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B y Michael Bors
My name is Jerome Richter, and I write this journal knowing it's increasingly unlikely someone will read it after me. My life has been full and eventful, especially within the last few years. On the one hand, I run a fairly steady business buying and selling antiques. The business keeps me paying the bills, and living comfortably in a nice house. My inheritance affords me a cushion in times when the antique business gets slow, and for other expenses which may come up from time to time. If you're looking for personal information, we'll get to that a little later on. If I don't expect anyone to be reading this, then why do I write in this at all? I don't know, really. Perhaps it's just a part of me which wants to be remembered. It’s not important at this junction.
My parents died about four years ago, leaving me their belongings and enough money to cover their funeral expenses. It was a stormy night (cliché, I know, but it was) and their car spun out of control. Many parts of western Pennsylvania are not too forgiving in that regard and I had to handle this loss on top of a number of other troubles. Eventually, I fell into inheriting the antique business from an old man I worked for, Anton Cayle. It was quite likely the best, biggest break of my life. Since then I've worked hard to keep things working, and ever ything moving smoothly. There’s a lot more to the years, naturally, but I won’t get into them here. It’s not time yet, I’m not ready to put that to paper yet.
The werewolves I'm certain of. . is devoted to the paranormal and supernatural world. I'm not suited for television. or . along with a good number of missing person reports filed and never solved. my life. maybe not the zombies. it invades the real world quite a bit more than you may think of. . radio.Now. they're all quite true. Things became quiet after that. reader. Well. zombies. and eventually it became just another odd autumn to talk about. Or make yourself a burger with fries and pickles. The other side of my business. Believe me when I tell you. But you will. out of curiosity. A few reporters were eagerly snapping up whatever leads they could. Let me recount a stor y which managed to make headlines about two years ago. and I've had ample proof of ghostly presences fall into my hands over the last four years. It'll still be here when you're done and curious enough to continue. werewolves. we reach a part which will make you laugh and contemplate whether you should continue. I don't advertise my connections to paranormal investigation. Those stories you hear about vampires. and finally the police made an arrest of an unbalanced old man who spoke of angels and divine justice. now's the time to put the book down and get a drink. If you're already laughing. There were a series of dead bodies which were discovered either in bed or in alleys. just because I don't want attention coming my way. ghosts .
The bodies were found with a terrified expression on their faces. I'll refer to him as Max Green. Not only that. Regardless." "Of course not. and donates to various projects to preserve the local parks. but then I was still new. "Oh. "There hasn't been anything about wrongful deaths in the articles I skimmed. but the people I work with and the resources I call on have an allergic reaction to being discovered. keeping his ears out for things I should know about. There are a lot of things which are either outright illegal. the word 'murders' used instead of 'deaths' was a sign to pay attention. It's not for their safety I truly avoid the limelight . "Have you heard about these disappearances? And the murders?" He asked me after a good amount of pleasant small talk.anything else. which is close enough to his real name not to confuse myself. He has an affinity for environmental work. Green is also one of my paranormal contacts. and the cause of death was invariably given as . He's a rather nice person. the list is long enough to make any agent think twice about representing my activities as the next big spectacle. and I know you know better. amiable and pleasant to be around." He muttered into his cup and then began to talk about the specifics as he understood. or viewed as improper in what I do.it's for my own. I came to know about this event when a friend dropped in and shared lunch with me. they're not natural?" I'd thought nothing of it.
Jerome. specifically stating in three cases the heart was almost crushed in the chest cavity. Then he reached into his inner pocket and handed me a folded sheaf of papers. "But I'll give you a good starting point. Scratches. and the implication they had tried to grab whoever had been attacking them but overcome.heart failure. and I was certain then he had more of a clue than he was going to let on. What am I missing?" "There isn't anything in there which suggests there's anything to miss." . "Okay. bruises. and it was obvious Max had been digging deeper than I could without cause. and let out a sigh. but only on the hands and wrists. Max. No outside marks to suggest anything unusual." He paused to contemplate his glass. it’s simply what I heard before you got here.” “It’s not really your word. Max. but once inside it was "obvious". and disturbed the graves. I set the papers down on the table.” I read them. What have you heard about the Angel of Brookside?" "Ghost stories. The papers were photocopies of coroner's reports. There were apparent defensive wounds. It would come to life and attacked those who would go into the cemeter y after dark. I give up. something about a statue of an angel at Brookside Cemeter y. “Go ahead and read it all if you don’t trust my word.
