|
5 |
5 |
It is troubling, to see lies spread before you even as you attempt to stem the tide with the truth. To see facts give way to shaky perception and deceit, leaving one alone in their stubborn refusal to dance to an off-key tune. To watch as the masses, so blissfully unaware, strut throughout their day, confident in their place in the world. To have peeled back the curtain and gazed out the window, only to turn around and be met with glazed eyes still studying the wallpaper. Placed too long in such an environment, one could be forgiven for losing their mind, as they all believe I have. Even now, they speak of placing me within one of many sanitariums that dot the landscape. I won’t have it, I will not let them lie to the people any longer. I know a truth that someone or something does not want to be known, and the people must know. All the newspapers say that not a soul perished in the 1902 Waterbury fire, but there were two. One was my venerable father, taken too soon. The other was a monster hiding within the skin of a man.
The city was a beacon of progress and prosperity. The many factories that lived within the heart of the city would often employ many hundreds of men, leaving few in want of work. Working as a humble clothier was tiring, yet fulfilling. Carving out my own small corner of the world from within a city so filled with life was one of the many thoughts that never ceased to bring me happiness. My father was an author by trade, often telling grand stories that never could have happened, yet the way he told them you could almost swear it was a legitimate tale he was relaying to the listener from one of many adventures he allegedly had. As a child I had even considered becoming a writer, but my inability to truly visualize a story had forced that dream to die an ugly death. Father’s stories are one of the few things I credit in making me the person I am today.
One quiet evening, as I prepared to retire, I heard a gentle rapping upon my door. I had scarcely time to offer a greeting before I beheld my father stumble hastily into the sitting room and collapse upon the couch. He had lost consciousness ere he reached the cushions, and there he laid motionless. Though his entrance had been most abrupt and wholly unannounced, I was not so callous as to neglect his condition in such a state. Even more curious was the distance he traveled from his home in New Haven. Waterbury and New Haven are neighboring cities; yet it was a most unusual thing for him to have made the journey without so much as a letter or telegram to forewarn me of his arrival. Having made ready some light refreshment for him upon his waking, I took my rest in a plush chair across the room, where sleep soon overtook me.
He did not awaken until thirteen hours had passed. As the proprietor of a clothier’s shop, I could afford some leniency in my usual duties, given the extraordinary circumstances. My father accepted my offer of a drink and gulped it down as if it were the only liquid he was presented with in months. My father, being by this time an elderly gentleman, caused me to fear some lapse of mind such as often afflicts those of advanced age. When I began to inquire as to the cause of his distress and sudden retreat into my home, he appeared at once both eager and reluctant to divulge the particulars. My worry was not abated by his eventual excuse that he had forgotten the events of the night prior. I did not challenge the lie, as I was thankful enough that he appeared in good health and I did not wish for him to feel cornered and run.
We sat in the living room in silence for a long while. The quiet bore down upon us both, as though urging one or the other to break it. Yet neither of us found the courage to do so, and thus we remained in that sparsely appointed room. He had then appeared full of spirit, possessed of that peculiar resolve which came upon him whenever he conceived a new story .As I regarded the weary man before me, I could not help but perceive that same resolve, though buried deep within him. I could see it in his eyes, the old man I knew was in there, scratching at the walls to tell me, but could not for whatever reason.
The temptation to speak eventually grew too strong for my father to handle, but instead of simply relenting, he rose from his seat. Grabbing his dirty coat from the rack and donning it, he turned to me. After regarding me in silence for several moments, he said only, “My stories are but works of fiction; yet my ability to fashion more has been taken from me, now that I have seen how much more extraordinary reality may be.” With those cryptic words, my father turned and stepped outside, as if nothing were amiss.
I had no other choice but to return to work at the clothier’s. Regardless of my desire to contact my father and ask him all sorts of miscellaneous questions, my livelihood needed to be maintained. The shop was a small sort of thing, sitting snugly in central Waterbury surrounded by friends and competitors. My work was beginning to grow affected by my continued weariness as time dragged on. It eventually came to a head when I realized none of what I was making could actually be given to customers with any degree of pride. I eventually decided to reach out to my mother to check on father.
My letters sent quickly bore no fruit. Telegrams would also similarly yield no luck. Eventually I was forced to take the trek down south some 20 miles or so to New Haven. The countryside was truly a wonderful sight as I passed between the two cities. I had always preferred the city but the inescapable beauty of nature was a welcome break to the brick and stone. My only real concern was the quiet. I had always hated the quiet, always feeling silence bearing down on me like a lead weight. Another symptom of my fathers ceaseless storytelling, I presume.
Traveling down the streets of New Haven was always an exercise in frustration. Unlike Waterbury’s main roads, which flowed naturally around the terrain provided by the locale, New Haven’s roads started almost grid-like near the center before stretching out in a circle in all directions, like a spiderweb. Who decided upon such a strange system of roadwork I had no idea, but it provided me with a foul mood that I feared would taint the conversation I was awaiting with my mother.
The apartment complex reached into the sky as a flat block. 6 layers of windows arrayed in a uniform pattern spotted the exposed red brick. Utilitarian, efficient, although some detractors would perhaps call it bland, or ugly. Regardless of my opinions on the living space of my parents, I had to enter it. Climbing the concrete steps and making my way past the spartan décor of the lobby, I made the journey to room 314. The dark green paint peeling off in great chips, while the steel letters advertised the number despite having lost their shine long ago. It was around this time I had noticed the dilapidation of it all. The carpet, once vibrant, now seemed dull and lifeless. The glass was stained to the point one had to strain to see through it.
Once opulent, the signifier of population growth, this was little more than a monument to the broken dreams of industrialists and idealist workers. As I sat there and idly wondered how this place could have fallen to such a horrid state, a jolt of panic ran through my body. Turning towards the hallway I noticed a grotesque man staring at me from around the corner. His head appeared swollen, as if stricken by a foul disease. The veins clearly visible running up his forehead before disappearing under a blanket of greasy black hair. The eyes were bloodshot, the red lines stretching inwards and very nearly reaching his pupils. This, combined with his naturally dark eyes, gave the distinct appearance of some form of animalistic predator stalking his prey. I instinctively took a step back, not wanting to get closer to the strange man. This was apparently the wrong move as the man gave a wiry smile as he stepped around the corner out of view. Perhaps he was another tenant, or perhaps he was visiting someone like I was. These and other rational explanations filtered through my mind in an attempt to calm myself.
