Don't Let Them Notice You

by Ian Gessey

  “Ah it’s all nonsense young man, nonsense. He was a shut in; he was obviously going mad – he had spent so many years travelling in Africa I guess living here was a bit of a comedown.”

  “Humour me”, said Mike, putting his tea down.

  He had always had an interest in the unexplained so he was keen to hear more.

  “Well, to be honest with you officer, I always felt uneasy in that house. It always felt unwelcoming…it was never what you call a warm and inviting house, if you understand what I mean?”

  “I always came out of there with a headache or feeling really down and depressed, no matter what mood I was in when I went round there.”

  Joseph paused; he felt like he had a keen audience, but just hearing himself talking about such things made him realise how stupid it all sounded.

  “I think it all came to a head when he started going on about the things in the mirrors – that was the last straw for me as it all sounded a bit ridiculous.”

  Mike was intrigued at this point, but tried to maintain a professional approach.

  “The mirrors?” Mike enquired, “What about the mirrors…what mirrors?”

  Joseph took a deep breath as if afraid to appear as stupid as the account sounded.

  “Well, he began, “George became obsessed with mirrors…he had them all over the house at one point, at least three in every room.”

  “He had this crazy notion that there were things in the mirror looking back at him, watching him – he would keep going on about them…it got to the point where I stopped going round as I was convinced he was going mad.”

  “I tried telling Social Services but they didn’t seem interested – they called round a couple of times and didn’t see anything that concerned them, so they didn’t do anything about it.”

  Mike sat there, taking it all in.

  It clearly sounded as if Mr Foster was delusional, perhaps going through the early stages of Parkinson’s’ disease or dementia rather than being terrorised by any supernatural entities.

  “Did you try and reason with him about what he claimed he was seeing in the mirrors?” Mike asked, trying not to sound too accusatory.

  “I did...I asked him details about what he claimed he saw. He showed me a picture once…I have it here somewhere. Horrible picture it was, very dark…devilish. I don’t know what was going on in his mind.”

  Joseph’s voice trailed off. The thought of his friend being tormented by his own mind had clearly affected him. Mike could tell that Joseph was punishing himself for not doing more to help Mr Foster, but when it comes to illnesses of the mind, Mike knew from bitter experience with his own mother that it was very difficult to help someone who doesn’t know they need help.

  Joseph stood up and walked slowly over to his writing desk. After a few moments searching, he pulled out a dog-eared piece of A4 paper and passed it to Mike.

  Mike quietly studied the terrifying image scribbled on the paper; obviously the work of a fractured and deeply troubled mind.

  The rough pencil sketch detailed a sinister black cloaked figure with piercing, hollow eyes surrounded by at least a dozen smaller but similar forms.

  There were no other facial features defined on any of the creatures – just deep, soulless eyes that were genuinely uncomfortable to look at.

  The creature appeared human in as much as the form was humanoid, but that’s where the similarity ended.

  This was deeply unsettling imagery and Mike couldn’t help but feel pity for poor old Foster – if these were the visions his frail mind was plagued with, then he must have been truly disturbed.

  “Horrible isn’t it”, Joseph said as he watched the expression on Mikes face, “To think that he was seeing those sorts of things…especially while being all alone in that house.”

  Mike was a sympathetic person, but always maintained a safe emotional distance in his dealings with the public. He had to care – that’s what made him a good officer - but at the same time he realised that he couldn’t change the world; people ultimately had to take responsibility for their own actions.

  There were people out there with genuine needs and real issues that desperately needed direction and help and in his professional capacity he was able to assist many suchlike ones.

  If someone had just set things in motion sooner to get this man the help he needed then maybe this whole unfortunate situation could have been avoided.

  It struck a chord with Mike as his mother had taken her life four years ago after battling depression for many years. He understood all too well how important it was to get the right help at the right time.

  Mike was now being consumed by a desire to look around the house, to see for himself what the old man saw. He was duty bound to complete his investigation, however fruitless it may be, but on a personal level he was excited by the possibility of getting involved in what might turn out to be a supernatural event.

  “It would be interesting to look around the property”, Mike said to Joseph, “Just to see if there are any clues to his background. We didn’t find any relatives listed but it would be good and proper just to make sure.”

  Joseph turned back to his desk and after hunting around for a moment he produced a key.

  “I have a key to his house, the same as he does for mine”, he said, “We had an understanding you see, we looked after each other…besides, the old git was restoring my antique Masonic Knights Templar sword and I never got it back”.

  4:00pm – Into the Abyss

  Mike and Joseph walked the short distance to Fosters house in silence.

  Neither of them knew what they were going to uncover once they started mooching around inside his house and with all the talk of things being seen in mirrors and the fact that two people had died in that house, their senses were heightened to say the least.

  Mike knew he had to approach this sensibly and professionally, but he couldn’t help feeling a certain nervous apprehension at being involved in something so out of the ordinary.

