How to do graffiti letters a-z
All things NFA
2010.11.29 14:36 Mr45 All things NFA
A community of hobbyists interested in NFA items, history, and news. We seek to expand general understanding of the laws collectively referred to as the National Firearms Act and their implications for gun owners and citizens of today. Silencer, SBR, SBS, DD, AOW, and MG posts are all welcome here. Content suggesting non-compliance or discouraging NFA ownership will not be tolerated.
2014.05.01 01:56 J0j2 Found Pieces of Paper
Photographs of found pieces of paper with writing on them, photographs or discarded cutouts. Appreciate the forgotten artifacts of everyday life. Share any paper that you found (on the ground, stuck in some bushes or between cans of soup at the store for example) and you do not know who wrote it. Love letters, doodles, interesting to-do or grocery lists, notes from the past - share your discovery with us!
2018.09.12 02:33 MasterOfTrolls4 Chonkers
http://redd.it/1476ioa
2024.04.29 00:05 HughEhhoule Bait Dog
“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
submitted by HughEhhoule to nosleep [link] [comments]
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
2024.04.29 00:04 HughEhhoule Bait Dog
“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
submitted by HughEhhoule to Pituniverse [link] [comments]
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
2024.04.28 19:11 SieteSeven77_ Basic Config 2.
Access Methods
A switch will forward traffic by default and does not need to be explicitly configured to operate. For example, two configured hosts connected to the same new switch would be able to communicate.
Regardless of the default behavior of a new switch, all switches should be configured and secured.
Table caption
Method Description
Console This is a physical management port that provides out-of-band access to a Cisco device. Out-of-band access refers to access via a dedicated management channel that is used for device maintenance purposes only. The advantage of using a console port is that the device is accessible even if no networking services are configured, such as performing the initial configuration. A computer running terminal emulation software and a special console cable to connect to the device are required for a console connection.
Secure Shell (SSH) SSH is an in-band and recommended method for remotely establishing a secure CLI connection, through a virtual interface, over a network. Unlike a console connection, SSH connections require active networking services on the device, including an active interface configured with an address. Most versions of Cisco IOS include an SSH server and an SSH client that can be used to establish SSH sessions with other devices.
Telnet Telnet is an insecure, in-band method of remotely establishing a CLI session, through a virtual interface, over a network. Unlike SSH, Telnet does not provide a secure, encrypted connection and should only be used in a lab environment. User authentication, passwords, and commands are sent over the network in plaintext. The best practice is to use SSH instead of Telnet. Cisco IOS includes both a Telnet server and Telnet client. Note: Some devices, such as routers, may also support a legacy auxiliary port that was used to establish a CLI session remotely over a telephone connection using a modem. Similar to a console connection, the AUX port is out-of-band and does not require networking services to be configured or available.
2.1.5 Terminal Emulation Programs There are several terminal emulation programs you can use to connect to a networking device either by a serial connection over a console port, or by an SSH/Telnet connection. These programs allow you to enhance your productivity by adjusting window sizes, changing font sizes, and changing color schemes.
IOS Navigation
2.2.1 Primary Command Modes
In the previous topic, you learned that all network devices require an OS and that they can be configured using the CLI or a GUI. Using the CLI may provide the network administrator with more precise control and flexibility than using the GUI. This topic discusses using CLI to navigate the Cisco IOS.
As a security feature, the Cisco IOS software separates management access into the following two command modes:
User EXEC Mode - This mode has limited capabilities but is useful for basic operations. It allows only a limited number of basic monitoring commands but does not allow the execution of any commands that might change the configuration of the device. The user EXEC mode is identified by the CLI prompt that ends with the > symbol.
Privileged EXEC Mode - To execute configuration commands, a network administrator must access privileged EXEC mode. Higher configuration modes, like global configuration mode, can only be reached from privileged EXEC mode. The privileged EXEC mode can be identified by the prompt ending with the # symbol. The table summarizes the two modes and displays the default CLI prompts of a Cisco switch and router.
Table caption Command Mode Description Default Device Prompt User Exec Mode Mode allows access to only a limited number of basic monitoring commands. It is often referred to as “view-only" mode. Switch> Router> Privileged EXEC Mode Mode allows access to all commands and features. The user can use any monitoring commands and execute configuration and management commands. Switch# Router#
2.2.2 Configuration Mode and Subconfiguration Modes To configure the device, the user must enter global configuration mode, which is commonly called global config mode.
From global config mode, CLI configuration changes are made that affect the operation of the device as a whole. Global configuration mode is identified by a prompt that ends with (config)# after the device name, such as Switch(config)#.
Global configuration mode is accessed before other specific configuration modes. From global config mode, the user can enter different subconfiguration modes. Each of these modes allows the configuration of a particular part or function of the IOS device. Two common subconfiguration modes include:
Line Configuration Mode - Used to configure console, SSH, Telnet, or AUX access. Interface Configuration Mode - Used to configure a switch port or router network interface. When the CLI is used, the mode is identified by the command-line prompt that is unique to that mode. By default, every prompt begins with the device name. Following the name, the remainder of the prompt indicates the mode. For example, the default prompt for line configuration mode is Switch(config-line)# and the default prompt for interface configuration mode is Switch(config-if)#.
Navigate Between IOS Modes Various commands are used to move in and out of command prompts. To move from user EXEC mode to privileged EXEC mode, use the enable command. Use the disable privileged EXEC mode command to return to user EXEC mode.
Note: Privileged EXEC mode is sometimes called enable mode.
To move in and out of global configuration mode, use the configure terminal privileged EXEC mode command. To return to the privileged EXEC mode, enter the exit global config mode command.
There are many different subconfiguration modes. For example, to enter line subconfiguration mode, you use the line command followed by the management line type and number you wish to access. Use the exit command to exit a subconfiguration mode and return to global configuration mode.
Switch(config)# line console 0 Switch(config-line)# exit Switch(config)# To move from any subconfiguration mode of the global configuration mode to the mode one step above it in the hierarchy of modes, enter the exit command.
To move from any subconfiguration mode to the privileged EXEC mode, enter the end command or enter the key combination Ctrl+Z.
Switch(config-line)# end Switch# You can also move directly from one subconfiguration mode to another. Notice how after selecting an interface, the command prompt changes from (config-line)# to (config-if)#.
Switch(config-line)# interface FastEthernet 0/1 Switch(config-if)#
Basic IOS Command Structure This topic covers the basic structure of commands for the Cisco IOS. A network administrator must know the basic IOS command structure to be able to use the CLI for device configuration.
A Cisco IOS device supports many commands. Each IOS command has a specific format, or syntax, and can only be executed in the appropriate mode. The general syntax for a command, shown in the figure, is the command followed by any appropriate keywords and arguments.
Keyword - This is a specific parameter defined in the operating system (in the figure, ip protocols). Argument - This is not predefined; it is a value or variable defined by the user (in the figure, 192.168.10.5). After entering each complete command, including any keywords and arguments, press the Enter key to submit the command to the command interpreter.
Hot Keys and Shortcuts The IOS CLI provides hot keys and shortcuts that make configuring, monitoring, and troubleshooting easier.
Commands and keywords can be shortened to the minimum number of characters that identify a unique selection. For example, the configure command can be shortened to conf because configure is the only command that begins with conf. An even shorter version, con, will not work because more than one command begins with con. Keywords can also be shortened.
The table lists keystrokes to enhance command line editing.
Device Names You have learned a great deal about the Cisco IOS, navigating the IOS, and the command structure. Now, you are ready to configure devices! The first configuration command on any device should be to give it a unique device name or hostname. By default, all devices are assigned a factory default name. For example, a Cisco IOS switch is "Switch."
The problem is if all switches in a network were left with their default names, it would be difficult to identify a specific device. For instance, how would you know that you are connected to the right device when accessing it remotely using SSH? The hostname provides confirmation that you are connected to the correct device.
The default name should be changed to something more descriptive. By choosing names wisely, it is easier to remember, document, and identify network devices. Here are some important naming guidelines for hosts:
Start with a letter Contain no spaces End with a letter or digit Use only letters, digits, and dashes Be less than 64 characters in length An organization must choose a naming convention that makes it easy and intuitive to identify a specific device. The hostnames used in the device IOS preserve capitalization and lowercase characters. For example, the figure shows that three switches, spanning three different floors, are interconnected together in a network. The naming convention that was used incorporated the location and the purpose of each device. Network documentation should explain how these names were chosen so additional devices can be named accordingly.
The diagram shows three interconnected switches spanning three floors. The top switch is named Sw-Floor-3, the middle switch is named Sw-Floor-2, and the bottom switch is name Sw-Floor-1. A user sitting at a host PC is connected to the Sw-Floor-1 switch. Text at bottom reads: when network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
Password Guidelines The use of weak or easily guessed passwords continues to be the biggest security concern of organizations. Network devices, including home wireless routers, should always have passwords configured to limit administrative access.
Cisco IOS can be configured to use hierarchical mode passwords to allow different access privileges to a network device.
All networking devices should limit administrative access by securing privileged EXEC, user EXEC, and remote Telnet access with passwords. In addition, all passwords should be encrypted and legal notifications provided.
When choosing passwords, use strong passwords that are not easily guessed. There are some key points to consider when choosing passwords:
Use passwords that are more than eight characters in length. Use a combination of upper and lowercase letters, numbers, special characters, and/or numeric sequences. Avoid using the same password for all devices. Do not use common words because they are easily guessed. Use an internet search to find a password generator. Many will allow you to set the length, character set, and other parameters.
Introduction to Networks v7.02 Basic Switch and End Device Configuration … Basic Device Configuration
2.4.1 Device Names You have learned a great deal about the Cisco IOS, navigating the IOS, and the command structure. Now, you are ready to configure devices! The first configuration command on any device should be to give it a unique device name or hostname. By default, all devices are assigned a factory default name. For example, a Cisco IOS switch is "Switch."
The problem is if all switches in a network were left with their default names, it would be difficult to identify a specific device. For instance, how would you know that you are connected to the right device when accessing it remotely using SSH? The hostname provides confirmation that you are connected to the correct device.
The default name should be changed to something more descriptive. By choosing names wisely, it is easier to remember, document, and identify network devices. Here are some important naming guidelines for hosts:
Start with a letter Contain no spaces End with a letter or digit Use only letters, digits, and dashes Be less than 64 characters in length An organization must choose a naming convention that makes it easy and intuitive to identify a specific device. The hostnames used in the device IOS preserve capitalization and lowercase characters. For example, the figure shows that three switches, spanning three different floors, are interconnected together in a network. The naming convention that was used incorporated the location and the purpose of each device. Network documentation should explain how these names were chosen so additional devices can be named accordingly.
The diagram shows three interconnected switches spanning three floors. The top switch is named Sw-Floor-3, the middle switch is named Sw-Floor-2, and the bottom switch is name Sw-Floor-1. A user sitting at a host PC is connected to the Sw-Floor-1 switch. Text at bottom reads: when network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
Sw-Floor-3Sw-Floor-2Sw-Floor-1 When network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
When the naming convention has been identified, the next step is to use the CLI to apply the names to the devices. As shown in the example, from the privileged EXEC mode, access the global configuration mode by entering the configure terminal command. Notice the change in the command prompt.
Switch# configure terminal Switch(config)# hostname Sw-Floor-1 Sw-Floor-1(config)# From global configuration mode, enter the command hostname followed by the name of the switch and press Enter. Notice the change in the command prompt name.
Note: To return the switch to the default prompt, use the no hostname global config command.
Always make sure the documentation is updated each time a device is added or modified. Identify devices in the documentation by their location, purpose, and address.
2.4.2 Password Guidelines The use of weak or easily guessed passwords continues to be the biggest security concern of organizations. Network devices, including home wireless routers, should always have passwords configured to limit administrative access.
Cisco IOS can be configured to use hierarchical mode passwords to allow different access privileges to a network device.
All networking devices should limit administrative access by securing privileged EXEC, user EXEC, and remote Telnet access with passwords. In addition, all passwords should be encrypted and legal notifications provided.
When choosing passwords, use strong passwords that are not easily guessed. There are some key points to consider when choosing passwords:
Use passwords that are more than eight characters in length. Use a combination of upper and lowercase letters, numbers, special characters, and/or numeric sequences. Avoid using the same password for all devices. Do not use common words because they are easily guessed. Use an internet search to find a password generator. Many will allow you to set the length, character set, and other parameters.
Note: Most of the labs in this course use simple passwords such as cisco or class. These passwords are considered weak and easily guessable and should be avoided in production environments. We only use these passwords for convenience in a classroom setting, or to illustrate configuration examples.
2.4.3 Configure Passwords When you initially connect to a device, you are in user EXEC mode. This mode is secured using the console.