The effect was not as dramatic as I would have hoped, but it served well enough for me to remember the task at hand. Tapping on the door gently, sparing an aside glance at the hall to ensure the man had not returned, I waited for my parents to answer the door. The ancient door creaked open and out came the smiling face of my mother. A gentle old woman, whose face was lined with age, the marks indicating a long and happy life. Time had proved the better of her, her height was reduced and she had grown easily tired throughout the years. Soon she would be moved into my home so that I may take care of her at the end of her life.
She seemed delightfully surprised to see me, and quickly ushered me into the small apartment. The quaint space taken up mostly by antique furniture, built by my grandfather many years ago. Sitting me down on the old couch, my mother had poured me some coffee fussing over how I traveled so far unannounced. After many attempts, I had eventually succeeded in telling mother how I had sent letters and telegrams trying to get a hold of her to no avail. She looked confused and said to me “Dear, no, I haven’t gotten anything from you at all… Certainly no such letters talking about your father. I had almost thought you’d forgotten about me altogether!” Doing my best to contain my mounting suspicion, I decided to ask about my father, and how he was doing as of late. Careful to avoid any mention of his jaunt across the state to my home.
“Your father has been acting a bit strange recently, he’s been bouncing off the walls as of late. Usually he gets like this when he’s writing but he hasn’t written a word in months! I can only hope he’s not getting sick with that awful thing that has some of the others around here…” My mother was a gentle soul who always worried over those she deemed under her care. I calmed her down as best I could before asking her to elaborate on the sickness that supposedly had its hooks in the neighborhood. She had told me of seeing people around that shared the same symptoms as the strange man outside in the halls. At no point had I ever suspected my father of harboring such a disease within him. He lacked the symptoms, the strange behavior, and the veins. I was convinced that it was something unrelated, something that would explain his strange outings. I had deliberately hid the fact that father was in a completely different city and mother did not seem aware of it at all. The conclusion was as mundanely rational as it was incorrect. I had believed that my father had gotten himself a mistress in his later years.
Of course, I dared not bring up these suspicions to my mother. Instead, I decided to excuse myself and take a walk around the strange city to clear my head, and to organize my cacophonous thoughts. The sounds of the city helped to distract me from the conclusion I had drawn. My father’s exhaustion, his adventure 20 miles to the next town over, his refusal to speak of it to his wife, it did indeed make sense. It pained me to think this way, as I had always thought so highly of my father. Perhaps it had been a casual degeneration of the love my parents once shared, worn down by the passage of time the same way even a mighty cliff can eventually be bisected into a canyon by a gentle river running through it. Taking a turn down Hamilton Street in Long Wharf I eventually came across the New Haven Symphony Orchestra. A relatively recent addition to the city, I decided that drowning my thoughts out in music would be a delightful way to pass the time. After taking a seat in the lavish chairs I had closed my eyes and waited for the music to begin.
The orchestra was beautiful, a perfect rendition of Mahler’s 5th symphony in a C-Sharp minor. The notes picking me up and gently rocking the mind into peace. Melodies rose and fell like waves on a shore, ushering in with them a small piece of Heaven’s choir. By the midway point I began wishing that the music would never cease and I could sit here forever, basking in the rhythm. My mind was harshly yanked back to reality with the closure of the song. Slowly opening my eyes I took in the atmosphere of a content audience. “Lovely show, wasn’t it?” A thick gravelly voice spoke to my left. Turning to answer I froze as I processed the image of the same diseased man from the apartment grinning at me. His hideousness was only exemplified up close, the skin on his head unnaturally stretched to accommodate the veins. His smile pushed the skin to its limit as it appeared his mouth would tear open if he widened it even an inch more. At the time I swore it was the lighting but now I know that this was the first time I had seen the twisted mouth of these things. The gums pulled back as teeth stretched down. The elongated canines glaring like daggers at all those unfortunate enough to look as I was.
Standing abruptly, I had taken the only action I could. I ran as far from the orchestra house as I could. The streets quickly turned into a blur around me as I only thought to get away from this rotting city. I had soon realized that I was hopelessly lost in the webwork around the edge of town. This town was no good for me, and I would find no more answers as to the mystery surrounding my father here. So convinced I was, of this, that I had set about immediately finding a map and making my way back to Waterbury without even waiting for morning’s light. Knowing full well that night would settle in while I was traveling, I usually would have been anxious. Instead, I found myself filled with a sort of resolve I had not felt in many years. Since my father last told me a story when I was a child. I would find the truth and either vindicate or condemn my father. The implications of such a task was not lost to me. I could very well end up tearing my family apart and never finding the truth at all, but I had determined that suffering seeking the truth was far better than to have never begun searching at all.
Waterbury at night was a different beast. Despite being a progressive city some parts were still lit by gas rather than the new electric wires that ran above and below ground. Central Waterbury was still lit by gas even on the indoors, unlike my own lavish apartment lit by electricity. Seldom few wandered the streets at night, only those who were up to some sort of trickery walked about at night. I considered myself unfortunate to now be counted as yet another miscreant. Admittedly, my own wrongdoing was minor and done with noble intention. I had soon figured that I would find my answers to my father’s comings and goings within the shadier sections of the city. If he did indeed have a mistress it was more than likely he was taking her to a hotel of some kind for their little romp. All it would take is me asking the clerk whether anyone matching my father’s name had checked in and out recently. I would simply be the concerned child looking after their father once a nasty domestic dispute had caused my father to temporarily flee the home.
