|Written by:||matt w bridgeforth (bio, contact, other stories)|
|Location:||Washington D. C. usa|
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|Written by:||matt w bridgeforth (bio, contact, other stories)|
|Location:||Washington D. C. usa|
Itís been said that no bad deed goes unpunished. Iím here to tell you that sometimes, no good deed goes unpunished. Sometimes it seems like you have been singled out to be taught a valuable lesson so that others may learn from youíre mistakes.|
For the sake of my familyís privacy, Iíll call myself ďJohn.Ē Even the most unbelievable parts of this story Iím about to tell you is true. If I hadnít been there myself and experienced it, I would be a bit skeptical myself. You be the judge.
I worked for the FBI for 12 years. I was assigned the unsolved cold cases, cases that were unsolved and unexplained. I saw a lot of things that didnít make sense and couldnít be explained away by science. I was the outcast of the bureau. I didnít have a partner, or even a real desk. I was the joke of our department.
It was a beautiful spring morning the day I walked into the office and was given a case file on a string of seven unsolved murders that had happened over a two year period. I looked through the file and followed up on as much of it as I could before I started my own investigation. I learned that there was absolutely no evidence in the case. No eyewitnesses, no DNA, and no prints. The only thread that held the victims together was the fact that they had all died from massive blood loss. There were also two puncture wounds to the neck. I know what youíre thinking, I thought the same thing.
I started my own investigation, retraced the same routes that previous detectives had followed, hoping that I may find something that they had overlooked. I discovered that a Detective Harry Edwards had worked the case from the D.C. homicide unit. When I tried to find Detective Edwards, I learned that he had suddenly quit his job and moved his family to the west coast. I also learned that his daughter had been victim #7.
I called Edwards to talk to him about the case. He sounded as though he was a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He talked off the wall and didnít make sense. He made one thing clear, he didnít want to be involved and he didnít want me to call him again.
After I hung up with Edwards, I decided to follow up on his work. Obviously he was the best lead I had in the case. I gained access to his case file and all the material that he had used in the case. I searched through photographs, witness interviews, and autopsy reports. Nothing seemed to resemble a lead of any kind. I was at another dead end.
I didnít know it at the time, but my biggest break came when victim #8 was found at the waterfront. The victim was a 17 year old student that had been missing for nearly a week. Cause of death, massive blood loss. As usual, there were no eyewitnesses or evidence.
I had gone as far as I could in the case and had never experienced the frustration as I was feeling at that moment. I had every case spread out before me and didnít have a clue what to do next. I began opening my mail and came across an anonymous letter. I opened the envelope and on a piece of paper was an address, nothing more.
I found it difficult to sleep so I decided to go to the address. The house wasnít hard to find, it was the only house on the drive. It looked as if a stiff breeze could topple the two story home at any time. I parked 200 yards away and walked in. I was in the older section of D.C. not far from the waterfront, where three of the bodies had been recovered.
I watched the house for nearly an hour. I didnít see movement of any kind and there were no lights on. I approached the house and peered through the dusty windows. The interior looked considerably worse than the outside. The interior was decorated with broken furniture, mold, and cobwebs. The front door was unlocked.
The floor groaned in protest as I crossed the living room. There were a million places to hide a body, or worse. I looked through the lower and upper level without finding anything worthwhile. I was starting to think that I had been pranked by the guys in the office. It wouldnít have been the first time that I had been the subject of their humor.
I walked outside and noticed a door to the cellar. It would be light in a couple of hours. I decided that I may as well check the cellar, just to be sure. The door opened with a creak and thudded heavily on the ground. I descended the stairs and was met by the putrid smell of rotted meat and sewage. I gagged several times and almost lost my supper. The dampness of the cellar chilled me to the bone.
The smell seemed to emanate from a pile of dirt in a corner. Upon closer inspection, the pile wasnít dirt at all, but human excretion. The feces itself seemed to be coated in a bloody mucus. I heaved until I thought that I would surely cough up a lung. I backed away and decided to call for backup. As I turned to leave, a figure appeared at the entrance, blocking my way out.
