Emily wanted to be scared. At first, I shared her enthusiasm, setting up movie nights twice a week and chewing through an ever-growing list of the scariest films we could find. I was a pretty big movie buff myself, so I contributed my own favorites to the list. It started innocently enough. Emily had just gone through a bad breakup and was trying to take her mind off the hurt. As her roommate, I was happy to lend a helping hand. It had nothing to do with the fact I was infatuated with her. I knew she didn’t see me that way, it was something I had to stomach and forget about. Sometimes someone just needs a friend.
We started with the classics. Michael, Jason, Freddy, Pinhead, Leatherface. Bowls of popcorn, cans of light beer. Some nights we ordered Chinese take out, laughing and pointing with chopsticks as unfortunate individuals screamed and met their demise. It was really fun and experiencing the thrills once more built up a sense of camaraderie. It felt like it was more than a trip down memory lane. I thought the excitement wouldn’t last for long, but it became a ritual of ours.
On the days we didn’t work, we would go sit on a little bench by the lake and burn, excitedly scribbling more titles in a little red notebook to the list as we passed a joint back and forth. She would always wear this oversized Coheed and Cambria hoodie she bought online, two sizes too big from a shipping error. It was adorable, watching her jot things down, hood pulled up like she was hiding.
I hooked up an old PC rig I wasn’t using to the living room TV, and we would use it to either stream or play DVDs we picked up from the bargain bins at the store. We would plot out the week’s movies, twice a week, sometimes a third. We would always watch two movies back to back, often staying up too late discussing cheesy on-screen kills or chilling scenes.
As we crossed names off the list, we had the pleasure of revisiting old favorites. I always thought it would fizzle out when she found another boyfriend, but would always come back with more for next time. As the weeks passed, we relished in one iconic scene after another. Leslie Nielsen’s stone-cold killer in Creepshow. The terrible Achilles tendon cut in Pet Cemetery. Angela’s unforgettable face in Sleepaway Camp. As the films slowly haunted my dreams with childlike nightmares, I noticed a strange theme with our movie binges; none of it seemed to scare Emily.
Soon, she started to dig deeper. She started checking forums, going through list after list of top chilling horror movies, the ones that stuck with you for days. Soon the movie nights felt less like a fun hangout and more like a trial. I know it was lingering grief from the breakup, or a crisis of some sort. Everyone goes through the phase of “gritty soulless movies”, but it was starting to feel like punishment. I wanted to be there for her, but I started having to brace myself for each session. The uncomfortable silence in Calvaire, the way-too-long scene in Irreversible. I was rapidly approaching my limit, but Emily didn’t even wince. Her eyes were glued to the screen, the awful imagery reflected in her gaze. As I fought the urge to look away, she was looking for something. Looking for more.
That night she opted for a third movie, and with that, a bottle of liquor. We usually didn’t party like that, aside from the tokes on the lake and the light beer. Despite my reluctance, I agreed. We poured some roughly measured shots and sat in for the latest showing we had done yet. It was a movie I hadn’t seen but had heard rumors about. A Serbian Film.
I… Couldn’t finish it. I was completely repulsed, it was nothing like the other movies we had watched. It was disturbing for the sake of disturbing. This wasn’t what our movie night was supposed to be about. I was a little drunk, and the night ended in an argument. The movie nights were over, whatever magic it held evaporated as I walked to my room to go to bed. She finished the movie on her own, her eyes devouring the screen alone in the Tv’s glow. She just sat on the couch, her hood pulled up. I felt guilty for leaving her, but her search for terror had driven a wedge between us.
We didn’t speak for a couple of days after that. We went about our separate ways, avoiding unnecessary contact before and after work. I wished we could go back to the fun stage, instead of walking on eggshells in our own home. Emily spent a lot of time in her room on her computer. I could see the light still on under the door, the faint sound of music playing into the late hours of the night. I just let her have her space.