Moving through the streets, I had made my way from seedy hotel to grimy hostels. Each time making the simple inquiry of where my father was. Most were not willing to give me the information I sought until I had provided my birth certificate to verify that I was indeed the man’s child. None of the houses had my father’s name in their records. I had begun to believe that father had given a false name and I was simply heading towards a dead end. That was until I had decided to stop by a lavish, almost luxurious hotel. The Scoville Hotel, a building marked by impressive Italianate work. One of, if not the best hotel in the entire city. I had provided my certificate to the homely receptionist and I had finally broken new ground. Finally, I had confirmed that my father had indeed rented out hotel rooms here in the past. What's more, he had rented a room more than once. While this was a boon to my investigation into these personal family matters it had brought up several more questions. How had my father found the funds to afford renting the room so often? Why was he renting out this room when other, cheaper hotels were in the area? And why was father insistent on renting out the same room every single time he had done so? The easiest, but not cheapest, question to answer would be the final one.
Using a significant part of my current savings I rented out room 506, on the top floor of the hotel. Climbing up the long flights of stairs I took a moment to look around. Usually I would never dream of booking a room in this place, I had no reason to, and it was so far out of my usual means that it would be impractical at best. The Italian inspiration was boldly presented no matter where you looked. Ornate decorations were placed tastefully around the lobby and stairs. The polished wood shone against the small electric lights which dotted the ceiling. The lights themselves were even decorated, having small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling bathing the room in a warm orange glow from the crown of gold that rested on the chain. The room was likewise a testament to beauty and culture. Many had called it a testament to the city’s ideals of progress, and after seeing the décor of the room I was inclined to agree. A soft bed with fluffy, warm sheets. The pillow had already been fluffed when I had arrived, and all the surfaces had been dusted. For the short time I was here I would be getting a taste of luxury, but I bemoaned the thoroughness of the cleaning as it had left little for me to go off of in terms of investigating my father’s more discrete activities.
While I did not wish to learn any more of my father than was strictly necessary to either prove or dispel my suspicions; I still wished to explore every avenue before I decided to confront him on the issue. While thinking of exactly where to start looking I had begun wandering the room aimlessly. I was no detective, I was a simple clothier, with no experience in these sorts of things. While pacing back and forth wondering where one could hide something in a room that’s cleaned every day I had caught a whiff of a sharp stench. Quickly I had realized it was localized around a specific spot, near the foot of the bed. Coming from the floor was the unmistakable smell of vinegar. Someone had cleaned this spot with some kind of vinegar mixture but only this spot. While peculiar it wasn’t anything I could deduce anything from, however, it did lead me to investigate the bed a bit more thoroughly. If something required a specialized cleaning near the bed then perhaps there would be something remaining that couldn’t be easily hidden.
Combing through the mattress yielded no further clues, although it would cause a slight headache to the poor cleaning person who had to fix the effects of my rampage. Discarding the sheets and pillows to the floor I moved on to the frame of the bed. The frame was deprived of answers until I had taken some time to inspect the bed posts. When it came to the cleaning this room would go through every day there were certain things that would be delayed or unable to be fixed by the time the next guest came through. This was such a case, and what a fortunate case it was for my personal investigations. The wood was worn down on the bedposts, the polish slowly stripped away, leaving raw wood underneath. Running a finger along it I could confirm that it was not a blade that brought this damage but abrasions. I was only made more confused by this discovery, even more so when I had discovered similar markings on all of the other bedposts. Something had required cleaning with vinegar, and now the bed was damaged on all four posts. I knew that there had to be something else hidden away within the suite.
My father carried with him no belongings on the day he burst into my home, and my mother made no mention of anything going missing during father’s period of excitement. Which meant that something would either be stashed here or be with the alleged mistress. Either way, it meant that I had to look further into the room. I wanted to clear my father’s name of the accusation I had brought against him. I was certain that he was innocent of the charge and it was with that same zealousness I had lobbied against him in my thoughts. I couldn’t for the life of me make sense of my own thought processes. Had my father’s love for stories and my inability to create them myself lead to me seeing an exciting tale where there existed none? Had my domesticated lifestyle led to me seeking adventure based on unfounded accusations? I could feel a pounding headache coming on and I retreated to the restroom to wash my face. Swallowing lungfuls of air as the cool water splashed down onto my shirt I tried to calm down my racing thoughts. I wouldn’t get anything done if these thoughts wouldn’t slow down. Staring at the sink I did my best to calm myself. It was at this point I had realized how late it was, and how long I had gone without sleep. The trip from New Haven to Waterbury was 6 hours on foot, and I had traveled through the night. From there I had searched the town for any hotel and hostel I could before ending up here in Scoville. Sunrise was most likely due in only a couple of hours. I was tired, yet restless. Once I calmed myself down I could rest on the hotel’s comfortable bed and resume my search with a clear head. Focusing on my present self, I took in the details of the sink, the ornate white marble. I focused on what I heard, the soft dripping of the tap and my own breath. Took a deep breath through my nose, smelling the cleaning chemicals and vinegar.
The realization hit like a horse carriage, the smell of vinegar was much stronger here. It was localized to a single spot in the room itself but in this bathroom the smell was unavoidable. I followed the scent as best I could. I was no hound, but eventually I had found the smell’s source behind a small tile in the wall. Groping around for a few moments I eventually managed to find a loose tile and peel it off. Placing it gently on the sink’s rim I looked into the small cubby hole. The smell of vinegar was overpowering now, causing me to crinkle my nose in disgust. Tenuously reaching a hand in, I felt something firm with a little give. Pulling it out I had withdrawn a small leather loop with a chain attaching another loop to it. The simple leather cuff had an abraded interior, telling of semi-frequent use. The thing reeked of vinegar and looking into the cubby hole I could see four more identical cuffs hidden away in the wall. Inspecting the cuffs it quickly clicked that these were the reasons for the abrasions on the bedposts. It was looking all the more likely that my father had a side to him I never wished to know about. Doubly so for the fact that he was going behind his wife’s back to do it. My shoulders slumped, it appeared that my father was an adulterer. A depressing thought, I wondered how I would tell mother. I could already imagine her shocked face as she didn’t believe me, then a depressed acceptance. I cursed myself for refusing to let the issue go. Perhaps I could have kept my suspicions to myself and never investigated, but now that I knew I had a moral obligation to inform her.
