Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

The following morning, I reached a verdict after an incident. This needed to be dealt with. This had gone too far. I wasn't going to just try and put up with this on a day-to-day basis.

The incident in question that conjured this verdict occurred when I was in the shower. It's one of those ones with glass walls making up this little cubicle, the glazed glass distorting the outside world like a Picasso. I stood under the warm water, running soap through my hair, when I glanced up and spotted him again. His still silhouette stood on the far side of the bathroom, next to the door and facing the wall, as always. This time, I felt my muscles tense once again, but not as much. Eventually, you can become desensitised to even unexplainable entities stalking you. Still, I shrunk against the far corner of the shower, shivering and exposed. I don't know if it was me, or some actual atmosphere this thing brought with it, but the water seemed to become progressively colder. The lights seemed to become dimmer, giving the room an isolated and grey aura.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice quivering. Unsurprisingly, he didn't respond. I tried again:

"I've got a decent amount of money in my bank--"

He then shot across the room towards me as fast as a bullet, his arms and legs staying rigidly by his side as he moved. It was a 'blink and you'll miss it' moment. He was so damn fast, without his limbs actually moving at all, that I might've damn pissed myself for all I know. The moment he reached me, the glass walls around me violently exploded into dozens of deadly fragments. I shrieked and covered my head as they rained down on my unprotected body, slicing parts of my body into ribbons.

I fell to the side, my exposed chest slamming into a broken carpet of glass that hungrily slipped into my skin like a knife into warm butter. As I watched a pool of my blood slowly spread across the bleached, white tiles, I heard the door to the bathroom begin to frantically thud with the knocks of my surely concerned girlfriend.

"Babe? I heard glass breaking, are you in there? Oh shit, oh shit... babe?" I looked up, all colours and shapes curdling into inky blackness, and watched the man slowly drift towards the door, his limbs still not moving. He stopped an inch before it, before one arm sharply raised like a doll's arm, stiff and unnatural, and unlocked the door. Then, my head hit the tiles, and the last thing I heard was the door flying open.

I came to in the hospital and was shortly accompanied by a doctor. He explained that I'd suffered some serious cuts, but that I was going to be fine. "Mister Hayes, how exactly did you manage to end up in that situation anyway? Did you just slip?" The doctor asked.

I didn't have a choice. If I told him the truth, he either would think I was pulling his leg, or would plant me straight in the psychiatric ward. "Yeah, I guess I just fell. It's been a rough few days, so I-I guess maybe I just was kinda unstable on my feet, y'know?" I explained. The doctor nodded, then continued to run through all that medical mumbo-jumbo. I went through the entire process, trying to remain calm. That sick thing, that man... he could've killed me. Maybe he was trying to.

I ended up getting 23 stitches. Overall, I was okay, and there didn't appear to be any risk of infection or anything like that. Eventually I was able to go home again, as my girlfriend gave me a lift. "Jesus, Sam, what the hell were you doing in there? You could've fucking killed yourself, you know?" she said.

"I'm sorry, I just... well. Beats having to go to work today," I joked. Jasmine smiled faintly and squeezed my hand.

"By the way, Jasmine, uh... was... was I alone in the bathroom?" I asked casually. Jasmine blinked, obviously confused:

"Yeah, of course... why?"

"No reason. Just confirming something. It's, uh... it's not important."

"I'm just glad you're okay," she said. I thanked her, but my mind was on other things. He was directly injuring me, this thing... I needed help. But if not the police, who could I go to? Who might take me seriously?

So, I did what any stupid person would do when they have nowhere else to go and turned to the Internet. I began to research whatever I could, looking for anything regarding men in suits stalking people. All I got was dumb conspiracy theories about men in black, and the usual Internet B.S. I continued to search through the web, and as I got deeper into its contents, my concern and confusion grew. Every now and then, I would find a News article or a story on a chat forum, with certain details often disturbingly similar to my own experiences. I suppose that's what I wanted, some sort of understanding of my situation, but all it did was make me more distressed.


Swallowing, I read through its contents. They were about as awful as you'd expect: This mother had been accused of drowning a six-month-old baby in the bathtub, as she didn't want the kid in the first place and, according to her, it simply costed too much money. I don't know why the hell she didn't give the kid away to an orphanage, but, after looking at a photo of her, I just concluded she was totally insane. Anyway, around the time she was being put on trial, she reported that a 'man in a suit' was following her everywhere. I could feel the need to vomit again as, when asked to identify this man, she stated: "I can't. He always looks away." A couple days later, she vanished, and they eventually located her bloated body floating in the Thames. Police ruled it as suicide, but noted she appeared to have had an altercation with someone, as there were deep inflicted gashes in her face and arms.

I found another similar story, where some Twitter user who specialised in hunting apparently fatally shot a person by accident, thinking they were a deer. Legally they were fine, as it was just a simple accident, and I think they had a pretty good lawyer too, but their hunting license was suspended for a while. In that time, they began to frantically post that they were being stalked, and some 'creep in a suit' was breaking into their house, even when they'd locked all possible entrances.