To secure user EXEC mode access, enter line console configuration mode using the line console 0 global configuration command, as shown in the example. The zero is used to represent the first (and in most cases the only) console interface. Next, specify the user EXEC mode password using the password password command. Finally, enable user EXEC access using the login command.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# line console 0 Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# password cisco Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# login Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# end Sw-Floor-1# Console access will now require a password before allowing access to the user EXEC mode.
To have administrator access to all IOS commands including configuring a device, you must gain privileged EXEC mode access. It is the most important access method because it provides complete access to the device.
To secure privileged EXEC access, use the enable secret password global config command, as shown in the example.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# enable secret class Sw-Floor-1(config)# exit Sw-Floor-1# Virtual terminal (VTY) lines enable remote access using Telnet or SSH to the device. Many Cisco switches support up to 16 VTY lines that are numbered 0 to 15.
To secure VTY lines, enter line VTY mode using the line vty 0 15 global config command. Next, specify the VTY password using the password password command. Lastly, enable VTY access using the login command.
An example of securing the VTY lines on a switch is shown.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# line vty 0 15 Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# password cisco Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# login Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# end Sw-Floor-1#
2.4.4 Encrypt Passwords The startup-config and running-config files display most passwords in plaintext. This is a security threat because anyone can discover the passwords if they have access to these files.
To encrypt all plaintext passwords, use the service password-encryption global config command as shown in the example.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# service password-encryption Sw-Floor-1(config)# The command applies weak encryption to all unencrypted passwords. This encryption applies only to passwords in the configuration file, not to passwords as they are sent over the network. The purpose of this command is to keep unauthorized individuals from viewing passwords in the configuration file.
Use the show running-config command to verify that passwords are now encrypted.
Sw-Floor-1(config)# end Sw-Floor-1# show running-config ! (Output omitted) ! line con 0 password 7 094F471A1A0A login ! line vty 0 4 password 7 094F471A1A0A login line vty 5 15 password 7 094F471A1A0A login ! ! end
Save Configurations
2.5.1 Configuration Files You now know how to perform basic configuration on a switch, including passwords and banner messages. This topic will show you how to save your configurations.
There are two system files that store the device configuration:
startup-config - This is the saved configuration file that is stored in NVRAM. It contains all the commands that will be used by the device upon startup or reboot. Flash does not lose its contents when the device is powered off. running-config - This is stored in Random Access Memory (RAM). It reflects the current configuration. Modifying a running configuration affects the operation of a Cisco device immediately. RAM is volatile memory. It loses all of its content when the device is powered off or restarted. The show running-config privileged EXEC mode command is used to view the running config. As shown in the example, the command will list the complete configuration currently stored in RAM.
Sw-Floor-1# show running-config Building configuration... Current configuration : 1351 bytes ! ! Last configuration change at 00:01:20 UTC Mon Mar 1 1993 ! version 15.0 no service pad service timestamps debug datetime msec service timestamps log datetime msec service password-encryption ! hostname Sw-Floor-1 ! (output omitted) To view the startup configuration file, use the show startup-config privileged EXEC command.
If power to the device is lost, or if the device is restarted, all configuration changes will be lost unless they have been saved. To save changes made to the running configuration to the startup configuration file, use the copy running-config startup-config privileged EXEC mode command.
2.5.2 Alter the Running Configuration If changes made to the running config do not have the desired effect and the running-config has not yet been saved, you can restore the device to its previous configuration. Remove the changed commands individually, or reload the device using the reload privileged EXEC mode command to restore the startup-config.
The downside to using the reload command to remove an unsaved running config is the brief amount of time the device will be offline, causing network downtime.
When a reload is initiated, the IOS will detect that the running config has changes that were not saved to the startup configuration. A prompt will appear to ask whether to save the changes. To discard the changes, enter n or no.
Alternatively, if undesired changes were saved to the startup config, it may be necessary to clear all the configurations. This requires erasing the startup config and restarting the device. The startup config is removed by using the erase startup-config privileged EXEC mode command. After the command is issued, the switch will prompt you for confirmation. Press Enter to accept.
After removing the startup config from NVRAM, reload the device to remove the current running config file from RAM. On reload, a switch will load the default startup config that originally shipped with the device.
submitted by SieteSeven77_ to u/SieteSeven77_ [link] [comments]
A switch will forward traffic by default and does not need to be explicitly configured to operate. For example, two configured hosts connected to the same new switch would be able to communicate.
Regardless of the default behavior of a new switch, all switches should be configured and secured.
Table caption
Method Description
Console This is a physical management port that provides out-of-band access to a Cisco device. Out-of-band access refers to access via a dedicated management channel that is used for device maintenance purposes only. The advantage of using a console port is that the device is accessible even if no networking services are configured, such as performing the initial configuration. A computer running terminal emulation software and a special console cable to connect to the device are required for a console connection.
Secure Shell (SSH) SSH is an in-band and recommended method for remotely establishing a secure CLI connection, through a virtual interface, over a network. Unlike a console connection, SSH connections require active networking services on the device, including an active interface configured with an address. Most versions of Cisco IOS include an SSH server and an SSH client that can be used to establish SSH sessions with other devices.
Telnet Telnet is an insecure, in-band method of remotely establishing a CLI session, through a virtual interface, over a network. Unlike SSH, Telnet does not provide a secure, encrypted connection and should only be used in a lab environment. User authentication, passwords, and commands are sent over the network in plaintext. The best practice is to use SSH instead of Telnet. Cisco IOS includes both a Telnet server and Telnet client. Note: Some devices, such as routers, may also support a legacy auxiliary port that was used to establish a CLI session remotely over a telephone connection using a modem. Similar to a console connection, the AUX port is out-of-band and does not require networking services to be configured or available.
2.1.5 Terminal Emulation Programs There are several terminal emulation programs you can use to connect to a networking device either by a serial connection over a console port, or by an SSH/Telnet connection. These programs allow you to enhance your productivity by adjusting window sizes, changing font sizes, and changing color schemes.
IOS Navigation
2.2.1 Primary Command Modes
In the previous topic, you learned that all network devices require an OS and that they can be configured using the CLI or a GUI. Using the CLI may provide the network administrator with more precise control and flexibility than using the GUI. This topic discusses using CLI to navigate the Cisco IOS.
As a security feature, the Cisco IOS software separates management access into the following two command modes:
User EXEC Mode - This mode has limited capabilities but is useful for basic operations. It allows only a limited number of basic monitoring commands but does not allow the execution of any commands that might change the configuration of the device. The user EXEC mode is identified by the CLI prompt that ends with the > symbol.
Privileged EXEC Mode - To execute configuration commands, a network administrator must access privileged EXEC mode. Higher configuration modes, like global configuration mode, can only be reached from privileged EXEC mode. The privileged EXEC mode can be identified by the prompt ending with the # symbol. The table summarizes the two modes and displays the default CLI prompts of a Cisco switch and router.
Table caption Command Mode Description Default Device Prompt User Exec Mode Mode allows access to only a limited number of basic monitoring commands. It is often referred to as “view-only" mode. Switch> Router> Privileged EXEC Mode Mode allows access to all commands and features. The user can use any monitoring commands and execute configuration and management commands. Switch# Router#
2.2.2 Configuration Mode and Subconfiguration Modes To configure the device, the user must enter global configuration mode, which is commonly called global config mode.
From global config mode, CLI configuration changes are made that affect the operation of the device as a whole. Global configuration mode is identified by a prompt that ends with (config)# after the device name, such as Switch(config)#.
Global configuration mode is accessed before other specific configuration modes. From global config mode, the user can enter different subconfiguration modes. Each of these modes allows the configuration of a particular part or function of the IOS device. Two common subconfiguration modes include:
Line Configuration Mode - Used to configure console, SSH, Telnet, or AUX access. Interface Configuration Mode - Used to configure a switch port or router network interface. When the CLI is used, the mode is identified by the command-line prompt that is unique to that mode. By default, every prompt begins with the device name. Following the name, the remainder of the prompt indicates the mode. For example, the default prompt for line configuration mode is Switch(config-line)# and the default prompt for interface configuration mode is Switch(config-if)#.
Navigate Between IOS Modes Various commands are used to move in and out of command prompts. To move from user EXEC mode to privileged EXEC mode, use the enable command. Use the disable privileged EXEC mode command to return to user EXEC mode.
Note: Privileged EXEC mode is sometimes called enable mode.
To move in and out of global configuration mode, use the configure terminal privileged EXEC mode command. To return to the privileged EXEC mode, enter the exit global config mode command.
There are many different subconfiguration modes. For example, to enter line subconfiguration mode, you use the line command followed by the management line type and number you wish to access. Use the exit command to exit a subconfiguration mode and return to global configuration mode.
Switch(config)# line console 0 Switch(config-line)# exit Switch(config)# To move from any subconfiguration mode of the global configuration mode to the mode one step above it in the hierarchy of modes, enter the exit command.
To move from any subconfiguration mode to the privileged EXEC mode, enter the end command or enter the key combination Ctrl+Z.
Switch(config-line)# end Switch# You can also move directly from one subconfiguration mode to another. Notice how after selecting an interface, the command prompt changes from (config-line)# to (config-if)#.
Switch(config-line)# interface FastEthernet 0/1 Switch(config-if)#
Basic IOS Command Structure This topic covers the basic structure of commands for the Cisco IOS. A network administrator must know the basic IOS command structure to be able to use the CLI for device configuration.
A Cisco IOS device supports many commands. Each IOS command has a specific format, or syntax, and can only be executed in the appropriate mode. The general syntax for a command, shown in the figure, is the command followed by any appropriate keywords and arguments.
Keyword - This is a specific parameter defined in the operating system (in the figure, ip protocols). Argument - This is not predefined; it is a value or variable defined by the user (in the figure, 192.168.10.5). After entering each complete command, including any keywords and arguments, press the Enter key to submit the command to the command interpreter.
Hot Keys and Shortcuts The IOS CLI provides hot keys and shortcuts that make configuring, monitoring, and troubleshooting easier.
Commands and keywords can be shortened to the minimum number of characters that identify a unique selection. For example, the configure command can be shortened to conf because configure is the only command that begins with conf. An even shorter version, con, will not work because more than one command begins with con. Keywords can also be shortened.
The table lists keystrokes to enhance command line editing.
Device Names You have learned a great deal about the Cisco IOS, navigating the IOS, and the command structure. Now, you are ready to configure devices! The first configuration command on any device should be to give it a unique device name or hostname. By default, all devices are assigned a factory default name. For example, a Cisco IOS switch is "Switch."
The problem is if all switches in a network were left with their default names, it would be difficult to identify a specific device. For instance, how would you know that you are connected to the right device when accessing it remotely using SSH? The hostname provides confirmation that you are connected to the correct device.
The default name should be changed to something more descriptive. By choosing names wisely, it is easier to remember, document, and identify network devices. Here are some important naming guidelines for hosts:
Start with a letter Contain no spaces End with a letter or digit Use only letters, digits, and dashes Be less than 64 characters in length An organization must choose a naming convention that makes it easy and intuitive to identify a specific device. The hostnames used in the device IOS preserve capitalization and lowercase characters. For example, the figure shows that three switches, spanning three different floors, are interconnected together in a network. The naming convention that was used incorporated the location and the purpose of each device. Network documentation should explain how these names were chosen so additional devices can be named accordingly.
The diagram shows three interconnected switches spanning three floors. The top switch is named Sw-Floor-3, the middle switch is named Sw-Floor-2, and the bottom switch is name Sw-Floor-1. A user sitting at a host PC is connected to the Sw-Floor-1 switch. Text at bottom reads: when network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
Password Guidelines The use of weak or easily guessed passwords continues to be the biggest security concern of organizations. Network devices, including home wireless routers, should always have passwords configured to limit administrative access.
Cisco IOS can be configured to use hierarchical mode passwords to allow different access privileges to a network device.
All networking devices should limit administrative access by securing privileged EXEC, user EXEC, and remote Telnet access with passwords. In addition, all passwords should be encrypted and legal notifications provided.
When choosing passwords, use strong passwords that are not easily guessed. There are some key points to consider when choosing passwords:
Use passwords that are more than eight characters in length. Use a combination of upper and lowercase letters, numbers, special characters, and/or numeric sequences. Avoid using the same password for all devices. Do not use common words because they are easily guessed. Use an internet search to find a password generator. Many will allow you to set the length, character set, and other parameters.
Introduction to Networks v7.02 Basic Switch and End Device Configuration … Basic Device Configuration
2.4.1 Device Names You have learned a great deal about the Cisco IOS, navigating the IOS, and the command structure. Now, you are ready to configure devices! The first configuration command on any device should be to give it a unique device name or hostname. By default, all devices are assigned a factory default name. For example, a Cisco IOS switch is "Switch."