I was jolted from my thoughts by a knocking on the door. A feminine voice called out something unintelligible from the other side. Quickly shoving the bonds into the hole, I grabbed the tile from the sink. As I fit the tile back into place I accidentally managed to slice myself across my ring finger on my right hand. Blood quickly began pouring from the wound on my fingertip, spilling dark red liquid down the digit. Wincing as I had to push the tile back into place. With no way to bandage the wound I simply cupped my hands together and hoped it would not spill over anything valuable before running to the door. Swinging it open I saw one of the housekeepers jump back a bit at the sudden response. “I’m very sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that, could you please repeat, miss?” the words tumbled out of my mouth, uncoordinated and rushed. The housekeeper looked me up and down, no doubt noticing my now ragged appearance, a far cry from the usual clientele which inhabits this esteemed hotel. “I apologize, but another guest has requested this room for the next day, so we will need you to leave by the time breakfast stops being served…” The woman seemed nervous explaining, as to exactly why I could not ascertain, perhaps it was my looking a bit crazed due to lack of sleep, maybe the client was an honored guest who paid handsomely for the room. Regardless, I could only agree as the housekeeper made to leave me be. “Oh, by the way, your finger, it’s bleeding on your clothes…” The housekeeper dutifully informed me. Pulling my hand away from my pants I silently cursed as the blood seeped into the cloth. I had made my clothes myself and I was very proud of them, now there were splotches of red on them, the color clashing terribly. Soon it would dry and become brown, then black. It would clash horribly and be easily noticed. I would have to get rid of them. The housekeeper must have sensed my anger, “If you’d like to get those stains out, one part water to one part vinegar creates a mixture that removes all blood stains, wet or dry. I do not think we store any vinegar outside the kitchens, however…”
Thanking her for the advice I quickly shut the door in her face. Rude, and not at all how I like to treat any members of a service staff, but I wanted to hide my mounting panic at the realization. The vinegar was used to clean blood, that was what required the specialized cleaning method. I had wondered why only a specific spot on the floor and the cuffs smelled of vinegar. I shook my head quickly, why would my father need to wash such a concerning amount of blood from his hotel room? It didn’t make sense, my father wasn’t anything like that. He was excitable, and when he barged into my home he had acted erratic, but what this implied was a whole different beast. Then there was the problem of this new guest moving into the room today. What if the new guest was my father, or his mistress? Perhaps it was simply my paranoia incurred by my sleep deprivation, but I needed to secure some form of entrance back into the apartment. I looked out the window to the fire escape that curled its way down the building to the floor. It would be quite a climb but it would provide a view and an escape. Making my way down the escape I found the ladder to the small alley behind the hotel. A swift kick to the locking mechanism caused the ladder to crash into the ground with the screech of metal. A crass but entirely effective method of securing my route. I had then made my way back up to my room to leave the more traditional way, to not arouse too much suspicion that was sure to follow if I were to simply vanish from my room without a trace.
I waited outside the hotel, watching from across the street. Nestled between two buildings in an alleyway I kept a careful eye for the new guest due to arrive sometime after noon. Hours passed, with me keeping a careful eye out. I had decided to skip meals just in case the stranger arrived while I was eating. I felt the rain before I had seen it. A slight drizzle quickly washed over the city streets, darkening the sky and painting the town with a shade. Not helping matters was the wind kicking up as well, chilling me to the bone. If nothing else it was good for keeping me awake and alert. While I cursed the weather it was nothing outside of the norm for New England. A common joke in the area was “If you don’t like New England weather, wait 15 minutes and it’ll change soon enough!” A change from slightly overcast to a full storm was one of the tamer transformations I had witnessed throughout my years in the state. I kept watch over the hotel, the clock helpfully informing me of just how much time I had wasted in that grimy alley. No doubt passer-bys had noticed my strange behavior but I refused to let their gazes deter me from my objective. It was 5:45 PM when the guest arrived. I knew it could not have been anyone else due to the familiar form of my father standing side by side with the man. Covered by a thick coat and a hat I could not discern any notable features from the stranger. As they made their way into the hotel lobby, I made my way into the back alley with a pounding heart.
My clammy hands struggled to maintain a grip on the smooth ladder, and my shaky breath made it a challenge to climb the stairs. Finally I found my way to the top floor, and with a quick lunge forward managed to nestle my way into a small alcove between two windows, allowing me to eavesdrop but not see. I closed my eyes, and listened, doing my best to shut out the sounds of rain as my father’s and the stranger’s voice filtered through the windows.
“Something’s wrong here…” The guttural voice of the stranger came through first.
“What do you mean? It’s the same room we always get, everything should be the same.” Now it was my father, so he had been meeting with this stranger in this room. Unable to leave my small alcove without being spotted I continued to quietly listen, hoping to calm my shivers caused by the whirlwind forming around the city.
“Someone’s been poking around in here, the cleaning lady mentioned how the room was a mess when she got here.” It was then that I remembered the state I left the bed in, bereft of sheets and the mattress pushed aside to give me easier access to the frame. I silently cursed myself, it was such a simple mistake. If I were less sleep deprived I would have easily remembered to do such a thing. Even now the effects of a lack of sleep were pronounced. By my best estimates I was going on 36 hours without sleep at that point.
“Think it might be the Authority?” My father asked
“No, they wouldn’t be this sloppy, either it’s a coincidence or it’s some amateaur hunter. They probably didn’t find anything, but just in case, let me take one more look around…” The stranger explained as he walked out of my hearing. I had no idea who this authority was or why they were concerned about them, but it appeared they were being hunted by them. While I had an opportunity to escape right then I decided to stay for a moment longer. If I could learn more of this Authority, they could help me discover what had my father acting erratic. This was no simple affair if whole organizations were chasing my father and this stranger. I would not let my father come to harm from him being dragged into something he has no right to be in.