  Neither of them knew exactly what to expect once they were inside the house and this fear of the unknown was unsettling Mike a little – even though he had an interest in the paranormal, he considered himself a pragmatic person - practical and realistic.

  The constant drone and heavy vibration from the factories opposite the house seemed even more intense today and Mike felt the dull reverberation through the metal gate as opened it.

  He walked down the pathway, key in hand, while Joseph waited at the gate.

  Mike had told him that he would go in initially and when he felt there was no obvious danger or concern, he would let Joseph in to assist with finding his way around the house.

  Mike turned the key in the lock and pushed the solid wooden door.

  It opened reluctantly with a loud creak and as he pushed he could feel some resistance behind it. He forced the door open enough to get his head round around the opening and, looking down on the floor, he saw a large pile of unopened post and free newspapers.

  As he now realised that he wasn’t going to damage anything, he placed his weight behind the door and pushed hard, the pile of post moving across the hallway floor as he did so.

  The hallway smelled damp and musty and, judging by the large pile of uncollected post, it didn’t seem like a room that was used much.

  Mike paused for a moment to allow the stale air to be replaced by the warm summer air from outside – there was no need to rush into the house, whatever was in there waiting to be discovered could wait for a few more moments.

  Mike walked into the dark hallway and scanned the walls for a light switch.

  He spotted an old, dirty switch, stained from what seemed to be years of nicotine deposits about five feet away, by the entrance to another room.

  Using the end of his pen he flicked the switch on and a rather out of place fluorescent light tube flickered reluctantly into life above him.

  It was a cold and clinical light – an odd choice for the interior of a home; th
is type of light was best suited for offices or shops.

  The stairs, just off to the right, were laid with an old, darkly patterned carpet, threadbare and damaged and seemingly as old as the house itself.

  Ahead of Mike were two painted wooden doors, both yellow with age, one of which was slightly ajar, the other one was wide open?

  The central heating appeared to be on which was unusual considering how warm it was outside.

  As he started walking towards the wide open door, Mike noticed a small desk opposite the staircase.

  Above the desk there was a large patch of clean wallpaper where a picture frame had once hung – in fact, looking around there were a few of these vacant spaces on the walls.

  He walked over to the desk and found a large pile of notepaper, placed untidily on the wooden surface.

  Each piece of paper had been handwritten on each line with the same phrase, over and over again on what must have been well over a hundred pieces of paper:

  “DON’T LET THEM NOTICE YOU. NO REST IF THEY NOTICE YOU”

  This chilling message, repeated hundreds of times on this pile of paper made Mikes blood run cold.

  Foster had obviously been in fear of something, whether this was real or imaginary was yet to be discovered.

  He was puzzled as to the meaning – don’t let who or what see you?

  What would happen if you were seen by “them”?

  He quickly forced these disquieting thoughts from his mind as he turned his attention to the open door at the end of the hallway.

  From where he stood, he could see that the room was lit quite well, so either a light had been left on or the sunlight had found a way in.

  Mike took a step towards the room and immediately froze.

  A noise…upstairs?

  Mike stayed rooted to the spot, straining to hear, afraid to move in case he missed the sound or disturbed whatever it was that was making it.

  There it was again, but this time it was more distinctive, clearer.

  It was similar to the scraping noise a knife makes when pushed across a plate, a high-pitched scraping noise similar to nails on a chalkboard.

  He felt a strange sensation creep over him; was it nervousness?

  Fear?

  Why did he feel like he was being watched, that his innermost feelings and thoughts were being laid bare?

  Was this house starting to get to him already?

  There was the noise again…much louder this time, more like the sound of glass cracking.

  Then, a terrific thump on the floor followed by silence.

  His head told him to stay downstairs, to walk back out into the sunlight and leave this all behind him,

  There was no crime to investigate and nothing to gain by staying in the house – the old man had died as a shut-in; it happens all too often but it does just happen.

  His heart however pushed him further.

  Ultimately he would never be satisfied if he left all this behind without getting some answers, without reaching a conclusion.

  He walked back to the front door and called over to Joseph.

  “I’m just going to take a quick look around upstairs”, he said “when it’s clear you can come in and look for your sword.”

  Joseph waved back, “No rush”, he shouted, his eyes fixed on an upstairs window.

  He was perfectly happy standing here, with clear distance between the house and himself.

  Mike turned his attention back to the stars.

  Sunlight streamed through the upstairs landing window, bathing everything in a warm glow that seemed completely at odds with the feeling the house was sending out.

  The stairs creaked and groaned under each footfall as Mike climbed up towards the golden light.

  He reached the top of the stairs and looked along the narrow landing, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

  4:39pm – Tartarus

  Mike stood still on the spot for a moment while he analysed the scene ahead of him.

  The walls and the floor had all been painted white, presumably in a hurry judging by the quality of the finish.