The problem is if all switches in a network were left with their default names, it would be difficult to identify a specific device. For instance, how would you know that you are connected to the right device when accessing it remotely using SSH? The hostname provides confirmation that you are connected to the correct device.
The default name should be changed to something more descriptive. By choosing names wisely, it is easier to remember, document, and identify network devices. Here are some important naming guidelines for hosts:
Start with a letter Contain no spaces End with a letter or digit Use only letters, digits, and dashes Be less than 64 characters in length An organization must choose a naming convention that makes it easy and intuitive to identify a specific device. The hostnames used in the device IOS preserve capitalization and lowercase characters. For example, the figure shows that three switches, spanning three different floors, are interconnected together in a network. The naming convention that was used incorporated the location and the purpose of each device. Network documentation should explain how these names were chosen so additional devices can be named accordingly.
The diagram shows three interconnected switches spanning three floors. The top switch is named Sw-Floor-3, the middle switch is named Sw-Floor-2, and the bottom switch is name Sw-Floor-1. A user sitting at a host PC is connected to the Sw-Floor-1 switch. Text at bottom reads: when network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
Sw-Floor-3Sw-Floor-2Sw-Floor-1 When network devices are named, they are easy to identify for configuration purposes.
When the naming convention has been identified, the next step is to use the CLI to apply the names to the devices. As shown in the example, from the privileged EXEC mode, access the global configuration mode by entering the configure terminal command. Notice the change in the command prompt.
Switch# configure terminal Switch(config)# hostname Sw-Floor-1 Sw-Floor-1(config)# From global configuration mode, enter the command hostname followed by the name of the switch and press Enter. Notice the change in the command prompt name.
Note: To return the switch to the default prompt, use the no hostname global config command.
Always make sure the documentation is updated each time a device is added or modified. Identify devices in the documentation by their location, purpose, and address.
2.4.2 Password Guidelines The use of weak or easily guessed passwords continues to be the biggest security concern of organizations. Network devices, including home wireless routers, should always have passwords configured to limit administrative access.
Cisco IOS can be configured to use hierarchical mode passwords to allow different access privileges to a network device.
All networking devices should limit administrative access by securing privileged EXEC, user EXEC, and remote Telnet access with passwords. In addition, all passwords should be encrypted and legal notifications provided.
When choosing passwords, use strong passwords that are not easily guessed. There are some key points to consider when choosing passwords:
Use passwords that are more than eight characters in length. Use a combination of upper and lowercase letters, numbers, special characters, and/or numeric sequences. Avoid using the same password for all devices. Do not use common words because they are easily guessed. Use an internet search to find a password generator. Many will allow you to set the length, character set, and other parameters.
Note: Most of the labs in this course use simple passwords such as cisco or class. These passwords are considered weak and easily guessable and should be avoided in production environments. We only use these passwords for convenience in a classroom setting, or to illustrate configuration examples.
2.4.3 Configure Passwords When you initially connect to a device, you are in user EXEC mode. This mode is secured using the console.
To secure user EXEC mode access, enter line console configuration mode using the line console 0 global configuration command, as shown in the example. The zero is used to represent the first (and in most cases the only) console interface. Next, specify the user EXEC mode password using the password password command. Finally, enable user EXEC access using the login command.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# line console 0 Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# password cisco Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# login Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# end Sw-Floor-1# Console access will now require a password before allowing access to the user EXEC mode.
To have administrator access to all IOS commands including configuring a device, you must gain privileged EXEC mode access. It is the most important access method because it provides complete access to the device.
To secure privileged EXEC access, use the enable secret password global config command, as shown in the example.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# enable secret class Sw-Floor-1(config)# exit Sw-Floor-1# Virtual terminal (VTY) lines enable remote access using Telnet or SSH to the device. Many Cisco switches support up to 16 VTY lines that are numbered 0 to 15.
To secure VTY lines, enter line VTY mode using the line vty 0 15 global config command. Next, specify the VTY password using the password password command. Lastly, enable VTY access using the login command.
An example of securing the VTY lines on a switch is shown.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# line vty 0 15 Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# password cisco Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# login Sw-Floor-1(config-line)# end Sw-Floor-1#
2.4.4 Encrypt Passwords The startup-config and running-config files display most passwords in plaintext. This is a security threat because anyone can discover the passwords if they have access to these files.
To encrypt all plaintext passwords, use the service password-encryption global config command as shown in the example.
Sw-Floor-1# configure terminal Sw-Floor-1(config)# service password-encryption Sw-Floor-1(config)# The command applies weak encryption to all unencrypted passwords. This encryption applies only to passwords in the configuration file, not to passwords as they are sent over the network. The purpose of this command is to keep unauthorized individuals from viewing passwords in the configuration file.
Use the show running-config command to verify that passwords are now encrypted.
Sw-Floor-1(config)# end Sw-Floor-1# show running-config ! (Output omitted) ! line con 0 password 7 094F471A1A0A login ! line vty 0 4 password 7 094F471A1A0A login line vty 5 15 password 7 094F471A1A0A login ! ! end
Save Configurations
2.5.1 Configuration Files You now know how to perform basic configuration on a switch, including passwords and banner messages. This topic will show you how to save your configurations.
There are two system files that store the device configuration:
startup-config - This is the saved configuration file that is stored in NVRAM. It contains all the commands that will be used by the device upon startup or reboot. Flash does not lose its contents when the device is powered off. running-config - This is stored in Random Access Memory (RAM). It reflects the current configuration. Modifying a running configuration affects the operation of a Cisco device immediately. RAM is volatile memory. It loses all of its content when the device is powered off or restarted. The show running-config privileged EXEC mode command is used to view the running config. As shown in the example, the command will list the complete configuration currently stored in RAM.
Sw-Floor-1# show running-config Building configuration... Current configuration : 1351 bytes ! ! Last configuration change at 00:01:20 UTC Mon Mar 1 1993 ! version 15.0 no service pad service timestamps debug datetime msec service timestamps log datetime msec service password-encryption ! hostname Sw-Floor-1 ! (output omitted) To view the startup configuration file, use the show startup-config privileged EXEC command.
If power to the device is lost, or if the device is restarted, all configuration changes will be lost unless they have been saved. To save changes made to the running configuration to the startup configuration file, use the copy running-config startup-config privileged EXEC mode command.
2.5.2 Alter the Running Configuration If changes made to the running config do not have the desired effect and the running-config has not yet been saved, you can restore the device to its previous configuration. Remove the changed commands individually, or reload the device using the reload privileged EXEC mode command to restore the startup-config.
The downside to using the reload command to remove an unsaved running config is the brief amount of time the device will be offline, causing network downtime.
When a reload is initiated, the IOS will detect that the running config has changes that were not saved to the startup configuration. A prompt will appear to ask whether to save the changes. To discard the changes, enter n or no.
Alternatively, if undesired changes were saved to the startup config, it may be necessary to clear all the configurations. This requires erasing the startup config and restarting the device. The startup config is removed by using the erase startup-config privileged EXEC mode command. After the command is issued, the switch will prompt you for confirmation. Press Enter to accept.
After removing the startup config from NVRAM, reload the device to remove the current running config file from RAM. On reload, a switch will load the default startup config that originally shipped with the device.
2024.04.28 16:05 calvin324hk [H] 1000+ Games / DLCs / VR Games [W] Paypal / Wishlist / Offers
https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
DLCs and Softwares:
submitted by calvin324hk to SteamGameSwap [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
- 10 Second Ninja X
- 11-11 Memories Retold
- 112 Operator
- 12 is Better Than 6
- 198X
- 1993 Space Machine
- 60 Parsecs
- 7 Billion Humans
- 8 DOORS
- 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
- A Hat in Time
- A Hole New World
- A JUGGLER'S TALE
- A Long Way Down
- A Robot Named Fight!
- A Tale for Anna
- A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
- Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
- Adore
- Aeterna Noctis
- AETHERIS
- Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
- AIdol
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
- Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
- Alfred Hitchcock - Vertigo
- Alien Breed Trilogy
- Aliens vs. Predator™ Collection
- All-Star Fruit Racing
- Almost There: The Platformer
- American Fugitive
- Amerzone: The Explorer’s Legacy
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia rebirth
- Amnesia: The Dark Descent + Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
- Anomalous
- Another World – 20th Anniversary Edition
- Antigraviator
- Anuchard
- APICO
- APICO
- Aragami
- Aragami 2
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Paradise - Arcade Paradise EP
- Arcade Spirits
- Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
- Armada 2526 Gold Edition
- Army Men RTS
- army of ruin
- Arto
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far as the Eye
- Ascension to the Throne
- Assemble With Care
- Assetto Corsa Competizione
- Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition
- Astronarch
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Automachef
- Automobilista
- Automobilista 2
- AUTONAUTS
- AUTONAUTS VS PIRATEBOTS
- Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora™ - Ubisoft Connect
- AVICII Invector: Encore Edition
- Awesomenauts All Nauts pack
- Baba is you
- Back 4 Blood
- Back 4 blood (EU)
- Backbone
- Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition
- Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition
- Banners of Ruin
- Bartlow's Dread Machine
- BASEMENT
- Batbarian: Testament of the Primordials
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham City - Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Knight Premium Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battle Royale Tycoon
- Battlecruisers
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock
- BATTLESTAR GALACTICA DEADLOCK SEASON ONE
- BATTLETECH MERCENARY COLLECTION
- BATTLETECH Shadow Hawk Pack
- BEAUTIFUL DESOLATION
- BEFORE WE LEAVE
- Beholder 2
- Ben 10
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Bendy and the Ink Machine™
- Between the Stars
- Beyond a Steel Sky
- Beyond The Edge Of Owlsgard
- Beyond the Long Night
- BEYOND THE WIRE
- Beyond: Two Souls
- Bionic Commando
- Bionic Commando Rearmed
- BioShock: The Collection
- BLACK BOOK
- Black Moon Chronicles
- Black Paradox
- BLACK SKYLANDS
- BLACKHOLE: Complete Edition
- Blacksad: Under the Skin
- Blade of Darkness
- Blasphemous
- Blazing Chrome
- Blightbound
- Blood And Zombies
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night
- Bomber Crew
- Boneless Zombie
- Boneraiser Minions
- Boomerang Fu
- Borderlands 3
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe Edition
- Borderlands: The Handsome Collection
- Bot Vice
- Bounty of One
- Brawlout
- Breakout: Recharged
- Breathedge
- bridge constructor
- Bridge constructor medieval
- bridge constructor stunts
- Broken Lines
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
- BUILDER SIMULATOR
- calico
- Call of Duty® Modern Warfare 3™ (2011)
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2015
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2018
- Castle Morihisa
- Castle on the Coast
- castle storm
- CastleStorm
- Cat Cafe Manager
- Caveblazers
- Celeste
- Centipede: Recharged
- CHANGE: A Homeless Survival Experience
- Charlie's Adventure
- Chenso Club
- Chernobylite: Enhanced Edition
- Chess Ultra
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Chivalry 2
- Chop Goblins
- Chorus
- Cities Skylines + After Dark
- Cities: Skylines
- City of Beats
- CivCity: Rome
- Click and Slay
- Cloud Gardens
- Cloudpunk
- Code Vein
- Coffee Talk
- Comedy Night
- Command & Conquer Remastered (Origin)
- Complete Dread X Collection
- Conarium
- Construction Simulator (2015) Deluxe Edition
- Constructor Plus
- Cook serve delicious
- Corridor Z
- Cosmic Osmo and the Worlds Beyond the Mackerel
- Cosmonautica
- Crash Drive 2
- Crash Drive 3
- Creaks
- Creepy Tale
- Crookz the big heist
- CROSSBOW: Bloodnight
- Crush Your Enemies
- Cube Runner
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cyber Ops
- Cybercube
- Danger Scavenger
- Dark Deity
- DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: HOUSE OF ASHES
- Darksiders Warmastered
- Darkwood
- DARQ: Complete Edition
- Day of the Tentacle Remastered
- days of war definitive edition
- Dead by Daylight
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death Stranding Directors Cut
- DEATH STRANDING DIRECTOR'S CUT
- Deceased
- DECEIVE INC.
- Degrees of Separation
- Delicious! Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Deliver Us The Moon
- Demetrios - Deluxe Edition
- Depraved
- DESCENDERS
- DESOLATE
- Destiny 2: Beyond Light
- DESTROYER: THE U-BOAT HUNTER
- Detention
- Devil May Cry HD Collection
- Devilated
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dirt 5
- dirt rally
- Dirt Rally 2.0
- Disaster Band
- Disciples III: Reincarnation
- Discolored
- DISTRAINT 2
- Distrust
- DmC: Devil May Cry
- Do Not Feed the Monkeys
- Don't Be Afraid
- DOOM 64
- Doomed Lands
- Door Kickers: Action Squad
- Doorways: Prelude
- Downfall
- Dragons Dogma Dark Arisen
- Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen
- Draugen
- Draw Slasher
- Drawful 2
- Dread Templar
- Dreamfall Chapters
- Dreams in the Witch House
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- DRIFT21
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- drive!drive!drive!