With the two partners in the further parts of the room I allowed myself to breathe a little bit easier. A mistake I would quickly come to regret as I heard a shout from inside the hotel room. “Someone’s out on the escape! I can hear their breathing!” It was inconceivable that the stranger would have heard something so quiet from the other side of the wall. In the rain, no less! Regardless, the truth was there that the stranger had heard me and so, as quickly as I could, I flew down the fire escape. The rain made the steel slick, causing me to tumble roughly down more than one flight of stairs. The pain subsided as adrenaline began coursing its way through my veins, giving me focus, sharpening my mind, and allowing me to shed my exhaustion. I knew the high would not last for long, so sliding down the ladder I sprinted out of the alleyway and out into the streets of Waterbury.
I dared not look behind me, but I could tell from the shouts and yells that my pursuers were not far behind me. It was sheer willpower that allowed me to dive into another maze of alleyways. The rain-soaked ground splashed as the three of us ran through. Turning a corner, I spotted an open window, belonging to the dry goods store. As the temperature dropped and the rain turned to a light snow, I dove into the window. Eager to evade my father and the stranger, I ran deeper into the store. Climbing the wooden stairs, I burst into what appeared to be some kind of store room. Looking out of a window facing the front of the store I noticed three gentlemen leaving for the night. None matched my father or the stranger’s description. Keeping low and quiet I listened for any sounds of more intruders. My mind was racing, my heart was pounding, I had found out more than I ever would have liked but I still had no answers to any question I set out to solve. Frustrated, terrified, and exhausted I turned towards the doorway, eager to return home and rest. As I looked through the doorway I saw the silhouette of the stranger as he easily walked through the doorway towards me. Silently, like a cat, he stalked forward before bowing slightly and taking off his hat with a theatrical flair.
Greasy locks of hair sprung forth, and as he looked up at me I could see the familiar bulging veins crawling around his forehead. He grinned at me, baring his sharpened canines. Swallowing, I took an instinctive step backwards. A chill running up my spine. The same man from the hallway, and the orchestra house. My father stepped out from behind the stranger, shocked. “You… You were the one on the balcony? Why were you spying on me?” My father seemed hurt by the lack of trust. It was almost comedic how he was concerned about that when he was associating with this strange creature in the guise of a man. Looking between the two I took even further steps back until I hit a wooden box, filled with miscellaneous goods. My retreat was blocked. I simply continued to stare in horror at the two men, unaware of what they were planning.
“My child, listen, do you remember when I said that the world was far stranger than any of my stories? My new friend here, he is going to show me, show us, the true nature of Earth. He belongs to a group, filled with people similar to him, they know such secrets, my child. Please, join us, I know how you liked to listen to the stories I used to tell and now you can live them! All you have to do is calm down a moment and let yourself be gifted the abilities of my friend here. I brought them enough sacrifices for the both of us, I made sure of that… Please, my child…” My father continued to plead with me to accept the eldritch gift from the creature standing beside him. Frozen in fear I had only just managed to shake my head no. I couldn’t take the plunge. I was afraid of the stranger, of his affliction. I would not be made a monster for the sake of learning some truth that was better left undiscovered.
The stranger looked bored at the conversation, apparently seeing it as beneath him to get involved. Yawning into the back of his hand he slowly made his way behind my father. Placing a hand upon his shoulder he said evenly and calmly “Don’t worry, if they refuse to join us, you can just make them.” Before either of us could ask for any form of elaboration the stranger bared his teeth and sank them into my fathers neck. My father gasped in pain as I gasped in shock. The small rivers of crimson slowly made their way down his shirt as my father’s lifeblood flowed. My father grit his teeth, bearing the pain without complaint. I could hear him quietly celebrating, gasping out victory cries as the monster feasted on him. I do not know how long we stood there, one feeding, one being fed on, the last standing paralyzed, but before I could manage to shake the chains of my terror, my father dropped to the floor. He wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t see him breathing. Staring down at my father’s corpse I tried to process the truth. The man who used to sit me on his lap and tell me grand stories, the man who guided my youth into a bountiful adulthood, was dead. No more would he speak, no more would he comfort. Choking on a small cry that threatened to escape me, I saw the stranger take one of his elongated fingernails and slice into his palm. The torrent of red flowed into my father’s wound, filling him with the vile stuff that coursed through this monster's veins. The stranger closed his hand, stopping the flow. He began to leave the room, but before he crossed the threshold of the door to the stairs the creature stopped and turned back to me. “Don’t worry about looking for us, your father knows where to find us.” With that, the vampire left me with my father’s corpse.
Hearing a horrible banging against the wood I looked down as my father’s body began to spasm and writhe. I refused to get closer as I could see his hands grasping wildly at the air around him and I knew that getting close now would spell my end. Unfortunately he was between me and the only exit. I could chance the windows, but we were on the third floor, and unlike the hotel this building did not have a fire escape. I was trapped with a rapidly transforming man who had stolen the body of my father. Back to the boxes I watched as the corpse rose from the dead, its back turned to me. “Ohhhh, I’m so thirsty… My child, please, just a sip… Allow your father a drink…” The corpse moaned as it turned to me. The same veins that plagued the stranger’s forehead now climbed up and down the face of my father. His canines jutted downwards into twin daggers. The snow gently rested on the windowsill as the wind rattled the windows. The monster lunged forward, going straight for my throat. On more instinct than conscious thought I took hold of the box’s lid and swung it as hard as I could right at the corpse’s face. Wood, splinters and blood flew throughout the room in a macabre shower. The thing pretending to be my father cried in pain “My child… My child… why would you do this to your own father…?!” Swinging the lid back down right on the creature’s head, far more blood than what was normal leaked out of the monster’s skull and began covering the hardwood floor in a lake of red. “You are not my father, not anymore.” I grit out with far more determination than I truly felt.
