Tuesday, May 22, 2018

My name is Ron, and I'm a detective from New York. I'm a man who wears a hat and always has a notebook in his hands. My story that I am going to tell you about is something you might have never heard.

Chapter 1:
Friday the 13th,year 1869.
I was assigned to go investigate a crime that took place here in a small town of  Pennsylvania. A woman was murdered here just a few days ago. I found out her name and was beginning to investigate. I began to examine houses nearby on this wide, rural grassland area where I took a home for rent. I found no clues after searching for weeks. Today, on Friday the 13th, since the woman's funeral was being taken place in a church nearby, I decided to go there to examine parishioners of the church and look for clues. In the church, women were veiled as usual and men were dressed in black just like me. All I could see was faces turning red, eyes filled with tears, and hearts being broken. Many were crying while others were in complete, dead silence.  The hot, humid air caused me to feel uncomfortable and my smelly sweat drenched my shirt. In front of the church was the coffin in which the murdered woman's body was.While the pastor of the church was making other preparations before the funeral was about to begin, I stared at the coffin and took notes of what I saw. The woman had a deep scar on her throat and her dead body was turning blue. On her forehead was imprinted a deep, bloody mark. It was as if a metal rod was branded onto her head. The doors were closed and the pastor began, "Let us begin our mass. In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Lord we ask you this day to bless....". He wasn't able to finish. Loud knocks came on the door. Bam! Bam! Everyone seem to be afraid. Even I. Suddenly, a stranger blast through door and pointed a Civil War-like rifle to the pastor. The stranger seemed to be wearing a dark coat and dark hat. His hair was curly and he wore black shoes. Parishioners jumped out of their pews and took the stranger down to the ground and held him tight. "Got you! Son of a gun!" One man said after he took down the gunman.  Then,  I saw the pastor run out of the congregation to escape. I went out the door to follow him. I didn't know where he was going, but it seemed like he was heading toward a rusty, old Bell tower. I could not believe my eyes. The next thing I saw was the pastor hanging himself from the Bell tower. His feet dangled in the air and the bell was ringing. Ding Dong Ding Dong.
Chapter 2:
It is the first day of next month. I could not explain to myself what happened that day. Day after day I could only have nightmares. But this seemed to be an interesting case so I decided to investigate further. I went to the house of the mayor of the city who lived by that church. On the front door was the name of the mayor, Damien Ross. I knocked on his door and no one came. When I knocked on the door again, a gray, bearded man with an ugly sweater and black-rimmed glasses came out of the door, pulled on my collar, and screamed,"What do you want you little midget?!" I noticed that he also had a golden chain around his neck which had a dragon imprinted on it with the number 666. He was a Satanist. When I entered his home, I started observing paintings of monsters, red, strong, with canine teeth. He
also had roaches and spiders everywhere. The mayor screamed at me again, "Are we just going to waste time hear? Say what you got to say and get out!" I was shaken by his agressive tone. "Sorry sir. I am detective Ron. I just want to learn about what is going on in this city. I'm in search of a criminal who had murdered this woman. I went to her funeral last month and I could not sleep for days because of what happened at the day of her funeral. A man with a gun was about to shoot the pastor at the funeral, but the gunman was taken down by parishioners. Then the priest hung himself from the Bell tower. " The mayor thought I was insane. I took out the photograph of the dead woman , which I had found a week ago and gave it to the mayor. When he saw the picture of the woman, he said, "What the hell are you talking about?!" "What do you mean?" I said. He grabbed my arm very roughly and walked me to the church. He threw me in front of the church and pointed toward the open doorway. "Then who the freak are they?!!!!!", he screamed. When I peered through the doorway of the church, my heart started to beat terribly hard. I could not believe my eyes. I saw the same pastor who had hung himself from the Bell tower preaching and the dead woman who was in the coffin singing in the choir. Damien brought me back to his home and he said to me, "Now what? "  "I am not lying mayor Damien. I saw what had happened that day and all of a sudden..." The mayor took out black, metal rod from the back of the room and came toward me. "What do you think you are doing? " I asked. My heart pounded harder and harder. He stared at me for a minute and said,  "Taking you to the hospital". Bam! He slammed the rod onto my head and I fell unconcious.
Chapter 3:
Year 1889.
Soon after the tragedy,
my body was found being thrown into ditch nearby the mayor's house. Some old, strange coal worker found that I was still alive and had brought me to a hospital in Pennsylvania. From there, I was transferred over to a hospital back in New York by a stranger who brought me there by horse and carriage. I somehow recall that the stranger seemed to be wearing a dark coat, black hat, dark shoes, and his hair seemed to be curly, someone exactly like the gunman in that church. After coming back to New York, I was left in a coma for 20 years, still haunted by my past. What happened in those days I still cannot explain. Everyday I could only have nightmares of what happened. Was the mayor a demon? How come I saw the same pastor who had hung himself and the woman who had died alive? And who is this stranger who looked like the gunman in that church?Some mysteries in life can never be solved. And one thing that I know is that there is something demonic and unexplainable about that place in Pennsylvania.

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