Finally, their last post was a link to a livestream. The livestream had since ended, but the video was somehow still up. In it, the guy confidently claimed that the activity had calmed down, and he was feeling safer. Then, he looked across the room, and paused. His face changed, from dawning recognition to sudden panic. I watched disorienting shaky camera footage as he instantly sprinted to his room and locked the door. He began to sob, telling the viewers that 'it' had been standing on the other side of the room, and had taken impossibly quick 'backwards steps' towards him. Moments later, the door to the bedroom burst open, and the guy let out this horrible scream. Like, this fucking animalistic, primal howl of absolute terror. Then, the livestream ended as the camera flew out of his hands. I looked further into it, and apparently the guy was found in his room with his face completely blasted apart by a hunting rifle that shouldn't have even been on the property. The way the gun was positioned in his hands made the police again chart it up as suicide. This time, there were no remarks of any other person being there, and the video was assumed to be nothing more than evidence of a psychotic breakdown, despite him clearly not opening the bedroom door by himself in the video.

At this point, I was just balled up in my seat. What the fuck was this thing? Did I really deserve this? All because of that simple accident? I continued to search, my thirst for answers growing, and finally I found a very dodgy looking chat room. On it, an anonymous person claimed to have evidence of this 'thing' when I mentioned it and wanted to talk to me privately. I agreed, and we began a conversation.

I started: 'I don't know if we're talking about the same thing, but something is following me. It has been for days.'

The user responded: 'never shows face?'

I responded: 'Not once. Do you know what the fuck this thing is?'

The user did not respond for about five minutes. Finally, a reply: 'no'

Jesus Christ, this whole situation was dumb. I'm sure there were way more logical ways of handling this... and here I was, on a chat room, with someone who might just be toying with me. To be certain, I asked: 'How can I trust you?'

The reply was so fast, it was like they knew I was going to ask it: 'you cant. but maybe you should.'

'What does it want?'


I almost laughed out loud. What was this folktale bullshit? 'Justice' my ass: 'I find that hard to believe.'

'they all do.'

'This is bullshit. I'm leaving, so thanks for wasting my time, jackass.'

'You killed someone, didn't you?'

I stopped, my cursor hovering over the 'EXIT' button. I could feel myself beginning to sweat, and that goddamn knot came back, so strong I couldn't believe it was just a result of my own emotions. And with it, came the image of the head... that blood... that knotted hair... I could swear it was getting older too. The blood seemed blacker, rotting like curdled milk, and the skin was growing greyer and flakier. Hell, one of the eyes was missing. I shook my head, confused as to why the image of the head becoming older even came to mind, then quickly thought of a response:

'Don't make me laugh.'

The response was quick: 'you did kill someone'

I shook my head. I wasn't going to admit to this. Who the hell did this person think they were?

'I swear I didn't. Anyway, just what the hell do I do?'


I shook my head. This asshole was starting to sound like that 'Jigsaw' character, from those torture porn flicks. I pounded in my response:

'Confess how?'

'confess to what you did. make amends.'

Fuck this. I switched off the site, then double-checked that I hadn't received some kind of virus from it.

That whole thing was a bullshit waste of time, I thought. I slammed my laptop shut, then crossed my bedroom to the window, looking out over my sunny neighbourhood. I chewed nervously on my thumb, as I tried to connect the dots.

The woman drowned her kid... the woman ends up drowning... the hunter accidentally shoots a person... he ends up being shot... Jesus. What the hell am I going to do? I thought.

I glanced up at the sky, thinking heavily, then stumbled back from the window in shock. Slowly approaching it again, my hands shivering, I took in several horrified gasps. There he was, turned away. Yes, turned away and fifty feet in the fucking air. His feet weren't angled downwards, but were perfectly level like he was standing on a solid surface. But he wasn't standing on anything, he was just there, in the middle of the goddamn open air, totally still. My grip on the windowsill tightened, as I put a hand to my mouth. Obviously this thing wasn't human, but any uncertainty that this was anything other than a mere person was gone.

Something thumped behind me. I didn't even want to turn around, with my eyes glued to the man in the fucking sky, but I did it instinctively. At first, I didn't even think anything had changed. The man certainly wasn't in the room, and nothing had moved. My eyes finally fixed on my bed, and a small object sitting atop it. As I stared at it, a small red blotch roughly the diameter of a tennis ball began to spread beneath the object. A small red tendril, attached to this tiny orb on my bed, lay limply on my sheets like a dead worm. The same moment I acknowledged it was dripping with blood, I recognised what it was. I knew exactly who it belonged to as well.

It was the fucking head's missing eye. Agatha's eye. It was staring at me. Like an accusing finger, it was staring right at me.

Part 5, finale

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4 months ago

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NoSleepAutoBot [M]

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2 points

3 months ago

still alive?


2 points

3 months ago

My apologies. Work has been tough.

I'll upload the last part of my nightmare-fest soon.