I bought her, which was missing the stone. I was working in Beijing at the time and my wages were a thousand pound a month. I spent nine hundred fifty on the ring and the stone was the size of a pin. When I posted it to Julia, customs charged her five hundred pounds tax to receive it. The stone dropped out a week later.
I buried her with it.
I don't understand why we left here when I was six. The house looks like it was abandoned wholesale, like we just got our things and stole away in the dead of night. There are items belonging to my parents (jewellery, makeup, smoking pipe) that were discarded. And they never really spoke about this house. Come to think of it, we never even holidayed in Ireland. We lived in London and Ireland was never mentioned.
I only found out about it when it came to the reading of the will and this house was listed as an asset on the balance sheet.
They had bought and abandoned it within a year.
It's three AM. The noises in the attic have started again. It's an intense scratching. If I let my imagination run away, it sounds like some 'trying to claw its way out.
Tomorrow, I'm going up there to put an end to this.
I'm tired. Eyes puffy. Wish I had my Clinique Anti-Fatigue Cooling Eye Gel.
December 15
I've gone native with a three-day grow-out of beard. The only time I've gone this long without shaving was during the funeral.
I lost all my best stuff when my suitcase sank in a bog. Things I miss most: Neutrogena Skin Clearing Acne Wash, Molton Brown Deep-Clean Mineral Ions Facewash, Jack Black Intense Therapy Lip Balm.
A bruised sun slugged above the serrated mountain top. Sky cracked and pepper black. It's going to be another hard rain today.
The wind blew intensely and turned me into a fumbling harlequin. It's almost impossible to stand straight. I'm confined to remaining indoors for the foreseeable future. At least I have enough bottle water to last me through the night.
I should mention that a strange fortuitous thing happened. I was in the servants' quarters and discovered several animal traps. They were the cage variety to capture humanely.
I hadn't noticed the traps on my last tour. Maybe the rats left them. Well, fine by me. Challenge accepted.
I'm actually a little glad they're the cage type. I really don't want to inflict pain on an animal, even if it is vermin. I suppose when I trap my adversary I can have it brought to the vet to be euthanized.
I went to the attic and noticed a fine powder coated the walls like the dust from a moth's wings. I had to force the door open and the stench hit me, smelling like moldy compost or the fresh clay in a cemetery.
I thought o
f Julia. It stabbed sharp as a dagger. Everything went dark like I'd dipped my head in tar. Had to bend double. Don't know how long I stayed like that. But the hurt passed eventually.
This kind of thing used to happen all the time. Now, it's not as bad.
I entered the attic which spanned the length of the building and contained boxes, crates, suitcases. Plenty of places for rats to hide. I didn't notice any loose slates or any huge holes in the roof. There were no obvious places for the rain to enter.
I set the traps near the edges of the attic.
I couldn't believe how many boxes and cases were here. One box toppled and spilled a mess of grey wigs, the horsehair rotten and festered, like putrid night crawlers. I gagged. Cobwebs everywhere, a thick tangle. I felt like I'd disturbed something by just being there. Rustling in the shadows. Scratching noises.
My skin was crawling by the time I got out. I didn't feel right being in there. Like I was a trespasser.
The mountains surrounding this valley are steep and night comes earlier, much earlier than I expected. I have at most five hours' daylight, which is crippling, and when it gets dark it's the blackest black I've ever seen. You can't see your hand in front of your face. I'm beginning to understand how people get scared of the dark. I've always lived in the city where it's never truly night.
If only Julia hadn't died, I wouldn't be here doing this on my own.
But I'm strong. I have to be strong, for the both of us, for me and Julia. We said when we made enough money we'd come here, renovate, live the good life.
Journals of Horror: Found Fiction Page 8