The corpse shambled to its feet. “Incredible, what this body can withstand, I feel invincible.” Had the creature truly not felt anything from the blows? The lid was quickly coming apart in my hands, it would not withstand much further assault. The time it would take for me to grab a new weapon might be enough time for this abomination to grab me. Eyes darting around the room I noticed a light fixture on the wall. That was when I remembered, we were currently in central Waterbury. Central Waterbury was still lit by gas, even indoors. Dashing over to the fixture I slammed part of the wooden lid into it, shattering the glass. The shards rained down onto the floor below, glinting in what little light remained in the day as it descended. The creature jumped towards me again, before being disabled by another clumsy swing. Knowing I had little time I quickly began working the lighter on the fixture, and before the creature managed to rise I had created a small flame within the metal casing. Sticking a part of the lid into the case it took a moment to light. The moment the flame spread to the lid I leaped back as a clawed hand reached for my leg. Armed with a large, impromptu torch I waved it at the nightmare, hoping to scare it off like a wild animal. The thing looked down at it, unimpressed. “Is that really the best you could come up with? A burning box lid? What do you think is going to happen when it all burns out, your weapon will have turned to ash.”
“Shut up! You’ll burn right along with it, I’ll see to it that you get a taste of the fires of hell! You foul creature, taking the skin of my father!” I snarled out. My anger burned hotter as the fire continued to spread throughout what remained of the lid. The creature laughed “I thought I raised you better than this! I am your father, but better! I have been enhanced, and soon I will learn of things you couldn’t fathom. I will turn you as well, and we will discover such things you will forget your mundane life altogether. You must see that this is the greatest gift I could possibly bestow unto you!”
“You are not my father. You aren’t even human anymore. You’re some bastardization of a man caused by- agh!” I hissed in pain as the lid burned my hand. While we were trading barbs the fire continued to burn, uncaring as to our conversation. Immediately I realized my mistake as the creature charged, no longer impeded by my improvised weapon. The vampire tackled me to the ground. My hands on its shoulders we wrestled with it on top of me. Pushing the thing back I eventually managed to work a foot under it and kick it off me. It was with a crash that the monster slammed into some more wooden crates, breaking them and scattering splinters everywhere. As I rose to my feet the abomination followed, but before either of us could make another move a wall of flame rose between us. The burning lid had begun burning the floor, and the wooden fragments from the destroyed crates served as the perfect kindling. The building was going to burn down. A more reasonable person would have taken this opportunity to escape, to live and fight another day. I was not that person. This thing had stolen my father’s face, and was going to destroy an untold number of people’s lives. He already spoke of offering sacrifices to other creatures of the night. How many people had he killed on his crusade for learning the reality of the world around him? How many more lives would he destroy if I let him escape now? I had a moral duty, as a human, to strike down this creature and free the world from his tyranny, then I would find his compatriots, and kill them all as well.
The fire stole the air from my lungs, the smoke stung my eyes, but I dared not blink. This creature would die tonight. It was with that thought I kicked a burning box to the other side of the flame wall separating us, forcing it to withdraw further. With only a moment’s hesitation I dove through the flames and tackled it, slamming it down onto more crates. Jerky, and cans burnt and burst as they were thrown into the all-consuming flames. I grabbed a piece of wood, hanging on by a hair to one of the boxes and raised it over my head with one hand, as the other pinned the creature down. The improvised stake stared down at the creature, it’s pointed end threatening the unholy life of the thing. As I slammed down the creature used one of its free hands to intercept the stake. The wood burst through the vampire’s hand, blood and bone being exposed to the world. The creature screamed in pain, throwing me off it and onto another box, this one burning. I began to yell as the flames licked away at my left arm, boiling the blood and causing the skin to burn. My forearm was covered in painful red and black, but that did not matter at the moment, for the creature still lived. Gritting through the pain I broke off another stake, and prepared myself for the next bout of blows. We both looked down as we heard a gust of flame spring to life below us. I realized I had left the gas line open and spewing out the flammable chemical. The heat must have set the gas stored in the basement ablaze as the fire traveled down the gas lines built into the walls. All that meant was that now the both of us had even less time to escape the building, even as more of the room we occupied was consumed by the hellfire.
I choked on the smoke, the air quickly running out of the room. I only had a few more good hits in me before I would succumb to the ash and fire. I did not know whether the thing in front of me needed air, and I did not wish to find out. The creature took a step forward, seemingly eager to end this. It most likely sensed my faltering due to the lack of air. It reached forward with its good hand, it was then that I noticed that the hand I had run through was no longer moving. I had severed the muscles required to open and close the hand. If I could not kill it traditionally, I could trap it within the building. The fire would do the rest. Diving low I brought the creature to the ground with another tackle. I was never a fighter in any professional capacity, I simply sought to take whatever opportunities I could to cause this thing pain and stop it from attacking me. As we became entangled in a mass of limbs I managed to grab onto one of its legs and thrust my stake right into its achilles tendon. Refusing to stay there for any longer I dove away only to be greeted with another batch of burns to my leg as I stepped into the fire. The pain rolled over me in waves as I slowly fell into shock. I would require some form of hospitalization the moment I was able, I would probably lose my leg if things went badly. Thankfully, the shock also managed to keep me conscious as the creature shambled up, its left leg now disabled from the stake. It would be more accurate to say its foot was disabled, but the result was the same, it could no longer walk or run with any degree of speed. It shambled towards me, arm outstretched, pleading with me to let it feed. It was slow, clumsy. What I was doing at this point was more putting it down than battling it.
A sloppy grab led to me easily dodging it, and allowing me to grab the creature’s throat. Its clawed hands reached for my shoulders, but that only allowed me to rip out the stake from its wounded hand. A shove led us both to the ground. A few short moments later, the second stake was stabbed through its other heel. The creature now unable to walk, and barely able to crawl, was reduced to begging. “My child, please… It’s not too late… A small drink and I’ll be fixed, you’ll see… I will make us powerful, more powerful than any human can possibly imagine…” I looked down on the creature with pity. Climbing to my feet I looked around us. The building would be lost, that much was certain. The creature was unable to move with coordination due to the loss of control. It wore my father’s face and it wept with it. As it begged me to give it blood I finally managed to understand the full weight of the day’s events. Shambling towards the door on burned legs, I turned to face my father’s corpse one last time. “Farewell, father. I will see you in hell, damnable creature.” With that I made my way slowly down the stairs, through the burning first floor, and out into the city streets. I could hear the fire department rapidly approaching. Facing the fire I realized the whirlwind had caused the fire to spread to the neighboring buildings. Numbed by pain and shocked I simply walked away until the pain caught up with me. Collapsing onto the sidewalk I lay there as snow and ash fell gently around me. Cold, tired, and in grief, I closed my eyes, and slept.