After I bought Galen a corned beef sandwich."You're pretty close. You all know the steps of investigating something I began to investigate. but there's more to it. he became uncomfortable and insisted on a walk to a nearby corner deli. They'd never go into specifics. Let’s leave it at the place where Max indeed left me to do this the long way. but primarily used was "The Dark Angel of Brookside". Fearing dark spirits at work. it was said there was a terrible storm which shook the area and the parish found the granite statue had turned dark and ominous. He met me in his office and was curious about what brought me to him. in the 19th century a young child died sick in bed and her parents commissioned the angel headstone. I wrote down the notes.that's for another time. Mister Galen. he began to talk very slowly and choosing his words carefully. It arrived and after being engraved it became part of the graveyard." "Max. The Angel was known by several names. As soon as I showed interest in the stories of the Angel. but again . with all my contacts which brought me leads. and began to notice the usual hallmarks which pointed to a supernatural connection. you're going to make me take the long way round aren't you?" It usually was like this. Overnight. starting with the cemeter y caretaker. It's not until recently I started to understand their caution. According to legends. and if they offered anything it would always be cr yptic hints. and start the legwork moving. the head of the parish re- .
He was discovered there. and left graffiti or otherwise damaged the grounds. dead with a scream frozen on his face and his crucifix clutched so tightly in his hands it had dug into the flesh. The mason who did the work was found dead next. though it was a more obvious suicide . there was the occasional young gang who wanted to prove they were tough. He opined they were respectful more often than not. He seemed shaken after the rite. nobody has stayed in the cemetery after dark. and nobody has dared to harm any headstone or grave site. According to Galen. Fearing the headstone's angel had something to do with it. and left by morning.he had driven the chisel into his chest at the grave and left a small note reading "forgive me" at the foot of the grave. and repaired the crack with a mix of sand and water. Sometimes they'd camp out on the grounds overnight. Since then. . and with reverence there was a show of using tools to alter the statue. and there was a crack under one eye like a tear's trail.consecrated the gravesite and wanted to drive the dark spirits out. The gravestone's angel seemed to have taken on a somber expression instead of a restful one. They were talked out of it. They clipped the wings. the people of the parish wanted to destroy the headstone. and withdrew to his home. because they weren't the ones who were "targeted". There were more disruptive people who came to prove they weren't afraid of sacred ground.
Such a thing shouldn't have gone unnoticed by the city for over a hundred years. but I know things like this slip under the radar. as with sunglasses. only one person found alive and the rest dead. there are numerous people who look at things with open eyes and can perceive it. it doesn't sit well to imagine such things exist in these times. Galen said less than half were written by people who had been alive when the letters arrived. They're . quietly pouring me a glass of scotch from a bottle in his desk. A teenaged boy witnessed to write on a headstone on a dare. Paranormal experiences. The caretaker had been the ones to find them. and the half-dozen or so which garnered attention. Granted. and supernatural events often are shaken off by those not touched by them. They'd kept a scrapbook of dozens of cases which never made it to the papers. for fifty years Galen had been caretaker and his father had the job before him. I needed the drink.Galen let me view a scrapbook in his office. I walked by to look at the statue after a few days to let my mind and spirit recover. everyone has sunglasses on when it comes to experiences such as these. including letters which had been written in shaky handwriting as apologies for defiling the graves. the rest were suicide notes left at the angel's grave. A gang who had thought it a good idea to hide a cache of drugs and weapons on the property. To abuse a metaphor. The stories continued. so the mind rejects the possibility out of hand. after reading the book. the police had determined it was a deal gone bad. the survivor holed up in an open cr ypt and clicking a spent pistol at the door while gibbering under his breath. driven mad and sent to seek ps ychiatric help.
In desperation I reached out to another contact of mine. I noticed the obvious "clipping" of the wings without touching it. people would talk about it and spread it around as a tale to tell at night. and only identified myself as a friend of someone else who had disappeared. Three hundred years ago it would have been a serious cautionary stor y. that's what the charitable mind would consider. and it would have been taken as truth. and the patching on the cheek. I made no promises. Two hundred years ago. and they usually remain silent on the matter to avoid being ridiculed. a presence around the site which I had come to recognize. a young woman . There was indeed something unsettling about the eyes and face of the angel. which stopped me from doing anything but looking. Almost none of the people had admitted to doing an ything to the site.outnumbered. Miranda. yet still solid. A sense of being watched. Only a few mentioned going through the cemetery at all. I began to investigate quietly into the lives of those who had disappeared. At least. Leaving the cemetery. The lack of information undoubtedly is what frustrated the police as well. probably due to tampering over the years and weathering. I personally wonder if it's not a function of the force which caused death around this Angel. The name on the headstone was impossible to read. since I found myself pressed for more answers than I was being given. The statue was weather-beaten and pitted by the elements. I did feel a force.