“Have you heard of the Paper Mache Man?” She asked one morning. I was about to leave for work, and she caught me as I was about to walk out the door. It was like the sour end to our movie night had never happened.
I told her I didn’t, but I was curious.
She elaborated that she had spent the last couple of days surfing the web, in search of something actually scary. This had taken her down a rabbit hole in the shadiest parts of the internet, where she had seen a bunch of clips and photos that surpassed the horror of the last film I had bailed on. Straight up snuff films, live decapitations, worksite accidents. This went way beyond “Ten harrowing images taken before disaster”. Just the thought of the videos she mentioned made me uncomfortable.
I asked if she was alright, and she shrugged me off. She looked tired, and I could tell she had been drinking. Whether she started early or was still going from the night before, I didn’t know. She wasn’t wearing her hoodie anymore, just a tank top and pajama pants. She looked flustered like she was burning up. Deep down I was really concerned, but I didn’t want to drive the wedge forming between us further.
“Alright, who is he?” I asked. She went through the reel of pictures on her phone and held it out to me.
It was a picture of a dining room, with a table and chairs in the middle. The table was set and filled with food, almost as if people had been there, and just vanished. Behind the table was a dark doorway, like it was leading to a kitchen but you couldn’t quite see. I tried to make sense of the picture, but I felt like it was going over my head. Like I wasn’t let in on the joke.
“I… don’t get it,” I said, scratching my head.
“You’re kidding, right? Look at it.” She said, pointing to the screen. The phone was shaking in her hand.
“Yeah, I see it. But I don’t get it. You went to the dark web and found this scary? Anyone could’ve staged this photo.” I said.
She looked at the screen again and looked at me like I was crazy. With her thumb and finger, she zoomed in on the photo, to one of the chairs at the table. She made me look again. It was just an empty chair.
“I don’t get it. It’s just a chair.” I said, and there was a flicker in her eyes like I had insulted her.
“Oh, I see. So you’re just gonna fuckin’ gaslight me? I thought I deserved better than that.” She said, eyes tearing up.
“What are you talking about? Where is all this coming from?” I said. I didn’t know why she was getting so defensive.
“The chairs. The paper mache. Look at them. They’re all there. It’s horrible. You see their faces? And he’s right there. There.” She pointed to every empty chair, then to the dark doorway.
There was nothing new, just the same scene.
“Who?” I asked.
“The Paper Mache Man. I found a thread about him on one of those sites. But it’s barely a whisper online. They say he’s behind a bunch of disappearances around the world. Like, eventually he finds you and sends a warning. That means he’s coming for you. Then he turns you into paper mache.”
“Sounds creepy, but it also sounds ridiculous.”
“Then he adds you to his collection or something like that. I’ve been trying to get information on it all night. Every time he gets mentioned, whatever thread it’s on gets removed quickly. Pictures, too. Not long after you see a comment, or see a picture with him in it, the content just ceases to exist. I managed to download this one and made some backups so I could show you.”
Except I didn’t see whatever she was pointing out. What she described was something you could find online but simply in a different representation. Internet legends, carefully crafted online spooks, with people going through the trouble to keep the bit alive. Anybody could meticulously monitor and toy with posts if they had enough time on their hands and alt accounts.
Between her tired, distraught eyes, and the undeniable smell of alcohol, one would say she was just sleep deprived and reaching. I made the mistake of being that one. I looked at the picture again and rubbed my eyes. Emily was nervously biting her nails, eyes wide and impatient as she waited for my response. It was still just a dark, empty dining room.
“Look, Emily,” I sighed, wishing I could just go along with it, “someone is probably just baiting you, and you’re eating it up. There’s no such thing as a cyberspace ghost. Cursed images are made in Photoshop. Behind every scary creepypasta, is someone hoping people will believe it is real, if only for a second. You need to get some sleep. Take a break from the scary shit. And maybe take it easy on the drinking a little bit.” I said and braced myself for the backlash. It came immediately.