  The door frames, walls, ceilings and floors were completely covered in writing…tiny handwritten sentences exactly the same as on the paper downstairs:

  DON’T LET THEM NOTICE YOU. NO REST IF THEY NOTICE YOU

  One of the doors had been sealed shut with rough wooden planks nailed haphazardly across the door frame.

  Above the door frame Mike saw the following inscription roughly etched onto the wood:

  REV XX /III

  He looked at sealed doorframe closely.

  Was this to keep something in or out?

  What did that inscription relate to?

  The door ahead at the end of the landing was wide open and the light was on – judging by the colour temperature, Mike could tell it was another fluorescent tube, just like downstairs.

  What was it about fluorescent lights?

  He was driven to investigate further but at the same time he was starting to think that this was way out of his comfort zone. He had never seen anything like this but he knew that once he reported this back to the station he would never get the opportunity to come back; to see it again the way it is now.

  Mike looked towards the open doorway and for a split second he thought he saw a shadow moving across the floor.

  He blinked to clear his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers.

  Whatever it was, it had gone.

  “All in your head Mike”, he muttered to himself as he started to walk down the corridor.

  A sudden and intense feeling of nausea swept over him accompanied by a wave of terrible loneliness and abandonment, as if he was the only person left in this world.

  He stretched his hand out to steady himself on the wall as shadows crept in on his vision.

  Supporting himself on the wall he edged down the corridor to the open door, leaning on the old radiator as he went…if he could just sit down he would be fine.

  Mike stumbled through the doorway and into the room, spotting a bed in the corner.

  The cold sweat was upon him now, his eyes losing focus - he knew that in a brief moment he would pass out and a sweet, deep sleep would follow.

  Mike lay on top of the musty, unmade bed and curled up into the foetal position as he drifted out of consciousness.

  5:17pm – The Ascent

  The warm waves of the calm, azure sea lapped gently onto the shore as gulls circled ahead. A warm breeze blew gently across his unshaven face as he lay on his back, staring up into the deep blue sky.

  “Wake up”

  Soft, golden sands stretched uninterrupted as far as the eye could see in each direction.

  “Wake up!”

  That voice again.

  He was supposed to be alone, nobody knew he was here.

  “Officer?”

  Something shook him roughly as he lay on the sand.

  “WAKE UP!”

  Mike opened his eyes to see Joseph leaning over him.

  The soft sand and calm ocean had been replaced by a harshly lit, poorly decorated bedroom.

  “You were gone so long I decided to come and check on you”, Joseph said, giving Mike some space to sit up, “And it’s a good job I did too!”

  Mike sat up holding his head in his hands to try to somehow ease the pain.

  “Sorry about that, “he began “I don’t know what came over me. I remember feeling faint and the next thing I know I’m here.”

  “Was I out for long”?

  “Not really”, Joseph replied, “but I just got a bit bothered when you didn’t answer me. I mean, anything could have happened to you in here.”

  “That other room…what on earth was he up to?”

  Mike stood up and walked towards the doorway, looking out at the landing.

  “Well I don’t know what was going through your friend’s head Joseph, but he was either trying to keep something in or something out of those rooms.”

  Mik
e sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, resting his head on his hands on the table next to the chair.

  As he did this his attention was drawn to a notepad on the table.

  He reached over and picked it up, the hand written title intrigued him.

  THEY WATCH AND WAIT

  It was a spiral bound reporters’ notepad with each page full of handwritten text on both sides of the paper.

  Mike flicked through the book until he reached a page that piqued his interest.

  THE VAN-HI’TE’

  The text was very small, so small in fact that the writer – presumably Foster – had managed to fit two lines of text for every one line on the paper.

  “You onto something there?” Joseph enquired.

  “Maybe…let me just read this bit and I will let you know.”

  They seek a way into our world from their own. If they notice you then they will attach themselves to you until such a time as they can gain entry to our plane. The more you look into their world, the stronger their bond to you will become. Once they gain entry into our world they seek out other portals to bring others through. These can be glass mirrors or anything with a reflection. They will seek to control the one that brought them through. The VAN-HI’TE’ are worshippers of themselves. Do not let them notice you. The link from our plane to theirs is weak but the pathways build in strength over time until they can attach to you. Once they attach they will not let go.

  Mike stopped reading for a moment and looked further down the page, finding another paragraph:

  …they will try to drive you to the point of madness. They move on a different level to ourselves. The VAN-HI’TE can rarely be seen. The VAN-HI’TE’ will only allow itself to be seen when it suits its will. Destroying or blocking a portal will anger a VAN-HI’TE’ and will make it fierce. If a portal is damaged deliberately to block a VAN-HI’TE’ then it will attach itself to that person for the rest of its life, bringing that person nothing but misery. Individual VAN-HI’TE’ who have come through will live for two thousand five hundred and fifty six days before they die.