Hello. It’s 20th March 2023 as I write this. The reception combined with my current mental state may mean that this post takes longer to go through.
I am definitely not of sound mind or body any longer.
My name is Fred East, I’m 25 years old with short, spiky blond hair with blue eyes and am a resident in a small town with a population of around 5, 000.
I live with my three sisters - 18, 16 and 12. Our parents died in a car crash five years ago. My eldest sister has recently joined me in supporting our other siblings. I am a court judge. Yes, I am young for that occupation, but my parent’s tragic death caused me to have a hunger for justice, and a mentoring program greatly helped that.
My best friend, who is referred to by his last name, Jones, and I decided to do a bit of exploration in one of the few places that bring a measly amount of tourists here. My Fiancée works as a tour guide at our destination.
When I say measly, I mean measly. No-one really visits or moves here, and I’ve only known a handful of residents leave.
I’m digressing a little.
Back to exploring.
Jones and I approached the building, it was night, of course, and very remote, so there were some creep factors at play.
I won’t name the place for reasons that should become clear later. It’s an abandoned prison that’s fairly small and closed 140 years ago. No-one was really sure why it had closed, but everyone has theories.
Makes a tourist attraction scarier, right?
The last time I had been here was when I was about 15, on a field trip, which is when I met my fiancée, who was on one too.
On the way to the entry door, Jones teased me with stories of ghosts, tales of experimentation and abuse on prisoners. Also of guards against other guards.
You know, the usual shit people try to scare you with as you walk up to a “scary” attraction.
I shrugged it off, laughing.
We opened the massive, metal door with a creak.
As I said, it is a small prison, the height of four stories, width/length of around ¼ an acre.
Typical generic old school prison film architecture, cells and generally a ‘grey’ and depressing atmosphere.
Two rows of cells, spanning the building. Two levels, one set of stairs about halfway down.
Anyway, talking about this any more would be boring. I prefer the history of a place, not how much damp it has. Doesn’t make enough money to fix everything, but it is one of our only historical landmarks, so it continues to stand.
I sniffed the air as we entered, scrunching my face up,
“Smells of piss and shit in here.”
Jones shrugged,
“I don’t smell anything. Maybe they got some inspiration from that thing in London and went a bit more realistic this year.”
He might have been correct. They were desperate to get profit from this place, and the light theming may not be working.
We split up in order to explore properly, flashlights at the ready. The cells were identical; Old and rusted bed frames with springs sticking out, a sink with a broken mirror above it and papers and dust littering the floor. There was also a closed, locked up gift shop. Of course.
I walked up the stairs and examined the cells a little more closely. Some had props in them for the tourists, like fake skeletons in grey and black pyjamas leaning on the bars, or mannequins of guards in uniform “walking” in the middle of the walkway. One cell even had a prisoner using a spoon to dig the wall.
I walked into one particular cell, despite the very strong smell of bodily excrement and urine giving me a headache. No. not just a headache. A sudden, onset migraine, so much so that I had to take a breath, closing my eyes and leaning on the sink.
This was when I heard a clink and Jones laughing behind me. I turned around to see him dropping the key outside the cell and smiling at me,
“Don’t worry, your honour. I’ll be back to take you to your bachelor party later. Just need you out of the way for a few hours!” He then made some typical “bro” barking sound before leaving.
What the fuck?
OK, so for a while I was impressed. I failed to reach the key and, while I appreciated the creativity and sentiment, I did not appreciate the delivery of the idea nor the lack of provisions I was afforded. Oh well, I had just had a burger.
As if on cue, the migraine returned. I clutched my head and shut my eyes, suddenly feeling pretty tired. I fell asleep, but it was one of those flash sleeps, so I slept but felt like it was only a second passing, as you do when you have been under anaesthetic.
Not only that, but I began keeping notes on my phone to stave off boredom. Though they were pretty boring notes.
I started to feel an itch on my head, like something was biting it. Did this place have bugs? Probably. This itch ever so nicely coincided with every time I felt hungry.
Jones hadn’t returned by the time my torch had run out of battery. Probably wasn’t charged before we set off. I thought about using my phone, but then again I found myself really wanting to conserve battery, so didn’t.
I slept, using my clothes as a blanket.
Furthermore, I pissed out of the cell bars, as I didn’t want to contribute to the smell. Luckily, I didn’t have to shit.