“Oh, fuck you. If I wanted to talk to my mother, I could’ve just called her. You’re just going to pretend you don’t see it? This shit is real, it’s fuckin’ scary, and I’m gonna show you. And when you see it, who’s gonna be the asshole here? You.” She yelled, her lip trembling. She stormed off, leaving me there alone, feeling quite like the asshole.
“Emily, c’mon,” I said, but she was already gone. Seconds later I heard her bedroom door slam, and the volume of cranked music echoing from the hall, leaving me to go to work in frustration.
I didn’t understand the sudden, consuming obsession. I thought of the Paper Mache’ Man, and the things she said about him. I thought of the dining room photo, and the general lack of fright it provided. The scene itself was creepy, with the set dinner table and the empty chairs. But it was something I could’ve made in ten minutes.
I thought of looking into it on my phone, but I was still pretty salty over the whole thing. In the end, I just decided to let it go, and hope maybe it would pass and she would get over the whole thing.
The next couple of days passed in awkward silence. I only saw Emily a couple of times by chance on the in’s and out’s for work. She still looked as haggard as before; she no longer styled her hair and her make-up was the bare minimum, her outfits thrown together and wrinkled. Our conversations were minimal if we talked at all. I would only know if she was home if lights were on under her door, the soft tune of music emanating from within. After a couple of days of radio silence, I texted her a few times, most of which she barely replied to, or simply left on read.
Looking at the gloomy apartment, I found myself thinking of the fun we used to have. The back and forth with the films, bullshitting about life, and the chill vibe we shared at the lake. I thought of the dwindling friendship and wondered if there was any way to try and salvage it. I ordered Chinese food and sent Emily a text, one I hoped to use as a life raft.
“Have you learned anything else about the Paper Mache’ Man?”
Shortly after the food arrived, I heard the music in her room stop, and she appeared at the end of the hall. I held up the takeout as a peace offering, and a hint of a smile shined through her mask of increased exhaustion.
We sat on the floor and ate at the coffee table, silently slurping noodles and picking odds and ends from several containers. Emily ate more than I thought she would, and I wondered if she had been eating at all in the past few days. Her face looked a little thinner and her eyes were shadowed like a raccoon’s. Whatever rabbit hole she had found herself tumbling down, it was obviously taking a toll on her.
“How are you holding up? Work going alright?” I asked awkwardly, slumping against the couch.
I winced at my own words, thinking I could’ve done a better job breaking the ice. Emily paused and gave me a startled look, much like a deer in headlights. When she processed what I said, she slowly put the takeout carton down like she was embarrassed. She wiped her mouth, took a long drink of Sprite, and cleared her throat.
“Look, I’m sorry–” She started.
“It’s cool. Really.”
She nodded and looked away. She looked guilty, lost. Bothered. I could tell she had a lot on her mind, and she was sifting through it to find something to say. After a moment she took a deep breath, and let out a defeated sigh.
“I shouldn’t have pushed so hard with the movies. And I shouldn’t have blown up over the picture. I was just a little… frazzled I guess. And drunk. It’s not your fault you didn’t see it anyway. I was just so caught up in it, you know?” Emily said, resting her chin on her knees.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She looked confused for a moment before elaborating.
“Oh. Sorry. I looked into it some more. The leads are almost non-existent. Like I said, every time someone spills something, it’s gone pretty quick. But showing you wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. You only see what’s there when you’re supposed to. When He wants you to.”
“The Paper Mache’ Man,” I said. It felt weird to say it aloud like I was talking about the Boogieman or Bloody Mary.
“Yeah.” She mumbled and chewed on her lip.
“Would you like me to look at it again? Just to be sure. I was in a rush when you showed me. I might’ve missed something. I won’t make fun of it or anything, I promise.”
“No. It’s alright. It’s gone anyway.” She said, yawning.
“What? You didn’t have to delete it.” I said, leaning in. I was starting to feel bad.