- Drone Swarm
- Due Process
- Duke Nukem: Manhattan Project
- Duke of Alpha Centauri
- Dungeon Rushers
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- Dusk Diver
- Dust to the End
- DV: Rings of Saturn
- Dynopunk
- Earth Defense Force 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair
- Eastern Exorcist
- Eiyuden Chronicle: Rising
- El Matador
- Elderand
- ELDEST SOULS
- Electrician Simulator
- Elemental Survivors
- Elex
- Elex II
- Elite Dangerous
- Empire: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Empyrion - Galactic Survival
- ENCASED: A SCI-FI POST-APOCALYPTIC RPG
- Endless Space 2
- Endless Space® 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endzone - A World Apart
- EPIC CHEF *2
- Epistory - Typing Chronicles
- Eternal Threads
- Europa Universalis IV
- European Ship Simulator
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Exorder
- EXPEDITIONS: ROME
- Expeditions: Viking
- Explosionade
- F1 2018
- F1 2019 Anniversary Edition
- F1 2020
- F1 RACE STARS Complete Edition Include DLC
- Fable Anniversary
- Fallback uprising
- Fallback: Uprising
- FALLOUT 1
- Family Mysteries 3: Criminal Mindset
- FANTASY BLACKSMITH
- FARMER'S DYNASTY
- Farming Simulator 17
- Farming Simulator 19
- Fictorum
- Field of Glory II
- Fights in Tight Spaces
- Filthy Animals Heist Simulator
- Firefighting Simulator - The Squad
- Fishing Adventure
- Flashback
- FLATLAND Vol.2
- FlatOut
- FLING TO THE FINISH
- Floppy Knights
- Fluffy Horde
- FOBIA - ST. DINFNA HOTEL *2
- For the King
- Forgive me Father
- Forts
- Fred3ric
- Fresh Start Cleaning Simulator
- Friends vs Friends
- Frogun
- From Space
- Frozenheim
- Fun with Ragdolls: The Game
- Funtasia
- Gamedec
- Gamedec - Definitive Edition
- Gang Beasts
- GARAGE bad trip
- Garden Story
- Garfield Kart
- GAS STATION SIMULATOR
- Gelly Break Deluxe
- Genesis Alpha One Deluxe Edition
- Gevaudan
- Ghostrunner
- Giana Sisters 2D
- GIGA WRECKER
- Gigantosaurus: Dino Kart
- Glitch Busters: Stuck On You
- Gloria Victis
- Go Home Dinosaurs
- GOAT OF DUTY
- GOD EATER 3
- Godlike Burger
- Godstrike
- Going Under
- Golf Gang
- Golf It!
- Gone Home + Original Soundtrack
- Gotham Knights
- Grand Mountain Adventure: Wonderlands
- GREAK: MEMORIES OF AZUR
- grey goo
- grid ultimate
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Gungrave G.O.R.E
- Guppy
- Guts and glory
- GYLT
- Hacknet
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hammerwatch
- Hands of Necromancy
- Havsala: Into the Soul Palace
- Headsnatchers
- Heartwood Heroes
- Heat Signature
- Helheim Hassle
- Hell Let Loose
- Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice
- Hellbound
- Hero of the Kingdom III
- Hero of the Kingdom: The Lost Tales 2
- Heroes of Hammerwatch
- Heros hour
- Hexologic
- Hidden & Dangerous 2: Courage Under Fire
- Hidden & Dangerous: Action Pack
- Hidden Deep
- High On Life
- Hitman (2016) Game of the Year Edition
- HITMAN 2 - Gold Edition
- Hoa
- Hob
- Hollow Knight
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Home Sweet Home
- Home Sweet Home EP2
- Homestead Arcana
- Hood: Outlaws & Legends
- Hoplegs
- Hot Tin Roof: The Cat That Wore A Fedora
- Hotshot Racing
- House Flipper
- How to Survive 2
- Hue
- Human: Fall Flat
- Hungry Flame
- Hyper Knights
- I am Bread
- I Am Fish
- I am not a Monster: First Contact
- I Hate Running Backwards
- ibb & obb Double Pack
- ICBM
- Ice Age Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- Ice Lakes
- Impostor Factory
- IN SOUND MIND
- Indivisible
- INDUSTRIA
- Infectonator 3: Apocalypse
- Infinite Beyond The Mind
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Insane 2
- INSOMNIA: The Ark
- Internet Cafe Simulator
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Iron Fisticle
- Iron Harvest
- Ittle Dew
- Ittle Dew 2+
- Jack Move
- Jackbox party pack 2
- Jackbox party pack 5
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Joint Task Force
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- Journey For Elysium
- Journey to the Savage Planet
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- JumpJet Rex
- Juno: New Origins
- Jupiter Hell
- Jurassic Park: The Game
- Jurassic World Evolution
- Jurassic World Evolution 2
- JURASSIC WORLD EVOLUTION 2 *2
- JUST CAUSE 4: COMPLETE EDITION
- Just Die Already
- Kardboard Kings: Card Shop Simulator
- Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes
- Kentucky Route Zero - Season Pass Edition
- Kerbal Space Program
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- Killing Room
- Kingdom Two Crowns
- Kingdom: New Lands
- King's Bounty: Crossworlds
- Knights of Pen & Paper 2
- Knock-knock
- Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards] *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.1 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.2 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.3 DLC
- Konung 2
- KungFu Kickball
- Labyrinthine
- Lair of the Clockwork God
- Laserlife
- LAST OASIS
- Lawn Mowing Simulator
- LAWN MOWING SIMULATOR *2
- Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
- Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Hiragana Battle
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Katakana War
- Learn Japanese to Survive! Trilogy
- Learning Factory
- Legend of Keepers
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE.
- Leisure Suit Larry - Wet Dreams Don't Dry
- Leisure Suit Larry 1-7
- Lemnis Gate
- Lemon Cake
- lethal league blaze
- Let's School
- Levelhead
- Liberated (GOG)
- Life is Strange Complete Season (Episodes 1-5)
- Light Fairytale Episode 1
- Light Fairytale Episode 2
- LIGHTMATTER
- Little dragons cafe
- Little Hope
- Little Inner Monsters - Card Game
- Little Nightmares
- Livelock
- Loop Hero
- Loot River
- Looterkings
- Lornsword Winter Chronicle
- Lost Castle
- Lost Planet 3 Complete Pack
- LOTR: Adventure Card Game - Definitive Edition
- Love Letter
- Lovecraft's Untold Stories
- Lovely planet arcade
- Lucius2
- Lucius3
- Ludus
- Lust for Darkness
- Lust from Beyond: M Edition
- Mad Experiments: Escape Room
- Mad Max
- Mafia Definitive Edition
- Mafia: Definitive Edition
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
- Mail Time
- Maize
- Maneater
- Marooners
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE
- Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition
- Mato Anomalies
- Max Payne 3
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval II: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Medieval: Total War Collection
- MEEPLE STATION
- Men of War
- MERCHANT OF THE SKIES
- METAL HELLSINGER
- Metal Hellsinger
- Metro Exodus
- Metro last light
- Metro: Last Light Redux
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-Earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- MIDNIGHT PROTOCOL
- Midnight Suns
- Mighty Switch Force! Collection
- MIND SCANNERS
- Ministry of Broadcast
- Minute of Islands
- Miscreated
- Mists of Noyah
- MKXL
- Mob Rule Classic
- Monaco
- Monster Slayers - Complete Edition
- Monster Train
- MONSTER TRAIN (FIRST CLASS - COLLECTORS EDITION)
- Monstrum
- Monstrum 2
- Moon Hunters
- Moons of Madness
- MORDHAU
- Mordheim: City of the Damned
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Edition
- MORTAL KOMBAT XL
- Mortal Shell
- Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021
- Mr. Run and Jump
- Murder Mystery Machine
- My Big Sister
- My Friend Peppa Pig
- My Lovely Wife
- My Summer Adventure: Memories of Another Life
- My Time At Portia
- MythForce
- N++ (NPLUSPLUS)
- Napoleon: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Narcos: Rise of the Cartels
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroVisioN: Lost Company
- NecroWorm
- Neighbours back From Hell
- Nelly Cootalot: Spoonbeaks Ahoy! HD
- Neon Space
- Neon Space 2
- Neon Sundown
- Nephise: Ascension
- Neurodeck : Psychological Deckbuilder
- Neverinth
- Neverout
- Neverwinter Nights: Complete Adventures
- Newt One
- Nexomon: Extinction
- Nigate Tale
- Nine Parchments
- Nine Witches: Family Disruption
- No Straight Roads: Encore Edition
- No Time to Relax
- Nomad Survival
- Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
- Noosphere
- Northgard
- Northmark: Hour of the Wolf
- Nostradamus: The Last Prophecy
- not the robots
- Nurse Love Addiction
- Nurse Love Syndrome
- Nusakana
- Obduction
- Obey Me
- Observer: System Redux
- Occultus - Mediterranean Cabal
- Odallus: The Dark Call
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- OlliOlli World
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- One More Island
- One Step From Eden
- One Step From Eden (Region locked)
- Orbital Racer
- OTXO
- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
- Out of Space
- OUTBUDDIES DX
- Overclocked: A History of Violence
- Overlord: Ultimate Evil Collection
- Overpass
- Overruled
- OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
- Pac-Man Museum +
- Pan'Orama
- Panty Party
- Panzer Corps 2
- Papo & Yo
- PARADISE LOST
- Parkan 2
- PARTISANS 1941
- Passpartout 2: The Lost Artist
- Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
- PATHFINDER: WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS *2
- Patron
- Paw Patrol: On A Roll!
- Paws of Coal
- Payday 2
- PAYDAY 2
- Peaky Blinders: Mastermind
- PER ASPERA
- Perfect
- PGA 2K21
- PGA Tour 2K21
- Pixplode
- Pizza Connection 3
- Plague tale
- Planescape: Torment Enhanced Edition
- Planet Alcatraz
- PlateUp!
- Pogostuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
- Police Stories
- Poly Island
- Post Void
- Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
- Prank Call
- Prehistoric Kingdom
- Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Pretty Girls Panic!
- Prey
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
- Pro Cycling Manager 2020
- Prodeus
- Project Warlock
- Project Wingman (EU)
- PROJECT WINTER
- Propnight
- PULSAR: The Lost Colony
- qomp
- Quantum Break
- Quern - Undying Thoughts
- Radio Commander
- RAGE
- Rage in Peace
- RAILROAD CORPORATION
- Railroad Tycoon 3
- Railroad Tycoon II Platinum
- Railway Empire
- Rain World
- Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
- Re: Legend
- REBEL COPS
- Rebel Galaxy
- Rebel Galaxy Outlaw
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
- Red Riding Hood - Star Crossed Lovers
- Red Ronin
- RED SOLSTICE 2: SURVIVORS
- Redout Complete Bundle
- Redout: Enhanced Edition
- Redout: Enhanced Edition + DLC pack
- Regular Human Basketball
- REKT! High Octane Stunts
- REMNANT: FROM THE ASHES - COMPLETE EDITION
- Republique
- Rescue Party: Live!
- Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
- Resident Evil 4
- Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
- Resident Evil 7 Biohazard
- Resident Evil Revelations
- Resort Boss: Golf
- RETROWAVE
- rFactor 2
- Ring of Pain
- Rise of Industry + 2130 DLC
- Rise of the Slime
- Rising Storm 2: Vietnam + 2 DLCs
- Riven: The Sequel to MYST
- River City Girls
- River City Ransom: Underground
- Roarr! Jurassic Edition
- Roboquest
- Robot Squad Simulator 2017
- Rogue : Genesia
- ROGUE HEROES: RUINS OF TASOS
- ROGUE LORDS
- Rogue Stormers
- rollercoaster tycoon 2
- Rollerdrome (EU)
- ROTASTIC
- Roundguard
- ROUNDS
- Rustler
- Ryse: Son of Rome
- S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
- Sailing Era
- Saint Row
- SAMUDRA
- Sands of Aura
- Sands of Salzaar
- Saturday Morning RPG
- Save Room - Organization Puzzle
- Scarlet Tower
- Scorn
- SCP: 5K
- SCUM
- SEARCH PARTY: Director's Cut
- Second Extinction
- Secret Government
- Serious Sam 3 Bonus Content DLC, Serious Sam 3: Jewel of the Nile, and Serious Sam 3: BFE
- SEUM speedrunners from hell
- SEUM: Speedrunners from Hell
- Severed Steel
- Shadow Tactics: Aiko's Choice
- Shadowgate
- SHADOWS: AWAKENING
- Shape of the World
- She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
- SHENZHEN I/O
- Shift Happens
- Shing!