and told me I would be wise to leave it alone. and any image you draw of how this autumn night was will still pale in comparison to the feeling of being there. and we climbed the fence like children. I was worried about making it out of there intact. I felt the presence in the air become dangerous and charged with menace as we neared the corner of the cemetery with the grave. and in this case the spirit has been corrupted. and it was meant to watch over the dead." Max had brought the case to my attention for a reason. it instead is lashing out at anyone who provokes it. A vastly unfair end for such a lonely spirit. Miranda tracked me down within a week. but I'm not going to lie. To quote from my notes: "There are spirits of various powers and influences. I'd leave it be. a thin fog hanging over the ground. unless you have tools to destroy it. and stopped to shine a flashlight in other directions at noises she heard. . I wish I could say I was stoic and unaffected. We weren’t just walking. Miranda accompanied me one night to the cemetery. Miranda stumbled a couple times. After a mere minute of immersion. She agreed to talk with me after looking into the grave site.who was sensitive to spirits. Each one is meant to do a certain thing. and I began to prepare to have something to do with it. and I warned her it wouldn't be pleasant. It used to be a guardian. we were stalked as we made our way to the Dark Angel. The air was alive. But it's no longer doing that.
she was invoking the spirit and instructing it to rest. and we both knew it was going to take some real effort to convince it otherwise. and fished in her bag for a slate tablet and white chalk. The angel statue seemed hidden in shadow even as we shone our lights on it. to move and rise to gaze down at us impassively at first. Tools of her trade. though it's almost never enough. Then malice was evident in the expression and aura. as Miranda began telling the spirit to move on. you would recognize a few. Miranda settled onto her knees. Miranda invoked all sorts of names and entities as time passed. Supernatural matters are no different than material ones. I know more than most. the first thing I felt was an intense chill. It's not about religion. . The spirit world has its own authority and hierarchy in place. It's simply how things work. whether or not you believe the rock will fall. It didn't want to listen. and they were important. Despite what you may think. Invoking His name doesn't always work.When we reached the site. but only a few. and murmured incantation after incantation. God is not the answer to all these problems. I must interrupt here to stress a ver y important detail. it still will behave as the world wills it to. I watched the statue itself seem to shift. but the laws are much harder to determine for those who aren't actually a part of it. nor does faith in His works always protect one from an attack. S ymbol after symbol. and it exists outside what we would call the afterlife and the presence of souls. and it's not about what name you put to your belief.
I'm not even truly sure how long it had been. The whole of it is a jumbled mess in my memor y. disrupting its presence. We wound up at a diner. Miranda flung her hand up. except for the fact it was very powerful. what I felt. something within it which seemed to sparkle in the dim night. When it had been damaged. your duty has finished!" The presence wavered. The surge of emotion I wrote about before isn't enough to express just how rapidly the feelings changed and flowed over the two of us. Miranda needed four glasses of orange juice before she was able to talk and make any sense. "You cannot stay! You must leave this place. they belonged to the apparition which floated there before us. They weren't mine. She reiterated what she had mentioned before. Miranda was trembling and asked me to help her out of there.I backed away from the presence. and now it was focusing on us. and I felt a wave of uncertain emotions ripple over me. one of the all-day ones where you can get a decent short stack of pancakes at four in the morning if you really wanted it. the spirit had taken it as an . Some force had struck out. The spirit had indeed left the statue. saying she needed to recover. and I listened carefully as she rambled through her thoughts. and watched as a shadow rose against the moonlight. the spirit's presence just seemed to dissipate and spread out. continuing to urge the spirit to depart while the air was full of an aura .it is impossible to describe in words. She talked for two hours. Miranda's voice pleaded. After a time. the spirit being meant to be a guardian and bound into the angel's statue.
the spirit became less focused. and it fragmented more. I didn't have any answers yet. concerned her interactions with spirits lately. and it would not be deterred. As time went on. though I have thought about it since then. I wound up leaving her an envelope of cash and sitting through a very early breakfast.it was doing its duty. which stuck with me. she said. having seen plenty at this point to understand the matter. for ghosts. I can't tell if it's the same for human presences. Events are growing more frequent. But the further it expanded. . I agreed. the spirit's power was bound further into this world and its chosen territor y." She'd looked up.attack on what it was supposed to protect. There is something which changed. and I can tell you for certain there is something to her words. and more severe. and the scarring literally strikes the ver y fabric of reality. and sighed. There are physical-world threats which have happened. I don't understand. incursions and possessions which have irrevocably scarred people. lost. It lashed out. misdirected. but so many of them seem to have no direction. I'd waited to understand things. Month after month. "Do you know . could lose their minds and purposes. Two years later. anything about this?" I hadn't responded. Even spirits. . Some of the people I've talked to suggest it could be further than that. The last thing she mentioned to me that morning. . "They're confused. at the time. unknowing and uncaring about the targets . something which has been causing ripples in the "community" studying paranormal activity.
I might not have the strength of will to pursue it. I'm not ready to accept the responsibility which comes with that knowledge. only human. I am. a more sinister light to these events. if I know what might be coming further down this road . however I can't do any more. I don't ask the questions. after all. . because I'm afraid of what the answers may be. What I have done and what I am doing is important. Knowing whether or not there is a deeper meaning. and I don't want to.I don't have any answers. would force me to act. I'm not prepared to take that step. If I know what is happening.
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