“I didn’t. He did. Like I said, everything that has to do with him doesn’t stick around for long. It just… vanishes. Not sure how it happens, but it does happen. I had that picture on my phone, backed up on my desktop, and on a flash drive. And the flash drive was unplugged and sitting in my dresser. Still, gone.” She said, and I felt a surge of anxiety.
“What the fuck? Do you think somebody broke in?” I said, standing up. Emily just shook her head and looked out the window.
“No, nobody broke in. It’s more like a virus, I think. Or something like it.”
“How can you be sure? If you were on the ‘dark web’ and all that. How do you know that shit’s safe? Who knows what lengths they’ll go to.” I looked out the window, to the parking lot outside the building. The sun was starting to set, the bright orange globe in the sky descending like a slowly closing eye.
“I have a camera set up in my room. To catch him.” She said, nudging a piece of General Tso’s chicken with a chopstick. She shivered under her hoodie and seemed to sink further into it.
“And did you…?” I trailed off.
“No.”
I looked outside again as if to reassure myself. There was nothing there, only our cars and the cars of other tenants. I collapsed on the couch, feeling suddenly exhausted. The whole thing felt off like something had changed in the air. The apartment felt dusty and cramped, despite our furnishings being pretty bare. I couldn’t help but look down the hall, to the shadow that led to our bedrooms. There was nothing there, but you know that feeling you get when you’re looking into the dark? Like maybe, just maybe, something could be?
“Wait, you said the other day, something about a warning. ‘He sends a warning’. Did you get one?” I asked.
She shook her head and set the chopstick down.
“No. The lack of evidence is about all there is. Convenient, right?” She chuckled nervously.
I rubbed my eyes, and let out a bit of a chuckle from the sudden paranoia. It was just some sort of messed up prank. It had to be.
“Look,” I said, scratching my head, “You wanna get out of here? Go do something? Get out of the house. Maybe ice-cream? Bowling, or something?”
“Nah,” Emily started, then yawned again, “Too tired. But hey, we can do something else, if you wouldn’t mind keeping me company? Would you mind watching another movie together? Like old times.” She said, perking up.
“Oh?”
“No-no-no, nothing scary! Just something normal. I promise. Please?” She said putting her hands up.
I looked at her for a moment and started to laugh. Soon, she did too. I got off the couch and agreed.
“I’ll make some popcorn. And… I think there’s still a few beers in the fridge. Want one?”
“Please.”
Twenty minutes into The Princess Bride, Emily was asleep, snoring softly on the couch. Once the popcorn was made, we got some pillows and blankets from our rooms and settled in the living room. We cracked open some cans, had a brief ‘cheers’, and settled in. I found myself downing mine in no time, Emily left hers mostly full. I settled in the old recliner we had and kicked back, listening to her faintly recite old lines we had both heard a hundred times.
It was nice to see her smile, but as her eyes grew heavy, I noticed her looking down the hall, as well as glancing outside. After she passed out, I made sure the door was locked, deadbolted and chained, and checked the window as well. I decided to let the movie play and sleep in the chair, hoping the bright lights would keep the mood light and make it easier to fall asleep.
I watched the movie for a while, and as I started to get drowsy, I double checked the alarms on my phone to make sure they were set for work. As I went to set it on the coffee table, I found myself hesitating.
With the phone still clutched in my hand, I looked at Emily, who was fast asleep on the couch, her hood pulled up and the drawstrings tight.
I sat back in the recliner, unlocked my phone, and opened the web browser.
I entered the words, my thumbs moving reluctantly. Paper Mache Man. Search.
I held my breath as it loaded, casting glances at Emily, down the hall, and to the window.
The search results gave me instant relief. Nothing but Etsy purchases, pictures of ugly art projects, and paper mache’ tutorials.
No forums. No haunted pictures. No madness.
I locked my phone and set it down, and kicked my feet up. Before I knew it, the lures of relaxation and ease grabbed me, and I drifted off to sleep.
****
I awoke to Emily nudging me. I opened my eyes and jumped at first, not expecting to see her hunched over me. With one arm she had shaken me awake, the other hugging herself tightly. She was shivering.