- Shoppe Keep 2 - Business and Agriculture RPG Simulation
- Shotgun King: The Final Checkmate
- Sid Meier's Civilization VI
- Sid Meier's Railroads!
- Sifu Deluxe Edition Upgrade Bundle (EPIC)
- Silver Chains
- SimCity 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sinking Island
- SINNER: Sacrifice for Redemption
- Skautfold Chapters 1-4
- Skullgirls 2nd Encore
- Slain: Back from Hell
- Slap City
- Slash It
- Slash It 2
- Slash It Ultimate
- Slay the Spire
- Slaycation Paradise
- Small World
- Smart Factory Tycoon
- Smile For Me
- Smoke and Sacrifice
- Smushi Come Home
- Snail bob 2 tiny troubles
- Sniper Elite 3
- Sniper Elite 3 + Season Pass DLC
- Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior 3 - Season Pass Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
- Snooker 19
- SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
- Songs of Conquest
- Sonic Adventure 2
- Sonic Adventure DX
- Sonic and SEGA All Stars Racing
- Sonic Generations Collection
- Soulblight
- Souldiers
- SOULSTICE
- Soundfall
- Source of Madness
- Sparklite
- Spartan Fist
- Spec Ops
- Speed Limit
- Spelunx and the Caves of Mr. Seudo
- Spidersaurs
- Spin Rush
- Spirit Hunter: Death Mark
- Spirit of the Island
- Spirit of the North
- Spring Bonus
- Stairs
- STAR WARS - Knights of the Old Republic
- STAR WARS - The Force Unleashed Ultimate Sith Edition
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
- Star Wolves
- Starsand
- STASIS: Bone Totem
- State of Decay 2: Juggernaut Edition
- Steel Rats™
- Stick Fight: The Game
- Still Life
- Still Life 2
- Stirring Abyss
- STONE
- Strange Brigade
- Strange Brigade Deluxe Edition
- STRANGER
- Strategic Command: World War I
- Strategy & Tactics: Wargame Collection
- Street Fighter V
- Street of fury ex
- Strider
- Strikey Sisters
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- Styx: Master of Shadows
- Styx: Shards of Darkness
- SuchArt
- Sucker for Love: First Date
- Sudden Strike Gold
- Suite 776
- Sumoman
- Sunblaze
- SUNLESS BUNDLE
- Sunset Overdrive
- Super Buff HD
- Super Mag Bot
- SUPER MAGBOT
- Superbugs: Awaken
- Superhot
- Surgeon Simulator 2
- Survive the Nights
- Surviving Mars
- Surviving The Aftermath
- Swag and Sorcery
- Sword Legacy Omen
- Sword of the Necromancer
- Swords and Soldiers 2 Shawarmageddon
- Syberia 3
- Symphonic Rain
- Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga
- Synthwave Dream '85
- Tacoma
- Take Off - The Flight Simulator
- Tales
- Tales from the Borderlands
- Tales of Vesperia™: Definitive Edition
- Talk to Strangers
- Tallowmere
- Tangledeep
- Tank Mechanic Simulator
- Tannenberg
- Team Sonic Racing
- TEKKEN 7
- TEMTEM
- Terminus: Zombie Survivors
- Terror of Hemasaurus
- Textorcist
- Tharsis
- The Adventure Pals
- The Amazing American Circus
- The Anacrusis
- The Ascent
- The Battle of Polytopia
- The Battle of Polytopia *DLC1. Cymanti Tribe *DLC2. ∑∫ỹriȱŋ Tribe *DLC3. Aquarion Tribe *DLC4. Polaris Tribe
- The Blackout Club
- The Callisto Protocol
- The Chess Variants Club
- The Citadel
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes
- THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE *2
- The Darkest Tales
- The Dungeon Beneath
- The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
- The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
- The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind® Game of the Year Edition
- The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion® Game of the Year Edition
- The Escapists 2
- THE GAME OF LIFE 2
- The Golf Club™ 2019 featuring PGA TOUR
- THE GUNK
- The Haunted Island, a Frog Detective Game
- The Hong Kong Massacre
- The Horror Of Salazar House
- The Indie Mixtape
- The Innsmouth Case
- The Invisible Hours
- The Jackbox Party Pack 9
- The Last Campfire
- The Legend of Tianding
- The LEGO Movie 2 Videogame
- The Letter - Horror Visual Novel
- The Long Dark
- The Manhole: Masterpiece Edition
- The Mortuary Assistant
- The Mummy Demastered
- The Outer Worlds
- THE OUTER WORLDS: SPACER'S CHOICE EDITION
- THE PALE BEYOND
- The Quarry deluxe
- The Ramp
- The Red Lantern
- The Rewinder
- The Sacred Tears TRUE
- The Sexy Brutale
- The Smurfs - Mission Vileaf
- The Tarnishing of Juxtia
- The Tenants
- The Uncertain - The Last Quiet Day
- THE UNCERTAIN: LAST QUIET DAY
- The Uncertain: Light At The End
- The USB Stick Found in the Grass
- The Walking Dead
- The Walking Dead - 400 Days
- The Walking Dead Saints and Sinners
- The Walking Dead: A New Frontier
- The Walking Dead: Final Season
- The Walking Dead: Michonne - A Telltale Miniseries
- The Walking Dead: Saints & Sinners
- The Walking Dead: Season 1
- The Walking Dead: Season Two
- The Way
- The Wild At Heart
- The Wild Eight
- The Witness
- Them and Us
- They Bleed Pixels
- Thief of Thieves
- This War of Mine
- This Way Madness Lies
- Three Kingdom: The Journey
- Through the Woods
- Time on Frog Island
- Tinkertown
- Tiny Tina’s Wonderland(EU)
- TINY TINA'S WONDERLANDS CHAOTIC GREAT EDITION
- Tiny Troopers
- Tinykin
- Tinytopia
- TIS-100
- Titan Quest
- Tokyo Xanadu eX+
- Tools up
- Tooth and Tail
- Torchlight
- Total Tank Simulator
- Tour de France 2020
- Trailblazers
- Train Sim World 3: Standard Edition
- Train Simulator Classic
- Train Valley 1
- Transport INC
- Treasure Hunter Simulator
- Trine 4
- Trinity Fusion
- Trombone Champ
- Tropico 5 - Complete Collection
- Trover Saves the Universe
- Tunche
- Turmoil
- Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
- Twin Mirror
- Two Point Campus
- Two Point Hospital
- TYPECAST
- Tyrant's Blessing
- Ultimate Chicken Horse
- Ultimate Zombie Defense
- Ultra Space Battle Brawl
- Unavowed
- Undead Horde
- Unexplored 2: The Wayfarer's Legacy
- Universim
- UNLOVED
- Unpacking
- Until I have you
- Unto The End
- Upside Down
- URU: Complete Chronicles
- Vagante
- Valfaris
- Valfaris: Mecha Therion
- Valkryia Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
- Valkyria Chronicles 4: Complete Edition
- Vambrace: Cold Soul
- Vampire Survivors
- Vampyr
- Vectronom
- Velocity Noodle
- Venba
- Verne: The Shape of Fantasy
- Victoria II
- Viking: Battle For Asgard
- Virgo Versus The Zodiac
- VirtuaVerse
- Visage
- Viscerafest
- Void Bastards
- VOIDIGO
- Volcanoids
- Voltage High Society
- Voltaire: The Vegan Vampire
- V-Rally 4
- Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG)
- Wargroove
- Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
- Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War
- Warhammer 40,000: Mechanicus
- Warhammer 40,000: Space Wolf Special Edition
- WARHAMMER AGE OF SIGMAR: REALMS OF RUIN – ULTIMATE EDITION
- Warhammer vermintide collector's edition
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- Warman
- Wasteland 3
- Wayward
- We should talk.
- We Were Here Together
- We Were Here Too
- Webbed
- What Lies in the Multiverse
- When Ski Lifts Go Wrong
- while True: learn()
- Whos Your daddy
- Wick
- Will You Snail?
- Windward
- Witch It
- Witchy Life Story
- wizard of legends
- Wolfenstein 3D
- Worms Rumble
- WRC 6 FIA World Rally Championship
- WRC 7 FIA World Rally Championship
- WWE 2K Battlegrounds
- WWE 2K23
- WWZ Aftermath
- Wytchwood
- X-COM: COMPLETE PACK
- XCOM: ULTIMATE COLLECTION
- XIII - Classic
- X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Yakuza Kiwami
- Yumeutsutsu Re:After
- Yumeutsutsu Re:Master
- Zen Chess: Mate in One, Mate in 2 , Mate in 3 , Mate in 4 , Champion's Moves (5 games)
- Ziggurat
- Zombie Army 4
- Zombie Army Trilogy
- Zool Redimensioned
- For The King: Lost Civilization Adventure Pack
- Train Simulator: Isle of Wight Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Woodhead Electric Railway in Blue Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: North Somerset Railway Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Union Pacific Heritage SD70ACes Loco Add-On
- Train Simulator: London to Brighton Route Add-On
- BR Class 170 'Turbostar' DMU Add-On
- DB BR 648 Loco Add-On
- Europa Universalis IV: Wealth of Nations
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Conquest of Paradise
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Res Publica
- Grand Central Class 180 'Adelante' DMU Add-On
- Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - Gilroy Route Add-On
- SONIC ADVENTURE 2: BATTLE
- Small World - A Spider's Web
- Small World - Cursed
- Small World - Royal Bonus
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - Goodies Pack
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - OST
- Thompson Class B1 Loco Add-On
- Total War: Shogun 2 - Rise of the Samurai
- Train Sim World® 3: Birmingham Cross-city line
- Train Sim World®: BR Class 20 'Chopper' Loco
- Train Sim World®: Brighton Main Line: London Victoria - Brighton
- Train Sim World®: Caltrain MP36PH-3C 'Baby Bullet'
- Train Sim World®: Cathcart Circle Line: Glasgow - Newton & Neilston
- Train Sim World®: Clinchfield Railroad: Elkhorn - Dante
- Train Sim World®: Great Western Express
- Train Sim World®: Hauptstrecke Hamburg - Lubeck
- Train Sim World®: LIRR M3 EMU
- Train Sim World®: Long Island Rail Road: New York - Hicksville
- Train Sim World®: Nahverkehr Dresden - Riesa
- Train Sim World®: Northern Trans-Pennine: Manchester - Leeds
- Train Sim World®: Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - San Jose
- Train Sim World®: Rhein-Ruhr Osten: Wuppertal - Hagen
- Train Sim World®: Tees Valley Line: Darlington - Saltburn-by-the-sea
- Worms Rumble - Armageddon Weapon Skin Pack
- Worms Rumble - Captain & Shark Double Pack
- Worms Rumble - Legends Pack
- Worms Rumble - New Challengers Pack
- Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
- Dagon: by H. P. Lovecraft - The Eldritch Box DLC
- Duke Nukem Forever Hail to the Icons
- Duke Nukem Forever The Doctor Who Cloned Me
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Cygon Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Nyvoss Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Terra Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Vintek Garage Kit
- GameGuru
- GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
- Intro to Game Development with Unity
- Music Maker EDM Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Darkness Over Daggerford
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Dark Dreams of Furiae
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Tyrants of the Moonsea
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Infinite Dungeons
- Neverwinter Nights: Pirates of the Sword Coast
- Neverwinter Nights: Wyvern Crown of Cormyr
- PDF-Suite 1 Year License
- Pathfinder Second Edition Core Rulebook and Starfinder Core Rulebook
- RPG Maker VX
- WWE 2K BATTLEGROUNDS - Ultimate Brawlers Pass
- We Are Alright
- The Outer Worlds Expansion Pass
- A Hat in Time - Seal the Deal DLC
- City Skylines:mass transit
- A Game Of Thrones - A Dance With Dragons
- A Game Of Thrones - A Feast For Crows
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Gods of Asgard
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mythical Monsters
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mystics of Midgard
- Carcassonne - The Princess and The Dragon DLC
- Carcassonne - Traders & Builders DLC
- Carcassonne - Winter & Gingerbread Man DLC
- Carcassonne - Inns & Cathedrals
- Carcassonne - The River
- Splendor: The Trading Posts DLC
- Splendor: The Strongholds DLC
- Splendor: The Cities DLC
- Small World - Be Not Afraid... DLC
- Small World - Grand Dames DLC
- Small World - Cursed!