I don’t know how long passed. The light coming into the building didn’t give me much help, as I slept so much I was unsure if I had skipped days.
My battery is pretty good, I had a push on battery with me, so I used that, but now it is depleted.
This cell doesn’t even have a mirror.
The FUCKING MIGRAINES AND THE ITCH, THE ITCHING, I SCRATCH UNTIL MY FINGERS ARE RAW, I EVEN DRAG MY TEETH ALONG MY SKIN SOMETIMES. IT FEELS, GOOD. THIS. THIS CELL. EXQUISITE. FUCK, IT IS ALL OVER MY BODY NOW AND I CANNOT STAND IT.
I CAN NOT SLEEP. I CAN NOT REST.
NOW THEY HAVE ADDED EXTRA SENSATIONS;
THERE’S A SCRATCHING SOUND WHENEVER I MOVE MY EYES.
THERE’S A PIERCING BUZZING IN MY EARS THAT I CAN NOT DROWN OUT. I CAN NOT HEAR ANYTHING EXCEPT THIS NOW.
I CAN JUST WAIT. FOR DEATH OR JONES.
NETHER COME.
IN ONE LAST EFFORT, I REACH FOR THE KEY, PUSHING MY SHOULD INTO THE METAL BARS.
I GRAB IT, BUT FREEZE IN PLACE.
That is when I heard my stomach grumble.
I heard it.
I opened my eyes and the scratching was gone. I was sat on the floor against the wall, opposite the cell door, swung open. The migraine, buzzing, itching and, well, just all of it had gone.
There was no key.
That’s when I remembered.
I grinned, coming to terms with my new self.
The truth is, I could have got help at any time.
I could have left at any time.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to in the end.
That’s when I noticed that the skeleton is real.
Don’t come here.
I was the one who locked the cell. I am not sure why. Why have I done these things?
This is my confession.
Jones. We had a fight. He never shut me in here. He never left the building.
I don’t remember what started it. But, I feel blood both on my lips and, as I feel my head, there is also blood on it.
I remember now.
He punched me, and the both dull and echoing thud of my head smacking on the sink caused me to have a bad migraine. I staggered onto my feet, as he apologised and went to help me. I felt rage, inexplicable sudden rage. I am normally mild-mannered, but this did not feel like me.
Burning. Rage.
Summoning all the energy I could, given that my skull felt like it had been crushed, I leapt onto him, wrapping my hands around his neck. Despite the fact that he is normally stronger than me, he could not push me off. I saw the veins bulge in my arms, froth dripping onto Jones from my mouth, my eyes felt like they were burning. BURNING.
Then came the….
CRACK.
Jones was dead. I had killed him.
The rage dispersed, taken over by a numbness, a chill in my very bones. I took my hands off of his neck and, in my panic, dragged his body until it was a crumpled heap in a dark corner of the cell.
I sat in this cell, hyperventilating, while my mind played the ‘simulation’ I have written above to me, it was also trying to think what to do. I guess it did that because of the shock.
That’s when my stomach rumbled and I got an idea. A terrible idea which would doom me.
I had nothing to dismember with, so just ate straight off the bone.
I started with a finger. I cried when I ate the first few pieces, especially when my teeth would scrape on bone. Threw some up. But he was gone and I was not. If I could hold on. I only ate when I could not stand the hunger pains.
At least, that’s how it started. I began to enjoy it.
I did not have the strength to walk. My strength grows weaker. I sit next to Jones in a puddle of piss, shit and gore currently.
His ears were chewy, I didn’t much care for them. But, a very small amount of nourishment was better than none.
I may have infected myself with bacteria from eating human flesh. But, it won’t matter now.
But, the outside scares me now. I’m sorry, Baby, but I am sure I will be punished for what I have done. This post will be all that is left.
This seems like a good place to tell you that my notes also kept track of the days.
I have been here for two days.
It took TWO DAYS for my mind and body to destabilize to this point due to…something? I can only think it is the smell. It made me think that it had been weeks, or even a month.
The skeleton…. I can see it now.
I never ate his face. It’s still there.
Staring at me in terror. In judgement.
I hope that whatever triggered my behaviour has fully gone by that time.
But then, maybe it simply unlocked my true nature.
This is my confession and I plead guilty.
My vision is blurry and I can barely type any more.
There will be two skeletons in this cell on the next tour.
At least you will see me again.