“Hmm? What’s up?” I mumbled, wiping the drool from my mouth. She backed up so I could lower the footrest. When I sat up I looked out the window, my drowsy eyes and brain still trying to boot up. It was dark out, save for the spotlight in the parking lot.
I checked my phone. It was just after midnight.
“There’s something at the door.” She whispered, motioning quietly.
“What?” I said incredulously. Through my confused grogginess, the icy crawl of goosebumps spread across my limbs. I looked at the door to see the deadbolt still turned, the chain latch still hanging.
“I was asleep. And I kind of just found myself awake. I tossed and turned, but before I could fall back asleep, there was a really loud knock at the door. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.” She said, pacing slightly.
“Are you sure?” I asked, cautiously moving toward the door. I turned on the living room lights, and the room lit up.
“Of course I’m sure. I’m not fucking making it up!” She hushed, wincing against the light.
“Ok, ok,” I whispered, approaching the door silently. I waited to hear another knock, or someone making noise outside. There was nothing. We looked at each other and shrugged. Emily chewed her lip. I could tell she was terrified.
Holding my breath, I pressed my cheek to the door and looked through the peephole.
There was nobody there. The apartment hallway was empty, nothing but the bare white walls and the doors of adjacent apartments. I half expected something to lurch up and scare the shit out of me. Luckily, the jump scare never came.
“I don’t see anyone,” I said, pulling away from the door.
“I heard it. I fuckin’ heard it. Swear to god,” Emily was saying, shaking her head in frustration.
I unlatched the chain and retracted the deadbolt. With Emily hiding behind me, I opened the door.
We cowered behind the crack at first, both of us trying not to make a sound. Nobody jumped out, no footsteps running away, no distant slamming door. I threw the door open and stepped out, whipping my head down both ends of the hall. Nothing out of the ordinary, until I looked at my feet.
There was a small rectangular package on the welcome mat, wrapped tightly in newspaper and tied with raffia yarn.
“What the hell…?” Emily said words I found myself repeating.
She picked it up, and against my better judgment, brought it inside. She set it on the coffee table, scooting aside half-eaten egg rolls and cartons of fried rice. It was thin, like a small paperback book.
“It’s really light.” She said, tugging on the straw-like yarn.
“You think we should open it?” I said, and Emily shrugged.
“What else are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, call the police?” I said, but as she started unraveling the newspaper, my curiosity kept me in place.
Underneath several layers, was a white, unmarked DVD-style case, much the one you’d see at a video game store. She picked it up, and after we exchanged bewildered looks, she cracked it open. Inside was a CD, simply labeled: your turn.
“What the hell is that supposed to be?” I said, looking at the message written in marker. It was scrawled so neatly, it was almost like it had been printed on there. Emily said nothing for a time, just staring at it like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“It’s for me.” She said plainly, her words hanging in the air.
“How do you know it’s –”
I thought of something she had said a few days ago, ringing in my head over and over.
Eventually, he finds you and sends a warning.
Emily popped it out of the case and was already on her way to the old desktop.
“What are you doing? You can’t be serious.” I said, moving to intercept her.
“I’m watching it. I’m sorry. But I have to.” She said, pushing the tiny button at the top of the tower. The disc tray squeaked out, and she swapped The Princess Bride with the new mysterious disc. After watching the tray recede, she looked at me, her eyes sad and guilty.
“You don’t have to watch it with me. I can watch it by myself. I got myself into this, anyway.” She said, and the computer started to hum as it recognized the disc.
But even as the media player auto booted, I found myself moving closer so I could clearly see. We stood together in front of the coffee table and waited, the disc reader loudly got itself together. I hoped it was just a meme. I prayed for a RickRoll*.* Despite my wishful thinking, I just knew it was something worse. There was an unmistakable animosity to the disc and the program itself. Dread welled in my stomach, and I felt myself sweating.