Waking with a start, I leaped up in bed only to have my arm and legs scream in pain. Hissing, I took a moment to look around the room I had found myself in. It was some kind of hospital, but there were bindings on the bed. A sanitarium, I quickly realized. A place for the insane and sickly. Considering myself neither I was quite appalled by the conditions I found myself in. Unable to walk due to the damage my legs had sustained in the blaze, I was forced to wait until a doctor finally arrived to converse with me. After checking to make sure my mental faculties were sound and that I was not in need of any further assistance, he had me wheeled to another part of the hospital. Deposited into a ward seemingly dedicated to low-priority patients, ones that would recover on their own in time, I was left to wait even longer. The beds aside mine were empty, creating a quiet discontentment. 12 beds were arranged in the spacious room, 6 on either wall. A large window sat inside the wall opposite to the door, letting in yellow rays of morning light, bathing the room in a warm glow. The light harshly contrasted with the biting cold of the February morning as goosebumps ran up and down my arms.
The room lacked any sort of method for telling the time, and there was no entertainment. Bedridden and bored I began to drift off to sleep once more before a crash sounded from the door. A doctor flanked by what appeared to be some kind of guard stepped into the room. Dismissing the two, the doctor turned to me, and pulled up a metal chair. The old thing squeaked in exertion as the doctor sat and made himself comfortable. We exchanged pleasantries, and the doctor wasted no time in introducing himself as Doctor James Williamson. He inquired as to my condition and whether or not I was in any pain, standard medical practice as far as I knew. It was after I had confirmed my relative health that the conversation pivoted towards the circumstances I found myself in.
The line of questioning was difficult, how does one explain the things I had seen without also sounding like you belonged in an asylum? Very carefully I walked the good doctor through the things I had experienced, starting with me at the hotel and culminating in the fire. When I had said I could possibly work to figure out some sort of plan to assist the dry goods store the doctor looked at me strangely. “Are you not aware of the full extent of the damage caused by the fire?” He questioned lightly.
“You mean it spread? How far?” Without missing a beat the doctor rose, grabbing the bed frame. He carted me out to the sanitarium window facing towards the city. What I was met with would haunt me for the rest of my life. The once beautiful commercial center of the city was largely obscured by smoke, a gray screen rising into the sky blocking attempts to assess the entirety of the damage. Black brick and collapsed buildings in the center of town as if a large bomb had gone off. Several buildings attempted to reach into the sky as they had been proudly designed to do, only to give way to fire damage. Some slouched over in exhaustion, others still tumbled entirely, the task given to them proven impossible under the circumstances.
The weight of what my actions had caused was incomprehensible. It felt as though this were some unfortunate nightmare, that soon I would awake with a start on the clothier counter. As some moments passed my shoulders slowly fell and I felt an overbearing sense of calm overcome me. I guessed that the sheer amount of information I had to process overloaded my mind. I grew numb after seeing it, but I could not remove a question from my mind. “How many…?”
“About 30 or so buildings have been reported as being irreparable, left to collapse. More still rendered uninhabitable but they can fix them. Quite a few have superficial damage.” The doctor rattled off the statistics, “2 million dollars in damage being the lower estimate.” I turned and glared at the physician “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Ah, well, no one, other than your father. No injuries, no deaths, just buildings. I suppose we got lucky. Only a couple people were in each building when the fire began, so it was easy to evacuate.” The doctor seemed almost amused as he explained the miraculous situation. I couldn’t fathom it, so much damage but only a single life lost to the flames. The monster that wore my father’s face perished in a flame that harmed not another soul. I looked up, sending a quick prayer to God as thanks for this miracle. I closed my eyes, steadying myself. I was thankful of the fact that I was already laying down, my exhaustion from the past few days and the news of the damages combined to cast a dizzying spell over me.
Hearing a soft clanking sound I looked over to a couple of small pills resting on a small bedside table. Next to it a small glass of water sat, tantalizing me. I did not know how long exactly I had gone without a drink but it was far too long. The doctor had said something about the pain but I had taken the pills and drained the glass before he had even finished the sentence. A sigh escaped my lips.
With a blink of an eye I found myself moved back to my original position away from the window. Disoriented, I quickly scanned the room, everything appeared to be normal, but time had passed. The morning sun no longer beamed through the windows, replaced with an overcast sky turning the room into a cold gray. The doctor entered the room, both doors swinging towards me. The wind pushed toward me, chilling me as the doctor sat down. Taking out a pencil and paper the doctor asked me the same questions. Dazed, I answered them automatically, not really giving thought to them. Had I fallen asleep? Why was the doctor acting like this was our first meeting? Once again, in the same spot, the conversation pivoted to how I had received my injuries. “I already answered this, didn’t I?” The words were weak, fragile. The doctor looked at me, shocked, his mouth open in a small ‘o’. Another blink and it was evening, the doctor once more entering the room.
The same conversation, the same pivot, but instead the doctor began telling me of a story where I found myself shopping in the dry goods store that caught fire. That my father died in an unrelated carriage accident. His words had a sort of power to them, I almost wanted to believe what the doctor was saying. It made far more sense than the creatures of the night prowling the streets. Yet I resisted, I knew what I saw, that what is out there is not as it seems. My speech grew manic, fast, words slurring together in a mad rush to explain what I knew was fact. Awaking, it was morning. I was still in bed, my injuries no longer in sharp pain. Instead it was the dull ache of recovery.
The doctor once more entered the room. Resisting the urge to leap out of bed and run away I held position, knowing I wouldn't get far. The conversation was on loop. I heard it before, but I cannot recall the words. The subject matter of our conversation I can recall if I truly put all my effort into it. Exact specifics have proven impossible. I cannot ascertain the reason for my rapidly deteriorated memory for this specific section of time. I supposed that it was due to the pills I had taken originally however that would not explain how long the effects lasted. Likewise, it did not explain the syringe scars that would cover my arm after this incident.
