When I was a kid, I used to live in this old town. The strange thing about it, was that it never seemed to show up on maps. Another thing about it was that if you left, you could never find it again, nor contact anyone there. It seemed to just… Disappear.
Logically, my whole bloodline lived in Greensville, though I’ve heard legends of an old bloke, who left 200 years ago. According to grandmamma, who had heard of these stories from her late mother, he was a peculiar man. He had black greasy hair, which fully covered his eyes in a dark shadow, impossibly wrinkled skin and a long, crooked nose. I heard tales about him. Strange tales. Tales that described him as ‘immortal’ or ‘undying’ based on the fatal situations he endured. Despite that, he miraculously turned up the next day, healthy. One day, he just vanished, nowhere to be seen. No one knows why, though people are sure he left the town.
Me? I still live here, though strange things have been happening to townsfolk for the past month. Some randomly go missing, their bodies never recovered, some found brutally murdered with three, parallel cuts on their necks, and their faces mauled.
Last week, I woke up and groggily got ready for the day. I wore a fancy suit and tie; I had a press interview. I hailed a cab and it dropped me off to my office complex. I whistled a cheerful tune and entered the building. As I was about to enter the elevator, a curious man gestured to me to follow him. Annoyed but painstakingly curious, I hastily tailed him. He walked in slow, long strides, as if he had all the time in the world. He wore strangely old fashioned clothes, as if he had time travelled. He led me to a set of stairs, which I was confused by since the lift could have taken us to wherever we wanted to go.
Surprisingly, the stairs led down, which was impossible; this was the bottom floor. Nevertheless, I followed the weird man down the narrow flight of stairs. After what seemed like ages, we emerged into a basement. It was full of sacks 5ft long. Weird. The man came to an abrupt halt, making me almost crash into him.
He slowly turned around and lifted his hood. I yelled. His old wrinkled face and his excess skin flopped down over his eyes, just below his long, greasy black hair.
I seized my pocket knife and stabbed him in where I thought his eyes were. He dropped the the concrete floor. I ran up the narrow stairwell. After I got to the top, I looked back. The stairwell was gone.
I narrated my story the the police. Unfortunately, they didn’t believe me. I gave up telling my story a few days ago; everyone thinks I’m insane. The only reason I posted this is because that same man is staring at me from outside my window.