- Sands of Salzaar - The Ember Saga
- Sands of Salzaar - The Tournament
- Monster Train: The Last Divinity DLC
- WARSAW
2024.04.28 16:05 calvin324hk [H] 1000+ Games / DLCs / VR Games [W] Paypal / Wishlist / Offers
https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
DLCs and Softwares:
submitted by calvin324hk to indiegameswap [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
- 10 Second Ninja X
- 11-11 Memories Retold
- 112 Operator
- 12 is Better Than 6
- 198X
- 1993 Space Machine
- 60 Parsecs
- 7 Billion Humans
- 8 DOORS
- 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
- A Hat in Time
- A Hole New World
- A JUGGLER'S TALE
- A Long Way Down
- A Robot Named Fight!
- A Tale for Anna
- A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
- Abandon Ship
- Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
- Adore
- Aeterna Noctis
- AETHERIS
- Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
- AIdol
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
- Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
- Alfred Hitchcock - Vertigo
- Alien Breed Trilogy
- Aliens vs. Predator™ Collection
- Alina of the Arena
- All-Star Fruit Racing
- Almost There: The Platformer
- American Fugitive
- Amerzone: The Explorer’s Legacy
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia rebirth
- Amnesia: The Dark Descent + Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
- Anomalous
- Another World – 20th Anniversary Edition
- Antigraviator
- Anuchard
- APICO
- APICO
- Aragami
- Aragami 2
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Paradise - Arcade Paradise EP
- Arcade Spirits
- Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
- Armada 2526 Gold Edition
- Army Men RTS
- army of ruin
- Arto
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far as the Eye
- Ascension to the Throne
- Assemble With Care
- Assetto Corsa Competizione
- Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition
- Astronarch
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Automachef
- Automobilista
- Automobilista 2
- AUTONAUTS
- AUTONAUTS VS PIRATEBOTS
- Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora™ - Ubisoft Connect
- AVICII Invector: Encore Edition
- Awesomenauts All Nauts pack
- Baba is you
- Back 4 Blood
- Back 4 blood (EU)
- Backbone
- Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition
- Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition
- Banners of Ruin
- Bartlow's Dread Machine
- BASEMENT
- Batbarian: Testament of the Primordials
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham City - Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Knight Premium Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battle Royale Tycoon
- Battlecruisers
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock
- BATTLESTAR GALACTICA DEADLOCK SEASON ONE
- BATTLETECH MERCENARY COLLECTION
- BATTLETECH Shadow Hawk Pack
- BEAUTIFUL DESOLATION
- BEFORE WE LEAVE
- Beholder 2
- Ben 10
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Bendy and the Ink Machine™
- Between the Stars
- Beyond a Steel Sky
- Beyond The Edge Of Owlsgard
- Beyond the Long Night
- BEYOND THE WIRE
- Beyond: Two Souls
- Bionic Commando
- Bionic Commando Rearmed
- BioShock: The Collection
- BLACK BOOK
- Black Moon Chronicles
- Black Paradox
- BLACK SKYLANDS
- BLACKHOLE: Complete Edition
- Blacksad: Under the Skin
- Blade of Darkness
- Blasphemous
- Blazing Chrome
- Blightbound
- Blood And Zombies
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night
- Bomber Crew
- Boneless Zombie
- Boneraiser Minions
- Boomerang Fu
- Borderlands 3
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe Edition
- Borderlands: The Handsome Collection
- Bot Vice
- Bounty of One
- Brawlout
- Breakout: Recharged
- Breathedge
- bridge constructor
- Bridge constructor medieval
- bridge constructor stunts
- Broken Lines
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
- BUILDER SIMULATOR
- calico
- Call of Duty® Modern Warfare 3™ (2011)
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2015
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2018
- Castle Morihisa
- Castle on the Coast
- castle storm
- CastleStorm
- Cat Cafe Manager
- Caveblazers
- Celeste
- Centipede: Recharged
- CHANGE: A Homeless Survival Experience
- Charlie's Adventure
- Chenso Club
- Chernobylite: Enhanced Edition
- Chess Ultra
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Chivalry 2
- Chop Goblins
- Chorus
- Cities Skylines + After Dark
- Cities: Skylines
- City of Beats
- CivCity: Rome
- Click and Slay
- Cloud Gardens
- Cloudpunk
- Code Vein
- Coffee Talk
- Comedy Night
- Command & Conquer Remastered (Origin)
- Complete Dread X Collection
- Conarium
- Construction Simulator (2015) Deluxe Edition
- Constructor Plus
- Cook serve delicious
- Corridor Z
- Cosmic Osmo and the Worlds Beyond the Mackerel
- Cosmonautica
- Crash Drive 2
- Crash Drive 3
- Creaks
- Creepy Tale
- Crookz the big heist
- CROSSBOW: Bloodnight
- Crush Your Enemies
- Cube Runner
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cyber Ops
- Cybercube
- Danger Scavenger
- Dark Deity
- DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: HOUSE OF ASHES
- Darksiders Warmastered
- Darkwood
- DARQ: Complete Edition
- Day of the Tentacle Remastered
- days of war definitive edition
- Dead by Daylight
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death Stranding Directors Cut
- DEATH STRANDING DIRECTOR'S CUT
- Deceased
- DECEIVE INC.
- Degrees of Separation
- Delicious! Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Deliver Us The Moon
- Demetrios - Deluxe Edition
- Depraved
- DESCENDERS
- DESOLATE
- Destiny 2: Beyond Light
- DESTROYER: THE U-BOAT HUNTER
- Detention
- Devil May Cry HD Collection
- Devilated
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dirt 5
- dirt rally
- Dirt Rally 2.0
- Disaster Band
- Disciples III: Reincarnation
- Discolored
- DISTRAINT 2
- Distrust
- DmC: Devil May Cry
- Do Not Feed the Monkeys
- Don't Be Afraid
- DOOM 64
- Doomed Lands
- Door Kickers: Action Squad
- Doorways: Prelude
- Downfall
- Dragons Dogma Dark Arisen
- Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen
- Draugen
- Draw Slasher
- Drawful 2
- Dread Delusion
- Dread Templar
- Dreamfall Chapters
- Dreams in the Witch House
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- DRIFT21
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- drive!drive!drive!
- Drone Swarm
- Due Process
- Duke Nukem: Manhattan Project
- Duke of Alpha Centauri
- Dungeon Rushers
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- Dusk Diver
- Dust to the End
- DV: Rings of Saturn
- Dynopunk
- Eastern Exorcist
- Eiyuden Chronicle: Rising
- El Matador
- Elderand
- ELDEST SOULS
- Electrician Simulator
- Elemental Survivors
- Elex
- Elex II
- Elite Dangerous
- Empire: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Empyrion - Galactic Survival
- ENCASED: A SCI-FI POST-APOCALYPTIC RPG
- Endless Space 2
- Endless Space® 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endzone - A World Apart
- EPIC CHEF *2
- Epistory - Typing Chronicles
- Eternal Threads
- Europa Universalis IV
- European Ship Simulator
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Exorder
- EXPEDITIONS: ROME
- Expeditions: Viking
- Explosionade
- F1 2018
- F1 2019 Anniversary Edition
- F1 2020
- F1 RACE STARS Complete Edition Include DLC
- Fable Anniversary
- Fallback uprising
- Fallback: Uprising
- FALLOUT 1
- Family Mysteries 3: Criminal Mindset
- FANTASY BLACKSMITH
- FARMER'S DYNASTY
- Farming Simulator 17
- Farming Simulator 19
- Fictorum
- Field of Glory II
- Fights in Tight Spaces
- Filthy Animals Heist Simulator
- Firefighting Simulator - The Squad
- Fishing Adventure
- Flashback
- FLATLAND Vol.2
- FlatOut
- FLING TO THE FINISH
- Fluffy Horde
- FOBIA - ST. DINFNA HOTEL *2
- For the King
- Forgive me Father
- Forts
- Fred3ric
- Fresh Start Cleaning Simulator
- Friends vs Friends
- Frogun
- From Space
- Frozenheim
- Fun with Ragdolls: The Game
- Funtasia
- Gamedec
- Gamedec - Definitive Edition
- Gang Beasts
- GARAGE bad trip
- Garden Story
- Garfield Kart
- GAS STATION SIMULATOR
- Gelly Break Deluxe
- Genesis Alpha One Deluxe Edition
- Gevaudan
- Ghostrunner
- Giana Sisters 2D
- GIGA WRECKER
- Gigantosaurus: Dino Kart
- Glitch Busters: Stuck On You
- Gloria Victis
- Go Home Dinosaurs
- GOAT OF DUTY
- GOD EATER 3
- Godlike Burger
- Godstrike
- Going Under
- Golf Gang
- Golf It!
- Gone Home + Original Soundtrack
- Gotham Knights
- Grand Mountain Adventure: Wonderlands
- GREAK: MEMORIES OF AZUR
- grey goo
- grid ultimate
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Gungrave G.O.R.E
- Gunlocked
- Guppy
- Guts and glory
- GYLT
- Hacknet
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hammerwatch
- Hands of Necromancy
- Havsala: Into the Soul Palace
- Headsnatchers
- Heartwood Heroes
- Heat Signature
- Helheim Hassle
- Hell Let Loose
- Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice
- Hellbound
- Hero of the Kingdom III
- Hero of the Kingdom: The Lost Tales 2
- Heroes of Hammerwatch
- Heros hour
- Hexologic
- Hidden & Dangerous 2: Courage Under Fire
- Hidden & Dangerous: Action Pack
- Hidden Deep
- High On Life
- Hitman (2016) Game of the Year Edition
- HITMAN 2 - Gold Edition
- Hoa
- Hob
- Hollow Knight
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Home Sweet Home
- Home Sweet Home EP2
- Homestead Arcana
- Hood: Outlaws & Legends
- Hoplegs
- Hot Tin Roof: The Cat That Wore A Fedora
- Hotshot Racing
- House Flipper
- How to Survive 2
- Hue
- Human: Fall Flat
- Hungry Flame
- Hyper Knights
- I am Bread
- I Am Fish
- I am not a Monster: First Contact
- I Hate Running Backwards
- ibb & obb Double Pack
- ICBM
- Ice Age Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- Ice Lakes
- Impostor Factory
- IN SOUND MIND
- Indivisible
- INDUSTRIA
- Infectonator 3: Apocalypse
- Infinite Beyond The Mind
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Insane 2
- INSOMNIA: The Ark
- Internet Cafe Simulator
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Iron Fisticle
- Iron Harvest
- Ittle Dew
- Ittle Dew 2+
- Jack Move
- Jackbox party pack 2
- Jackbox party pack 5
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Joint Task Force
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- Journey For Elysium
- Journey to the Savage Planet
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- JumpJet Rex
- Juno: New Origins
- Jupiter Hell
- Jurassic Park: The Game
- Jurassic World Evolution
- Jurassic World Evolution 2
- JURASSIC WORLD EVOLUTION 2 *2
- JUST CAUSE 4: COMPLETE EDITION
- Just Die Already
- Kardboard Kings: Card Shop Simulator
- Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes
- Kentucky Route Zero - Season Pass Edition
- Kerbal Space Program
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- Killing Room
- Kingdom Two Crowns
- Kingdom: New Lands
- King's Bounty: Crossworlds
- Knights of Pen & Paper 2
- Knock-knock
- Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards] *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.1 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.2 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.3 DLC
- Konung 2
- KungFu Kickball
- Labyrinthine
- Lair of the Clockwork God
- Laserlife
- LAST OASIS
- Lawn Mowing Simulator
- LAWN MOWING SIMULATOR *2
- Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
- Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Hiragana Battle
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Katakana War
- Learn Japanese to Survive! Trilogy
- Learning Factory
- Legend of Keepers
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE.