As the video buffered, the title of the video file showed on the top of the window as an illegible string of text. We waited, visibly wincing for the snuff film, live torture, or some other unthinkable horror to begin. However, what we got was the furthest thing from that.
The video started as a feed from an old camcorder, a heavy distortion that was slowly coming into focus. There was no sound to the video, and no time stamp, just little black bars where the time and date would be. The whirling static started to fade, and in the clarity, we could see a girl. It was hard to make out at first, but she seemed to be in a store of some kind, looking at a display shelf full of what I assumed were DVDs.
She was hunched down, taking her time looking at each title, chewing at her thumbnail. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a black frilly skirt with leggings underneath. The knot in my stomach worsened, twisting uncomfortably as the hair on the back of my neck rose. It was an outfit I had seen many times because it was something Emily wore. The girl in the video was her.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, and looked to see Emily was shaking. Her eyes were locked on the screen, her pupils shaking as she took in the video.
On the screen, Emily was browsing alone, kneeling down to inspect a copy of Friday the 13th. Her hood was pulled up as it usually was, little wisps of brown hair hanging out the front. She bounced on her heels, something she did when she was lost in thought. Totally unaware of the camera’s presence, she returned the movie to its spot on the shelf. The camera followed her motions, tracking her hand as she reached for another DVD. It focused on her hand, lingering to show her painted nails before zooming back out.
“They’re fucking stalking you. Did you know about this? Did you see them?” I asked, and she was shaking her head, her eyes glued to the screen.
“I know when this was,” She said, shivering, “this was the day before we started doing the movie nights. I had seen these when I was out… I texted you that night. Because I wanted to be scared. I remember. I didn’t… I didn’t see them. I didn’t know.”
She trailed off, her eyes dilating as she watched herself peruse the horror movies. I recalled her text from that day, that was the night we set up our first hangout.
“That was weeks ago. Before you were looking that shit up, right? That doesn’t make any sense. How would they have known where to find you? How…” I couldn’t think straight.
Emily started pacing the room as on-screen Emily browsed, taking her time reading the back material of Hellraiser. The camera caught a glimpse of her face, zooming in as she smirked at something she read. The video paused, not from us, but of its own accord. The TV was nothing but Emily’s face, her little smirk immortalized in the grainy footage from the stalker’s camera.
“I’m calling the police,” I said, looking for my phone. I dug through the graveyard of Chinese takeout, moving aside containers and soy sauce packets. As I found it, Emily mumbled something inaudibly.
“What?” I asked, unlocking my phone and glancing at her.
She was frozen in place, staring deeply at the video. On the screen was the same paused frame. She looked confused like she didn’t know what she was supposed to be looking at. I touched her shoulder, but she didn’t move, her eyes frantically looking around the screen. Searching.
“I don’t want to watch this anymore. I don’t want to…..oh god… oh god…OH GOD, NO-OH-GOD!!!!—-” Emily’s screams ripped through the silence, her face twisted in a look I can only describe as pure terror. She swatted at my hand as she bawled, tears flooding as she recoiled from the screen, all the while unable to look away.
“Emily, what is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to calm her down. I looked at the TV, nothing had changed.
“OH-MY-GOD-NO, PLEASE NO, OH GOD, OH MY GOD!” Emily wailed hysterically, so loud it rattled my ears. She pointed frantically at the video, her words breaking into irrational screams of fear. I panicked. I didn’t understand, I tried to grab her to calm her down but she was inconsolable.
“What is it, Emily? What–”
“MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP—” She cried, pulling at her hair so hard I heard the strands rip. Her eyes were wild and bloodshot, streaked make-up running as the invisible horror tormented her.
As Emily’s cry melted into an agonizing scream, I stumbled to the TV. Out of desperation, I reached behind the stand and yanked the cord from the wall. The TV shut off, and the video was reduced to our reflection on the black screen. Emily collapsed on the couch, her face buried as she sobbed into the pillow. As she settled down, I opened the dial pad and called the police.