Hello. It’s 14th March 2023 as I write this. The reception combined with my current mental state may mean that this post takes longer to go through.
I am definitely not of sound mind or body any longer.
My name is Fred East, I’m 25 years old with short, spiky blond hair with blue eyes and am a resident in a small town with a population of around 5, 000.
I live with my three sisters - 18, 16 and 12. Our parents died in a car crash five years ago. My eldest sister has recently joined me in supporting our other siblings. I am a court judge. Yes, I am young for that occupation, but my parent’s tragic death caused me to have a hunger for justice, and a mentoring program greatly helped that.
My best friend, who is referred to by his last name, Jones, and I decided to do a bit of exploration in one of the few places that bring a measly amount of tourists here. My Fiancée works as a tour guide at our destination.
When I say measly, I mean measly. No-one really visits or moves here, and I’ve only known a handful of residents leave.
I’m digressing a little.
Back to exploring.
Jones and I approached the building, it was night, of course, and very remote, so there were some creep factors at play.
I won’t name the place for reasons that should become clear later. It’s an abandoned prison that’s fairly small and closed 140 years ago. No-one was really sure why it had closed, but everyone has theories.
Makes a tourist attraction scarier, right?
The last time I had been here was when I was about 15, on a field trip, which is when I met my fiancée, who was on one too.
On the way to the entry door, Jones teased me with stories of ghosts, tales of experimentation and abuse on prisoners. Also of guards against other guards.
You know, the usual shit people try to scare you with as you walk up to a “scary” attraction.
I shrugged it off, laughing.
We opened the massive, wooden door with a creak.
As I said, it is a small prison, the height of four stories, width/length of around ¼ an acre.
Typical generic old school prison film architecture, cells and generally a ‘grey’ and depressing atmosphere.
Two rows of cells, spanning the building. Two levels, one set of stairs about halfway down.
Anyway, talking about this any more would be boring. I prefer the history of a place, not how much damp it has. Doesn’t make enough money to fix everything, but it is only of our only historical landmarks, so it continues to stand.
I sniffed the air as we entered, scrunching my face up,
“Smells of piss and shit in here.”
Jones shrugged,
“I don’t smell anything. Maybe they got some inspiration from that thing in London and went a bit more realistic this year.”
He might have been correct. They were desperate to get profit from this place, and the light theming may not be working.
We split up in order to explore properly, flashlights at the ready. The cells were identical; Old and rusted bed frames with springs sticking out, a sink with a broken mirror above it and papers and dust littering the floor. There was also a closed, locked up gift shop. Of course.
I walked up the stairs and examined the cells a little more closely. Some had props in them for the tourists, like fake skeletons in grey and black pyjamas leaning on the bars, or mannequins of guards in uniform “walking” in the middle of the walkway. One cell even had a prisoner using a spoon to dig the wall.
I walked into one particular cell, despite the very strong smell of bodily excrement and urine giving me a headache. Not, not just a headache. A sudden, onset migraine, so much so that I had to take a breath, closing my eyes and leaning on the sink.
This was when I heard a clink and Jones laughing behind me. I turned around to see him dropping the key outside the cell and smiling at me,
“Don’t worry, your honour. I’ll be back to take you to your bachelor party later. Just need you out of the way for a few hours!” He then made some typical “bro” barking sound before leaving.
What the fuck?
OK, so for a while I was impressed. I failed to reach the key and, while I appreciated the creativity and sentiment, I did not appreciate the delivery of the idea nor the lack of provisions I was afforded. Oh well, I had just had a burger.
As if on cue, the migraine returned. I clutched my head and shut my eyes, suddenly feeling pretty tired. I fell asleep, but it was one of those flash sleeps, so I slept but felt like it was only a second passing, as you do when you have been under anaesthetic.
Not only that, but I began keeping notes on my phone to stave off boredom. Though they were pretty boring notes.
I started to feel an itch on my head, like something was biting it. Did this place have bugs? Probably. This itch ever so nicely coincided with every time I felt hungry.
Jones hadn’t returned by the time my torch had run out of battery. Probably wasn’t charged before we set off. I thought about using my phone, but then again I found myself really wanting to conserve battery, so didn’t.
I slept, using my clothes as a blanket.
Furthermore, I pissed out of the cell bars, as I didn’t want to contribute to the smell. Luckily, I didn’t have to shit.