- Leisure Suit Larry - Wet Dreams Don't Dry
- Leisure Suit Larry 1-7
- Lemnis Gate
- Lemon Cake
- lethal league blaze
- Let's School
- Levelhead
- Liberated (GOG)
- Life is Strange Complete Season (Episodes 1-5)
- Light Fairytale Episode 1
- Light Fairytale Episode 2
- LIGHTMATTER
- Little dragons cafe
- Little Hope
- Little Inner Monsters - Card Game
- Little Nightmares
- Livelock
- Looking for Aliens
- Loop Hero
- Loot River
- Looterkings
- Lornsword Winter Chronicle
- Lost Castle
- Lost Planet 3 Complete Pack
- LOTR: Adventure Card Game - Definitive Edition
- Love Letter
- Lovecraft's Untold Stories
- Lovely planet arcade
- Lucius2
- Lucius3
- Ludus
- Lust for Darkness
- Lust from Beyond: M Edition
- Mad Experiments: Escape Room
- Mad Max
- Mafia Definitive Edition
- Mafia: Definitive Edition
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
- Mail Time
- Maize
- Maneater
- Marooners
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE
- Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition
- Mato Anomalies
- Max Payne 3
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval II: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Medieval: Total War Collection
- MEEPLE STATION
- Men of War
- MERCHANT OF THE SKIES
- METAL HELLSINGER
- Metal Hellsinger
- Metro Exodus
- Metro last light
- Metro: Last Light Redux
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-Earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- MIDNIGHT PROTOCOL
- Midnight Suns
- Mighty Switch Force! Collection
- MIND SCANNERS
- Ministry of Broadcast
- Minute of Islands
- Miscreated
- Mists of Noyah
- MKXL
- Mob Rule Classic
- Monaco
- Monster Slayers - Complete Edition
- Monster Train
- MONSTER TRAIN (FIRST CLASS - COLLECTORS EDITION)
- Monstrum
- Monstrum 2
- Moon Hunters
- Moons of Madness
- Moonscars
- MORDHAU
- Mordheim: City of the Damned
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Edition
- MORTAL KOMBAT XL
- Mortal Shell
- Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021
- Mr. Run and Jump
- Murder Mystery Machine
- My Big Sister
- My Friend Peppa Pig
- My Lovely Daughter
- My Lovely Wife
- My Summer Adventure: Memories of Another Life
- My Time At Portia
- MythForce
- N++ (NPLUSPLUS)
- Napoleon: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Narcos: Rise of the Cartels
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroVisioN: Lost Company
- NecroWorm
- Neighbours back From Hell
- Nelly Cootalot: Spoonbeaks Ahoy! HD
- Neon Space
- Neon Space 2
- Neon Sundown
- Nephise: Ascension
- Neurodeck : Psychological Deckbuilder
- Neverinth
- Neverout
- Neverwinter Nights: Complete Adventures
- Newt One
- Nexomon: Extinction
- Nigate Tale
- Nine Parchments
- Nine Witches: Family Disruption
- No Straight Roads: Encore Edition
- No Time to Relax
- Nomad Survival
- Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
- Noosphere
- Northgard
- Northmark: Hour of the Wolf
- Nostradamus: The Last Prophecy
- not the robots
- Nurse Love Addiction
- Nurse Love Syndrome
- Nusakana
- Obduction
- Obey Me
- Observer: System Redux
- Occultus - Mediterranean Cabal
- Odallus: The Dark Call
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- OlliOlli World
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- One More Island
- One Step From Eden
- One Step From Eden
- Orbital Racer
- OTXO
- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
- Out of Space
- OUTBUDDIES DX
- Overclocked: A History of Violence
- Overlord: Ultimate Evil Collection
- Overpass
- Overruled
- OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
- Pac-Man Museum +
- Pan'Orama
- Panty Party
- Panzer Corps 2
- Papo & Yo
- PARADISE LOST
- Parkan 2
- PARTISANS 1941
- Passpartout 2: The Lost Artist
- PATCH QUEST
- Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
- PATHFINDER: WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS *2
- Pathway
- Patron
- Paw Patrol: On A Roll!
- Paws of Coal
- Payday 2
- PAYDAY 2
- Peaky Blinders: Mastermind
- PER ASPERA
- Perfect
- PGA 2K21
- PGA Tour 2K21
- Pixplode
- Pizza Connection 3
- Plague tale
- Planescape: Torment Enhanced Edition
- Planet Alcatraz
- PlateUp!
- Pogostuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
- Police Stories
- Poly Island
- Post Void
- Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
- Prank Call
- Prehistoric Kingdom
- Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Pretty Girls Panic!
- Prey
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
- Pro Cycling Manager 2020
- Prodeus
- Project Warlock
- Project Wingman (EU)
- PROJECT WINTER
- Propnight
- PULSAR: The Lost Colony
- qomp
- Quantum Break
- Quern - Undying Thoughts
- Radio Commander
- RAGE
- Rage in Peace
- RAILROAD CORPORATION
- Railroad Tycoon 3
- Railroad Tycoon II Platinum
- Railway Empire
- Rain World
- Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
- Re: Legend
- REBEL COPS
- Rebel Galaxy
- Rebel Galaxy Outlaw
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
- Red Riding Hood - Star Crossed Lovers
- Red Ronin
- RED SOLSTICE 2: SURVIVORS
- Redout Complete Bundle
- Redout: Enhanced Edition
- Redout: Enhanced Edition + DLC pack
- Regular Human Basketball
- REKT! High Octane Stunts
- REMNANT: FROM THE ASHES - COMPLETE EDITION
- Republique
- Rescue Party: Live!
- Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
- Resident Evil 4
- Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
- Resident Evil 7 Biohazard
- Resident Evil Revelations
- Resort Boss: Golf
- RETROWAVE
- rFactor 2
- Ring of Pain
- Rise of Industry + 2130 DLC
- Rise of the Slime
- Rising Storm 2: Vietnam + 2 DLCs
- Riven: The Sequel to MYST
- River City Girls
- River City Ransom: Underground
- Roarr! Jurassic Edition
- Roboquest
- Robot Squad Simulator 2017
- Rogue : Genesia
- ROGUE HEROES: RUINS OF TASOS
- ROGUE LORDS
- Rogue Stormers
- rollercoaster tycoon 2
- Rollerdrome (EU)
- ROTASTIC
- Roundguard
- ROUNDS
- Rustler
- Ryse: Son of Rome
- S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
- Sailing Era
- Saint Row
- SAMUDRA
- Sands of Aura
- Sands of Salzaar
- Saturday Morning RPG
- Save Room - Organization Puzzle
- Scarlet Tower
- Scorn
- SCP: 5K
- SCUM
- SEARCH PARTY: Director's Cut
- Second Extinction
- Secret Government
- Serious Sam 3 Bonus Content DLC, Serious Sam 3: Jewel of the Nile, and Serious Sam 3: BFE
- SEUM speedrunners from hell
- SEUM: Speedrunners from Hell
- Severed Steel
- Shadow Tactics: Aiko's Choice
- Shadowgate
- SHADOWS: AWAKENING
- Shape of the World
- She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
- SHENZHEN I/O
- Shift Happens
- Shing!
- Shoppe Keep 2 - Business and Agriculture RPG Simulation
- Shotgun King: The Final Checkmate
- Sid Meier's Civilization VI
- Sid Meier's Railroads!
- Sifu Deluxe Edition Upgrade Bundle (EPIC)
- Silver Chains
- SimCity 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sinking Island
- SINNER: Sacrifice for Redemption
- Skautfold Chapters 1-4
- Skullgirls 2nd Encore
- Slain: Back from Hell
- Slap City
- Slash It
- Slash It 2
- Slash It Ultimate
- Slay the Spire
- Slaycation Paradise
- Small World
- Smart Factory Tycoon
- Smile For Me
- Smoke and Sacrifice
- Smushi Come Home
- Snail bob 2 tiny troubles
- Sniper Elite 3
- Sniper Elite 3 + Season Pass DLC
- Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior 3 - Season Pass Edition
- Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
- Snooker 19
- SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
- Songs of Conquest
- Sonic Adventure 2
- Sonic Adventure DX
- Sonic and SEGA All Stars Racing
- Sonic Generations Collection
- Soulblight
- Souldiers
- SOULSTICE
- Soundfall
- Source of Madness
- Sparklite
- Spartan Fist
- Spec Ops
- Speed Limit
- Spelunx and the Caves of Mr. Seudo
- Spidersaurs
- Spin Rush
- Spirit Hunter: Death Mark
- Spirit of the Island
- Spirit of the North
- SPOOKWARE
- Spring Bonus
- Stairs
- STAR WARS - Knights of the Old Republic
- STAR WARS - The Force Unleashed Ultimate Sith Edition
- STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
- Star Wolves
- Starsand
- STASIS: Bone Totem
- State of Decay 2: Juggernaut Edition
- Steel Rats™
- Stick Fight: The Game
- Still Life
- Still Life 2
- Stirring Abyss
- STONE
- Strange Brigade
- Strange Brigade Deluxe Edition
- STRANGER
- Strategic Command: World War I
- Strategy & Tactics: Wargame Collection
- Street Fighter V
- Street of fury ex
- Strider
- Strikey Sisters
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- Styx: Master of Shadows
- Styx: Shards of Darkness
- SuchArt
- Sucker for Love: First Date
- Sudden Strike Gold
- Suite 776
- Sumoman
- Sunblaze
- SUNLESS BUNDLE
- Sunset Overdrive
- Super Buff HD
- Super Mag Bot
- SUPER MAGBOT
- Superbugs: Awaken
- Superhot
- Surgeon Simulator 2
- Survive the Nights
- Surviving Mars
- Surviving The Aftermath
- Swag and Sorcery
- Sword Legacy Omen
- Sword of the Necromancer
- Swords and Soldiers 2 Shawarmageddon
- Syberia 3
- Symphonic Rain
- Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga
- Synthwave Dream '85
- Tacoma
- Take Off - The Flight Simulator
- Tales
- Tales from the Borderlands
- Tales of Berseria
- Tales of Vesperia™: Definitive Edition
- Talk to Strangers
- Tallowmere
- Tangledeep
- Tank Mechanic Simulator
- Tannenberg
- Team Sonic Racing
- TEKKEN 7
- TEMTEM
- Terminus: Zombie Survivors
- Terror of Hemasaurus
- Textorcist
- Tharsis
- The Adventure Pals
- The Amazing American Circus
- The Anacrusis
- The Ascent
- The Battle of Polytopia
- The Battle of Polytopia *DLC1. Cymanti Tribe *DLC2. ∑∫ỹriȱŋ Tribe *DLC3. Aquarion Tribe *DLC4. Polaris Tribe
- The Blackout Club
- The Chess Variants Club
- The Citadel
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes
- THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE *2
- The Darkest Tales
- The Dungeon Beneath
- The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
- The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
- The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind® Game of the Year Edition
- The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion® Game of the Year Edition
- The Escapists 2
- THE GAME OF LIFE 2
- The Golf Club™ 2019 featuring PGA TOUR
- THE GUNK
- The Haunted Island, a Frog Detective Game
- The Hong Kong Massacre
- The Horror Of Salazar House
- The Indie Mixtape
- The Innsmouth Case
- The Invisible Hours
- The Jackbox Party Pack 9
- The Last Campfire
- The Last Remnant
- The Legend of Tianding
- The LEGO Movie 2 Videogame
- The Letter - Horror Visual Novel
- The Long Dark
- The Manhole: Masterpiece Edition
- The Mortuary Assistant
- The Mummy Demastered
- The Outer Worlds
- THE OUTER WORLDS: SPACER'S CHOICE EDITION
- THE PALE BEYOND
- The Quarry deluxe
- The Ramp
- The Red Lantern
- The Rewinder
- The Sacred Tears TRUE
- The Sexy Brutale
- The Smurfs - Mission Vileaf
- The Tarnishing of Juxtia
- The Tenants
- The Uncertain - The Last Quiet Day
- THE UNCERTAIN: LAST QUIET DAY
- The Uncertain: Light At The End
- The USB Stick Found in the Grass
- The Walking Dead
- The Walking Dead - 400 Days
- The Walking Dead Saints and Sinners
- The Walking Dead: A New Frontier
- The Walking Dead: Final Season
- The Walking Dead: Michonne - A Telltale Miniseries
- The Walking Dead: Saints & Sinners
- The Walking Dead: Season 1
- The Walking Dead: Season Two
- The Way
- The Wild At Heart
- The Wild Eight
- The Witness
- Them and Us
- They Bleed Pixels
- Thief of Thieves
- This War of Mine
- This Way Madness Lies
- Three Kingdom: The Journey
- Through the Woods
- Time on Frog Island
- Tinkertown
- Tiny Tina’s Wonderland(EU)
- TINY TINA'S WONDERLANDS CHAOTIC GREAT EDITION
- Tiny Troopers
- Tinykin
- Tinytopia
- TIS-100
- Titan Quest
- Tokyo Xanadu eX+
- Tools up
- Tooth and Tail
- Torchlight
- Total Tank Simulator
- Tour de France 2020
- Trailblazers
- Train Sim World 3: Standard Edition
- Train Simulator Classic
- Train Valley 1
- Transport INC
- Treasure Hunter Simulator
- Trine 4
- Trinity Fusion
- Trombone Champ
- Tropico 5 - Complete Collection
- Trover Saves the Universe
- Tunche
- Turmoil
- Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
- Twin Mirror
- Two Point Campus
- Two Point Hospital
- TYPECAST
- Tyrant's Blessing
- Ultimate Chicken Horse
- Ultimate Zombie Defense
- Ultra Space Battle Brawl
- Unavowed
- Undead Horde
- Unexplored 2: The Wayfarer's Legacy
- Universim
- UNLOVED
- Unpacking
- Until I have you
- Unto The End
- Upside Down
- URU: Complete Chronicles
- Vagante
- Valfaris
- Valfaris: Mecha Therion
- Valkryia Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
- Valkyria Chronicles 4: Complete Edition
- Vambrace: Cold Soul
- Vampire Survivors
- Vampyr
- Vectronom
- Velocity Noodle
- Venba
- Verne: The Shape of Fantasy
- Victoria II
- Viking: Battle For Asgard
- Virgo Versus The Zodiac
- VirtuaVerse
- Visage
- Viscerafest
- Void Bastards
- VOIDIGO
- Volcanoids
- Voltage High Society
- Voltaire: The Vegan Vampire
- V-Rally 4
- Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG)
- Wargroove
- Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
- Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War
- Warhammer 40,000: Mechanicus
- Warhammer 40,000: Space Wolf Special Edition
- WARHAMMER AGE OF SIGMAR: REALMS OF RUIN – ULTIMATE EDITION
- Warhammer vermintide collector's edition
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- Warman
- Wasteland 3
- Wayward
- We should talk.
