Secrets of an Insane Man

“Come on James!” I hurriedly whispered. “Coming man!” James replied quietly. We had been walking back from a long day at the park, playing football, buying some snack and being a general nuisance to the birds that wanted to pick up crumbs from the ground. Our walk from and to the park took us around the outskirts of a condemned neighbourhood, and though we were slightly spooked by the general vibes being given off the place during the day, it was nowhere near as creepy and grotesque during the night.

Oftentimes when either of us would walk we could hear a slight creak or some rustle, yet we assured ourselves it must be just age taking its toll in the houses. “Fancy exploring some of those houses?” I asked James as we made our way one day to the park, like we do every weekend. James was never a coward, but he had a rather traumatic past which he didn’t want to disclose, and I never forced him either.

“Bro, what is there to explore? Those houses are probably decayed from the inside, and all that we might find would be mould, rot and perhaps a decayed body or two.” James was scared, I could tell, but he didn’t let on. I stayed silent and plotted on how to convince him.

We neared the house which we were making for; a faded yellow building with smashed windows and a rotten wooden door. It was nighttime, but we had torches equipped and a few batteries just in case.

“Should we go through the door or the window?” James asked me. “Well, the door is rotten, and the windows are broken but most likely have shards around the edges, so let’s try the door first.” We walked up to the door. One push and it went down. The echo reverberated round the house, making the silence more eerie. “Split up. I take the bottom, you take up.” I told James. He assented and we went on our ways. There was a kitchen directly down the hallway in which we were in, so I checked there first.

I wanted to throw up. There was a whole nest of maggots feasting upon a mystery item on a dirty table, rats scurried about, and the fridge… the less I talk about the smell, the better, for it had been left open and contents were spilling out. As I hopped it out of there, I noticed some plants as well in there, though slimy and brown.

I got out and calmed myself before entering what appeared to be a living room. Same state as the kitchen. Except…

There was a journal on the table, and in good condition too. As I made the move to open it, something scuttled behind me. Something which sounded bigger than a rat. I flashed my torch behind me, but there was nothing. “James, where are you!” I shouted, for whatever it was gave me quite a fright. “Coming!” James voice sounded so shrill.

I heard a thumping down the stairs as James rushed down. “You’ll not believe what I saw!” James nearly yelled as he came up to me.

“What you find?!” I asked, thinking it was going to be something or someone dead. “The bathroom is a capital of cockroaches, the clothes in the bedrooms are mouldy and nasty, and there are signs of a struggle up there.”

“That’s not much is it now?” I replied sarcastically. I turned to the journal. “Look what I found” I said as I opened it.

A picture was plastered down on the first page. It was of a pilot from the 1940s and he had a spitfire. “Was the man living here a pilot?” I thought out loud. I carried on to the next page, which just had a list of disturbing names that made my hair rise. “Dude, this guy was more than a pilot” James said fearfully as he read the names:

Rake, Jersey Devil, Mothman, Ahuizotl, famous names came up of cryptids and some which I didn’t know, such as Bill the hybrid? Senderman? Not Slenderman, mind you, for he appears further down the list.

Some names had ticks (the ones mentioned earlier), while some had a cross. I decided to take the journal as the night was deepening and we were in a rush to get out, or James was.

“Bruv, wait!” I called out as James left the room. I was just about to follow suit when I found a slip of paper with some kind of numbered input code, as well as the title of “Garage”.

I stepped outside, and saw James shivering like a leaf and going paler every second.

“Dude, I think I saw a Rake, let’s just go!” James whispered. I felt a creeping sensation, like a spider crawling around my body, but I steeled myself to deny him.

“We search the garage, and we go.” I said, walking down the hallway, into the kitchen, and into a garden which I forgot to mention. Plants in that garden were not to be messed with, as I had taken a botanical study of poisonous plants, and I saw varying amounts of nightshade and other deadly weeds.

The garage was in front of me now. An old security pad was at the side, but for some reason it looked recently used. I punched in the keys on the slip of paper, and a rusty whirring sound came as the door rolled up like the mouth of a giant. Stagnant air came out of the void, and I thought I heard something whispering. James whimpered but said nothing. I flashed my torch around and realised there was a staircase leading down. Low lights came on, giving a faint glow to the steps, and I nearly tumbled headlong into the ground, due to not paying attention to the end of steps. A door presented itself to us. Something had pooled out from underneath the door at one time, but whatever it was had been long dried up, though there were some smudged marks which looked like whatever the thing was had been licked. I opened the door, even though I was nervous.

I could feel my heart beating loudly and heard James as well, beating like a hammer.

I flashed my torch inside. I wanted to scream out loud so badly, yet the stench made me to near miss projectile vomit.

A decayed body lay on the floor, eaten by some large animal, yet it still had some rags of clothing, which suggested that the body was killed not long ago. The stench was terrible. A sort of putrid smell mixed with the smell of rotten leaf matter and shite.

James scrambled out of there, frightened out of his head, yet I did not heed him, for I saw another door with something moving behind it. I pulled my shirt over my nose in order to reduce the smell, and made my way to another door I spotted.

Unlocked.

I opened it, and I just screamed. The place was like an underground warehouse, and there were massive cages containing one denizen in it. Yet those cages had no locks or anything.

I spotted amongst the cages a Rake on all fours gnawing at something, Jersey Devil sleeping, what I believed was an ahuizotl (it had a hand on its tail) lapping up some drink, and last but not least, the most terrifying thing I had ever seen.

It was a mix of donkey, bat and crocodile. Whatever that thing was, it had the snout of a crocodile, a donkey’s head and body, I think they are lion claws, enlarged bat wings, and vicious red eyes which looked murder at me as soon as it spotted me. It screeched, sounding like a metal fork scratching a blackboard. Something swooped at me from the ceiling, nearly taking me with it. Mothman. At the very back of the warehouse someone appeared, wearing a vintage suit with a brown leather flat cap and a traveller’s bag by his side. Whatever that was looked like Slenderman, yet I’m well sure that wasn’t him. I legged it out of there, the signs of that horrible place seared into my mind.

Years later after the incident, I found the journal again in my possession, which I had forgotten about. I could only make so much out of it when I read it, but apparently, the man who lived in that house was deemed insane by his neighbours, as they oftentimes used to hear strange noises coming from his garage, yet all investigations came to nothing, and eventually all the neighbours just forsook the place.
The man was a traveller and ace fighter pilot, as well as having a degree in science, and what he kept in that garage was the result of stealing DNA from the originals and making clones. What purpose he needed them for I haven’t uncovered, but I believe that the body there in the garage was his, and he died at the hands of his creations.

Last note: I haven’t heard of James ever since that day, although I’m sure he escaped, and yet… someone’s at the door….

A note was left outside my house:

your friend is dead, narrator, deserved to be punished, and now we can finally be free from the one that knew our secret. You.

Signed: Senderman, postman of living horror.

I signed my own death warrant.