Eventually, after anywhere from 8 to 12 renditions of the same conversation. I eventually grew tired of the hellish cycle, of the doctor convincing me of events that never occurred. I lept for the doctor, screaming at him that he must believe what I am saying, that I was sick of the repeated conversations, that I wanted out of here. I was fired up, a tornado of emotion and energy. Now even remembering the event tires me. Especially when considering immediately after I came to in a padded room.
I looked around the room blearily, trying to determine whether the uniform white of the padding was real or not. Perhaps I had died somehow and the past few hours were a dream. Laying down on the soft cushioning proved to be a mistake as I could no longer gather the energy to move. Collapsed from exhaustion, my limbs were heavy. Staying awake was a conscious effort especially as I couldn’t find a reason to stay awake. Below the room I could hear murmurs of the doctor and some other voices I couldn’t recognize.
“The… Nestics aren’t working?” said a stranger
“They’ve proven to be remarkably resilient to…” The doctor replied, his tone almost annoyed.
The cushioning was unfortunately eating most of the sound, but I found if I pushed my head down into the cushion I could hear the conversation far more clearly. I did so, despite knowing I would only be rewarded with a headache after they were finished.
“Damn, what about the gaslighters?”
“Well, they’ve appeared to have some effect, but it appears they’ve conditioned themselves to remember, which is only strengthened by a natural resistance. We don’t have much more time or money. I also feel that they’re deliberately hiding something from us. I’ll try to coax what I can out of them.”
The conversation grew too quiet to continue listening as the pair walked away from my secret listening spot. Cursing my luck I sat up, wondering how to proceed. Thoughts I could not hold onto for long as I would wake up elsewhere in the room every few hours. They were doing something to me, the medicine was not what they said it was but I couldn’t stop them.
I increasingly grew alarmed at the sign of any other person present. Hearing a snippet of a conversation or footsteps down the hall proved enough to send me scurrying to the opposite end of the small padded room. Most times it passed without incident but I knew that it was a trick, as every now and then I would awake in another spot. Sometimes they tried to put me near where I had fallen asleep but I knew better. They were not clever enough for me.
The sensory deprivation has proven to be harder to handle than I originally thought. Spending most of my fleeting moments of consciousness in a white room wearing a white jacket has led to my mind forcefully filling the blanks, starved for any kind of visual stimulation. I began seeing people out of the corner of my eye, only for them to vanish if I looked. Insects appeared on the wall only for them to be merely a product of my starved mind. I wanted and needed to go outside but they refused to let me, saying I had refused my medication. If I were refusing then why did I continue to come to random parts of the room? They were lying, they weren’t going to let me leave.
I began to talk to the doctors and nurses about my story, only for them to disregard it completely. Assuming it was the ramblings of a mad man. I knew I was not mad, the only risk of me becoming mad was if I stayed in this hospital for any longer. When the doctors and nurses began to ignore me I yelled to the other patients. Some were too far gone but others were still lucid enough to heed my tale. Soon I had gotten transferred to a solitary confinement wing, being accused of disturbing the other patients.
Continuing to explain the creatures I saw to the doctors and nurses they grew tired of me, and would often refuse to come near my cell unless strictly necessary to keep me alive. I lost track of time completely at this point. When I went out I could not tell if it was hours or days. There were no clocks, and I had no windows. My sense of time had been completely robbed of me, the visits of the doctors proved to be too unreliable with the gaps of my memories.
One awakening I felt that something in my cell was off. Something had changed. Imperceptible, the doctors were all gone, the nurses refused to check on me. I was no longer given any pills or shots. The visions were still there but somehow more bearable. I ceased to awake randomly, everything was clear. Investigating the padded room I found one cushion had been made loose. Prying it open I found a small cubby hole built into the wall. What was inside was mundane, civilian, but it might as well have been a vault full of gems to me.
A stack of papers rested inside. Blank pages, as well as a small pencil resting atop. Pulling out the papers carefully there was but a single line of text written neat and plainly on the top page. A single sentence. Lacking punctuation yet having such a significant impact on me that I never dreamed of leaving the path laid out for me by this one line.
“I believe you”
I had a benefactor within the hospital. Someone who truly wanted to know the truth. To discover the secrets of the world and expose these men who work under the banner of this mysterious Authority. I would not falter here. Setting the page aside I quickly got to work writing down every single detail I could remember on these very pages.
It feels good to be done. To have aired all of my experiences out for the benefit of a man who I could never learn the identity of by necessity. Someone trusted me, believed the words of a humble clothier above all others. It was touching and humbling, and even now it almost brings me to tears. It was difficult to write this, being forced to hide it from the staff. While I had no doubts that my benefactor is a member of the staff here to risk anyone knowing would ruin the sacrifices and risks already made.
My benefactor, I do not know if you plan on releasing me from this place, nor do I care. I do know that you have grand and beautiful plans with these pages. The masses will know the truth behind the 1902 Waterbury fire thanks to your efforts. It is with a heavy heart that I sign off here, but I know in my heart of hearts that we will meet again, if not in this life, then in the next.
Due to the subject’s natural resistance to amnestics as well as continued uncooperation with Authority assets stationed within the Connecticut Hospital for the Insane it was determined that the subject needed to be silenced in order to maintain the veil. In order to ensure that all information was extracted from the subject, Authority agents planted writing tools in the subject’s cell, encouraging them to write their experiences.
After this process was complete the subject was then assigned to be administered electroconvulsive therapy. Authority assets planted at the time staged an accident leading to the subject being administered volts far above what would be usual for treatment, leading to the subject’s termination. The asset was removed from hospital staff and transferred back to Site-096.
While investigation into the subject’s experience would remain inconclusive for several years after their death, the discovery of RPC-596 in 1975 would confirm that the subject did witness anomalous activity, and that RPC-596 existed for an undetermined period of time prior to formal discovery.