Oh god, sometimes I wake up at night seeing the gleam of his teeth in the shadows lurking in my bedroom and my throat is too tight with terror to scream. He’s coming closer and I can’t make him go away, I’m too afraid, my blood is running cold and my muscles all seize up and my heart is beating a rapid message, telling me that this is new, this is wrong, all of a sudden I’m prey. The adrenaline surges and tries to make me leap into a run but he’s already on me, already lacing his cold cold fingers over my shoulders and drawing me to him. His mouth is cold on my skin but then blood spurts and it’s hot, burning against my skin with his icy lips like brands clamped on me.

I knew it was wrong when I saw that shine. He was already baring his teeth, the monster, already unsheathing the fangs when he slunk closer. He got excited, I guess, he made a sound, a growl that rumbled and muttered in his throat and then he pounced. He grabbed me and just bent me back, like I was a doll or a rabbit or something small and helpless that he could just throw about. Like a packet of ketchup. I was, I guess. I was small and helpless to him. I’ve been small and helpless ever since.

He let me go before I died. They must have to do that, otherwise the people wouldn’t survive, they’d all be left as cold bloodless corpses in the alleys and the corners of the city and the beasts would have to start feeding on rats and pigeons until there was no life left anywhere, and then I don’t know what would happen. I don’t go anywhere by myself anymore, I’m too scared. The next one might let me die. Even if he didn’t, I’d rather he did. I don’t want to be limp and hurting on the ground again. I don’t want to be clasped in freezing hands that dig into my flesh like something human, almost, except that doesn’t know I’m a person. There are more of them these days, stalking the city. They spot a flash of exposed flesh of a pulse beating in someone’s throat and then they hunt. They follow you, soundless in the shadows, until they can smell your fear because you know that you’re being followed in the part of your brain that knows it’s prey. That’s when they come for you. When the terror is rising, they shuffle closer. They slip through the dark and put cold hands on your warm living flesh. When you are afraid, when they can see your eyes go round with horror, when the shivering crawls in murmurs on your skin and your breath is coming short, they get you. Then they bite.


Journal of Relics

This piece of writing was found scratched onto the wooden wall of a house with what appears to have been a nail. The house has been uninhabited for nearly the century since it was built, and was condemned 75 years ago. For most of those 75 years it has remained in that state.

It has a local history of being used as a playplace for the children of the neighborhood and a dare on Halloween, but while children play games on the property, in the yard and the porch, nobody has been reported to go inside of the building since 1953.

“Hey – READ THIS. I know it is very strange to read something written on the side of a room of an old house, but this is important. Someone needs to know about this place. I came here by accident – this house is fifty years old, I was looking around. I needed to buy a house, I just got a job here, and this place was for sale though nobody had lived here for a long time. Since it was built, maybe. I came to look around and got a little spooked, because – look at this place. Anyway, I came back because there really wasn’t anywhere else and the point is there’s something here. Ghosts. I don’t think it is actually ghosts, or can’t be but I wanted to write it down I’m not sure how much time I have. It seems like ghosts. There are strange sounds, it sounds like somebody else is here and I’m so scared. I want to leave, I was supposed to be back at work an hour ago, but I tried to leave and I couldn’t. I don’t even know why. I don’t think the door is locked and I’ve been trying to walk out of the room but it’s either that I just end up back here or I don’t know I give up. Not on purpose. I want to leave. But I can hear something and it’s shuffling around and this place smells odd, I don’t know what it smells like but kind of cold and flat. It’s making my nose itch. Anyway I don’t know what that thing is maybe it’s just a burglar – just, right, but maybe it’s a person. In any case it’s a person trespassing making strange noises and I can’t leave and I really want to believe it’s a person. If you’re reading this get out, I don’t know what is happening but don’t be like this. Don’t do this. I stayed, I wanted to look around. Don’t. There’s things. And maybe a person. I tried to leave but I couldn’t and I can hear it I don’t know if it knows I’m here but maybe ”

This journal has no data on the identity of the author of this message, or an exact date regarding the time it was written. If a reader has any information, please forward it to GreenHouse Realty, 54 Pond St. The company has requested any knowledge of the house to add to their existing description, as the house is once again on the market.