I don’t know how long passed. The light coming into the building didn’t give me much help, as I slept so much I was unsure if I had skipped days.
My battery is pretty good, I had a push on battery with me, so I used that, but now it is depleted.
This cell doesn’t even have a mirror.
The FUCKING MIGRAINES AND THE ITCH, THE ITCHING, I SCRATCH UNTIL MY FINGERS ARE RAW, I EVEN DRAG MY TEETH ALONG MY SKIN SOMETIMES. IT FEELS, GOOD. THIS. THIS CELL. EXQUISITE. FUCK, IT IS ALL OVER MY BODY NOW AND I CANNOT STAND IT.
I CAN NOT SLEEP. I CAN NOT REST.
NOW THEY HAVE ADDED EXTRA SENSATIONS;
THERE’S A SCRATCHING SOUND WHENEVER I MOVE MY EYES.
THERE’S A PIERCING BUZZING IN MY EARS THAT I CAN NOT DROWN OUT. I CAN NOT HEAR ANYTHING EXCEPT THIS NOW.
I CAN JUST WAIT. FOR DEATH OR JONES.
NETHER COME.
IN ONE LAST EFFORT, I REACH FOR THE KEY, PUSHING MY SHOULD INTO THE METAL BARS.
I GRAB IT, BUT FREEZE IN PLACE.
That is when I heard my stomach grumble.
I heard it.
I opened my eyes and the scratching was gone. I was sat on the floor against the wall, opposite the cell door, swung open. The migraine, buzzing, itching and, well, just all of it had gone.
There was no key.
That’s when I remembered.
I grinned, coming to terms with my new self.
The truth is, I could have got help at any time.
I could have left at any time.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to in the end.
That’s when I noticed that the skeleton is real.
Don’t come here.
I was the one who locked the cell. I am not sure why. Why have I done these things?
This is my confession.
Jones. We had a fight. He never shut me in here. He never left the building.
I don’t remember what started it. But, I feel blood both on my lips and, as I feel my head, there is also blood on it.
I remember now.
He punched me, and the both dull and echoing thud of my head smacking on the sink caused me to have a bad migraine. I staggered onto my feet, as he apologised and went to help me. I felt rage, inexplicable sudden rage. I am normally mild-mannered, but this did not feel like me.
Burning. Rage.
Summoning all the energy I could, given that my skull felt like it had been crushed, I leapt onto him, wrapping my hands around his neck. Despite the fact that he is normally stronger than me, he could not push me off. I saw the veins bulge in my arms, froth dripping onto Jones from my mouth, my eyes felt like they were burning. BURNING.
Then came the….
CRACK.
Jones was dead. I had killed him.
The rage dispersed, taken over by a numbness, a chill in my very bones. I took my hands off of his neck and, in my panic, dragged his body until it was a crumpled heap in a dark corner of the cell.
I sat in this cell, hyperventilating, while my mind played the ‘simulation’ I have written above to me, it was also trying to think what to do. I guess it did that because of the shock.
That’s when my stomach rumbled and I got an idea. A terrible idea which would doom me.
I had nothing to dismember with, so just ate straight off the bone.
I started with a finger. I cried when I ate the first few pieces, especially when my teeth would scrape on bone. Threw some up. But he was gone and I was not. If I could hold on. I only ate when I could not stand the hunger pains.
At least, that’s how it started. I began to enjoy it.
I did not have the strength to walk. My strength grows weaker. I sit next to Jones in a puddle of piss, shit and gore currently.
His ears were chewy, I didn’t much care for them. But, a very small amount of nourishment was better than none.
I may have infected myself with bacteria from eating human flesh. But, it won’t matter now.
But, the outside scares me now. I’m sorry, Baby, but I am sure I will be punished for what I have done. This post will be all that is left.
This seems like a good place to tell you that my notes also kept track of the days.
I have been here for two days.
It took TWO DAYS for my mind and body to destabilize to this point due to…something? I can only think it is the smell. It made me think that it had been weeks, or even a month.
The skeleton…. I can see it now.
I never ate his face. It’s still there.
Staring at me in terror. In judgement.
I hope that whatever triggered my behaviour has fully gone by that time.
But then, maybe it simply unlocked my true nature.
This is my confession and I plead guilty.
My vision is blurry and I can barely type any more.
There will be two skeletons in this cell on the next tour.
At least you will see me again.