He stood motionless at the doorway, watching me. He was much bigger than me and had a menacing aura about him that made me want to run, but I was trapped. I shone my flashlight on him and I could have sworn I saw him wince, but the bulb burned out before I could see his face. He slowly descended the steps. I stepped back and produced my pistol. I warned him to stop. He didnít seem to hear me and flowed in my direction. I could barely see his outline by the light of the moon when I fired two shots into his chest. Expecting him to drop, I was mortified to see him pause momentarily and continue walking toward me.
I had backed myself into the blackness of a corner. As he stood before me, I could see that he was a full foot taller than me. His eyes burned into my soul, stealing any hope that I had of ever surviving this encounter. His mouth was impossibly large and housed fangs that were at least three inches long. He didnít have a strand of hair on his head and his skin was pasty white.
He grabbed me by my shirt and threw me into a stack of crates on the other side of the room, splintering them with my weight. White hot pain pierced my side. I was on the verge of losing consciousness, but I knew that if I did, all hope would be lost. I lost my gun when I was thrown and had no clue where it was. As he approached me for the second time, I grabbed a sliver of a wooden crate that I had smashed. He grabbed me by the throat and easily lifted me off the ground. He studied me intently, as if trying to decide what he should do. He never attempted to speak. Suddenly, his mouth opened to an impossible width and he slowly moved into my exposed throat. I felt his steamy breath on my neck and felt the touch of needle sharp teeth. I plunged the sliver of wood into his chest. He dropped me instantly.
I stumbled backward and once again tried to catch my breath. The man lay on the floor clutching the splinter that was embedded in his chest. I stood over him, watching him writhe in agony. All at once he stopped moving and turned his focus onto me. His eyes locked onto mine. Blood dribbled down his chin as he opened his mouth and gurgled ďaspicio quae ego aspicio.Ē
I watched as he closed his eyes and he lay limp on the floor. His pale skin began to darken and peel off of his bones. In a matter of seconds, the skeleton was all that remained of the creature. I stumbled out of the basement and called headquarters. Within the hour, the house was teaming with agents.
I returned home and was advised not to talk to anyone about what had happened. Sleep was a long time coming. When I finally did sleep, my dreams were haunted by horrifying images and screams. I awoke the next morning with a fever and chills. I thought that I had contracted the flu, which wouldnít have surprised me. I spent the day under the covers, trying to block the images of the previous night from my mind.
I began seeing dark figures when I was awake. Shadows just far enough away that I couldnít make out what they were. I saw movement out of the corners of my eyes that were gone when I turned to look. I heard people screaming as if they were being tortured. I began to think I was losing my mind.
When I went out, I saw shadowy spirits dragging men and women through the air, disappearing into the ground, their screams echoing in the air. The world was a dark and cold place. I found no joy in life, only gloom and depression. I went online to see if I could find out what it was that the creature had said to me in its dying breath. It had spoken to me in Latin and I translated it to mean, ďsee what I see.Ē
Anytime someone died, I learned that if they were good and went to heaven, I saw nothing. If they were bad, I would see their souls carried to Hell by demons of every size and shape. I would see the demons walking with certain people, whispering advice into their ears, right before they would commit a horrendous crime. The demons would see me, knowing that I could see them and flash me a devious smile.
The world had never been kind to me. I was always the outcast at everything that I ever tried to do. I studied hard and tried to get a good education so that I could somehow fit in and learn my place. The FBI gave me that chance, but I learned that even amongst them, I was an outsider. I had done my job to the best of my ability and had fallen into a void that slowly stole my very existence. I had done the world a great deed in ridding it of a predator as old as the world itself, but in return, I lost my soul.
The supernatural is a very dangerous thing. Take care that you know exactly what youíre getting yourself into before you traverse that haunted highway. As for myself, I cannot take the pain and horror that I see and hear every moment I am alive. After I am finished writing this story, I will jump from the roof of my apartment building. Perhaps in death I can become something that I couldnít attain in life.
As for my family, Iím sorry and I love you.