- We Were Here Together
- We Were Here Too
- Webbed
- What Lies in the Multiverse
- When Ski Lifts Go Wrong
- while True: learn()
- Whos Your daddy
- Wick
- Will You Snail?
- Windward
- Witch It
- Witchy Life Story
- wizard of legends
- Wolfenstein 3D
- Worms Rumble
- WRC 6 FIA World Rally Championship
- WRC 7 FIA World Rally Championship
- WWE 2K Battlegrounds
- WWE 2K23
- WWZ Aftermath
- Wytchwood
- X-COM: COMPLETE PACK
- XCOM: ULTIMATE COLLECTION
- XIII - Classic
- X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Yakuza Kiwami
- Yumeutsutsu Re:After
- Yumeutsutsu Re:Master
- Zen Chess: Mate in One, Mate in 2 , Mate in 3 , Mate in 4 , Champion's Moves (5 games)
- Ziggurat
- Zombie Army 4
- Zombie Army Trilogy
- Zool Redimensioned
- For The King: Lost Civilization Adventure Pack
- Train Simulator: Isle of Wight Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Woodhead Electric Railway in Blue Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: North Somerset Railway Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Union Pacific Heritage SD70ACes Loco Add-On
- Train Simulator: London to Brighton Route Add-On
- BR Class 170 'Turbostar' DMU Add-On
- DB BR 648 Loco Add-On
- Europa Universalis IV: Wealth of Nations
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Conquest of Paradise
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Res Publica
- Grand Central Class 180 'Adelante' DMU Add-On
- Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - Gilroy Route Add-On
- SONIC ADVENTURE 2: BATTLE
- Small World - A Spider's Web
- Small World - Cursed
- Small World - Royal Bonus
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - Goodies Pack
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - OST
- Thompson Class B1 Loco Add-On
- Total War: Shogun 2 - Rise of the Samurai
- Train Sim World® 3: Birmingham Cross-city line
- Train Sim World®: BR Class 20 'Chopper' Loco
- Train Sim World®: Brighton Main Line: London Victoria - Brighton
- Train Sim World®: Caltrain MP36PH-3C 'Baby Bullet'
- Train Sim World®: Cathcart Circle Line: Glasgow - Newton & Neilston
- Train Sim World®: Clinchfield Railroad: Elkhorn - Dante
- Train Sim World®: Great Western Express
- Train Sim World®: Hauptstrecke Hamburg - Lubeck
- Train Sim World®: LIRR M3 EMU
- Train Sim World®: Long Island Rail Road: New York - Hicksville
- Train Sim World®: Nahverkehr Dresden - Riesa
- Train Sim World®: Northern Trans-Pennine: Manchester - Leeds
- Train Sim World®: Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - San Jose
- Train Sim World®: Rhein-Ruhr Osten: Wuppertal - Hagen
- Train Sim World®: Tees Valley Line: Darlington - Saltburn-by-the-sea
- Worms Rumble - Armageddon Weapon Skin Pack
- Worms Rumble - Captain & Shark Double Pack
- Worms Rumble - Legends Pack
- Worms Rumble - New Challengers Pack
- Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
- Dagon: by H. P. Lovecraft - The Eldritch Box DLC
- Duke Nukem Forever Hail to the Icons
- Duke Nukem Forever The Doctor Who Cloned Me
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Cygon Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Nyvoss Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Terra Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Vintek Garage Kit
- GameGuru
- GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
- Intro to Game Development with Unity
- Music Maker EDM Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Darkness Over Daggerford
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Dark Dreams of Furiae
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Tyrants of the Moonsea
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Infinite Dungeons
- Neverwinter Nights: Pirates of the Sword Coast
- Neverwinter Nights: Wyvern Crown of Cormyr
- PDF-Suite 1 Year License
- Pathfinder Second Edition Core Rulebook and Starfinder Core Rulebook
- RPG Maker VX
- WWE 2K BATTLEGROUNDS - Ultimate Brawlers Pass
- We Are Alright
- The Outer Worlds Expansion Pass
- A Hat in Time - Seal the Deal DLC
- City Skylines:mass transit
- A Game Of Thrones - A Dance With Dragons
- A Game Of Thrones - A Feast For Crows
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Gods of Asgard
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mythical Monsters
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mystics of Midgard
- Carcassonne - The Princess and The Dragon DLC
- Carcassonne - Traders & Builders DLC
- Carcassonne - Winter & Gingerbread Man DLC
- Carcassonne - Inns & Cathedrals
- Carcassonne - The River
- Splendor: The Trading Posts DLC
- Splendor: The Strongholds DLC
- Splendor: The Cities DLC
- Small World - Be Not Afraid... DLC
- Small World - Grand Dames DLC
- Small World - Cursed!
- Sands of Salzaar - The Ember Saga
- Sands of Salzaar - The Tournament
- Monster Train: The Last Divinity DLC
- WARSAW
2024.04.28 15:17 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to horrorstories [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 15:17 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to horrorstories [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 15:16 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to Horror_stories [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 15:16 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to Horror_stories [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 15:15 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to stories [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 15:14 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to stories [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 14:54 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to ZakBabyTV_Stories [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 14:54 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to ZakBabyTV_Stories [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 14:54 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to creepypasta [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 14:53 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to creepypasta [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 14:52 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to CreepsMcPasta [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 14:51 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to CreepsMcPasta [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 14:51 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to scaryjujuarmy [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 14:50 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to scaryjujuarmy [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 14:46 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.04.28 14:45 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1]
I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
submitted by CIAHerpes to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)
2024.04.28 04:58 FrenchStephy Kamen Rider Gotchard E33 Producer Blog Summary
KAMEN RIDER GOTCHARD IS PEAK, HOUTAROU IS MY GOAT, I LOVE KAMEN RIDER GRAAAAAAAH
List of the Chemy Ride Cards currently owned by the characters as of Episode 33
submitted by FrenchStephy to KamenRider [link] [comments]
List of the Chemy Ride Cards currently owned by the characters as of Episode 33
- The first reason behind the creation of the Legend Arc (though there was obviously the "Bandai can sell more toys" reason) is that Gotchard is a program that constantly depicts "encounters". Kamen Rider Gotchard is the story of Houtarou Ichinose, an ordinary high school student you can find anywhere, and how he grows through various encounters. This is also why when creating Legend, they chose to make him come from another world: to create another form of "encounter". Houtarou and Kaguya's encounter was themed around "cultural exchange".
- The other reason is the "respect for past Rider series". Director Tasaki and Producer Minato did a magazine interview about Gotchard, and there, Tasaki spoke about his time as director on Kamen Rider Agito by saying "at the time, it was still an era where hero works were underestimated, so we wanted to overturn that". Hearing that, Minato replied "Hero shows are beloved today thanks to the Heisei Kamen Riders, and since I grew up watching them, I have an unwavering respect for them. Rather than wanting to overturn them, I hope to create works with the intent to inherit that respect and with the hopes of surpassing them". Meaning that for Minato, respect for the past Riders was always an important theme for Gotchard from the very beginning. Even during meetings, the staff would talk about how they want to recreate x development they saw in a past Kamen Rider series. Some people might say that it's not original or boring. But the mission for those who come after the ones who paved the road (early Heisei Kamen Rider works) is not to find another wasteland to make move paved roads, but to drive even further on that road, reaching speeds never seen before (= originality). Also, we also live in a world where past Riders are accessible in the present, new versions of 20-year-old Drivers are released today, so in a sense, for the viewers, there is no past or new work. The moment you start watching a show, it becomes the "latest" show. All of this to say that this is the reason why even though it is not an anniversary, Minato wanted to provide the best entertainment possible using his love for past Riders. And that idea is even properly portrayed in the show. There was no way Houtarou's respect for Chemies and Kaguya's respect for past Kamen Riders would ever lose to Hundred, who have no respect for past Dark Riders, using imitations of their powers.
- Episode 33 will be available for free for a limited time on YouTube (
if you live in Japan or use a VPN). - Saigestsu, leader of the Hundred Four, was played by Katsuya Takagi, who played human Juran in Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger.
- The Hundred "Boss" from the vs. Legend special (played by Robin Furuya) was revealed to be a member of the Hundred Four named Gengetsu (
so he was credited as Boss when he wasn't even one, what was he cooking?). - They wanted to make sure to show that the 3 Dark Riders were not the originals but copies. In order to do so, they changed the transformation poses for each of them, after consulting their original actors and working together with the staff to create new poses.
- Tasogare of the Hundred Four was played by Ryuuma Hashido. He is mainly a suit actor and so, at Director Sakamoto's request, he also played Kamen Rider Eternal as his suit actor.
- The red "noise" effect that appeared of Eternal's arms when he transformed was an idea from the compositing staff. The idea was to show that he was supposed to transform into Red Flare but Hundred's copying ability overpowered that.
- Director Sakamoto wanted the kick clash between Platinum Gotchard and Eternal to use all of the Memories, just like in Kamen Rider W Forever: A to Z/The Gaia Memories of Fate. To counter that, they had to choose an equal amount of Chemies and so, Matsuura chose 26 Chemies in alphabetical order (A to Z) to match the Memories.
- The last member of the Hundred Four, Mimei, was played by Fumi Taniguchi. She beautifully took care of her action scenes with her katana.
- Since Lachesis uses Repli MadWheel, the design of Valvarad was slightly changed to match the difference. Lachesis's Valvarusher was initially planned to be also a lot more cutely decorated, with her Valvarad form looking more cute compared to Spanner's. However, they instead decided to focus on Valvarad as a "system".
- Kamen Rider Zein from the TTFC-exclusive series Kamen Rider Outsiders appeared in today's episode. Director Sakamoto himself brought Kamen Rider Super-1 footage to the dubbing room to have Toru Okawa (voice actor of Zein) copy the way Super-1 use his Super Rider Moon Surface Kick.
- The "Houtarou rises as a Kamen Rider" scene was the most important scene for Matsuura (and he is so right because that scene is the best of the episode and one of the best in the entire series).
- The initial reasoning behind the creation of Kaguya's theme song Living Legend was "Director Sakamoto will definitely use the Gotchard opening at some point during the two-parter, so let’s create a Legend theme song so he can use it alongside the OP!!!"
- After Kajiki and Tsukumo, another member of the "Really Like Houtarou Club" has appeared. The most gorgeous member of that club, Kaguya-sama, has (finally) arrived.
- Kuuga! Agito! Ryuki! Faiz (2nd part of the 20th anniversary special "Murder Case" will be released on May 5th)! Blade (Kaguya stayed in that form a little longer compared to the others to celebrate Blade's 20th anniversary)! Hibiki! Kabuto! Den-O! Kiva! Decade! It's all Heisei! Gorgeous!
- Suit actors: Kamen Rider Dark Kiva was portrayed by Masato Tsutamune. Kamen Rider Eternal was portrayed by Ryuma Hashido. Kamen Rider Glare was portrayed by Yuki Miyazawa, and by Nanako Sakai when fighting Valvarad (Lachesis). Kamen Rider Zein was portrayed by Kenya Saitou (who previously portrayed Kamen Rider Wind). Valvarad (Lachesis) was portrayed by Yuki Miyazawa. Kamen Rider Kuuga and Den-O were portrayed by Eitoku (who plays Kamen Rider Gotchard). Kamen Rider Agito, Hibiki and Kiva were portrayed by Yuji Nakata (who plays Kamen Rider Valvarad). Kamen Rider Ryuki, Faiz, Blade, Kabuto and Decade were portrayed by Kosuke Asai (who previously played Gotchard Daybreak)
- Next episode, Only One! All Roads Lead to Gorgeousness, was written by Hiroki Uchida and directed Takayuki Shibasaki. Fun fact, Shibasaki is (one of) the creator(s) of Kamen Rider Legend's character, and he also directed the vs. Legend spin-off.