Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27162389-20151105023534

I was advised to post my story here to get feedback. I would be extremely gratified to anybody who doesn't mind reading it over. It's quite long though, be warned.

STORY:

The following passage is a true account of what happened to me in the late fall of 2014. I know that sounds terribly corny and you’re likely inclined to believe it’s false before you’ve read it. That, in the end, is your choice.

I’ve given a lot of thought to the incident since its occurrence. I suppose there are many unknowns that could have caused the strange dreams. Being the victim of a hyperactive imagination, it is certainly possible. However, I am doubtful that they were just random hallucinations. Several factors point against such a conclusion.

A quick background first. I have never done drugs of any sort, being something of a recluse. I suppose going to a new, state of the art tech school and falling in with the nerdy role-player crowd kind of does that. Many of my peers from other schools had stories to tell of their experiences with weed or liquor, but my friend group never was interested in any of that. Instead, we were the video game crowd. I am an absolute enthusiast of electronics, browsing the web, and such. Anyways, I’m getting this out of the way because hallucinations would be the most obvious explanation for part of what took place. Due to the great coincidences and my abstinence from intoxicants, I think this is unlikely.

Anyways, onto the story.

A particular love of mine was the occult. There’s a certain delight, be it from the forbidden fruit theory or some darker source, that drew me towards odd stories. My bedroom is still full of artifacts I’ve found interesting. This habit of collecting things was a direct cause of what followed. I could say I was stupid, or vain, in taking the letters. I was. But most of it was just curiosity.

In the fall of 2014 I was doing an internship at a business that, as of yet, I will not name. I’m unsure what legal repercussions I might face by doing so, although I doubt they’d really care. But more for my own sake than theirs, I think it’s best if this story, which has long since concluded, remain shut. Suffice to say it was an architecture firm. They did modern design for a lot of commercial ventures, nothing too special. Their firm was based in an older building in downtown Denver, a simple brick rectangular structure. It was quite featureless save for a few dusty windows, being otherwise quite plain. It was ironic that a modern architecture firm should be located in such a bland structure, but I guess that’s what was available.

The internship was school organized, and an awkwardly arranged affair. I was free to basically take my own initiative with it. My mentor was rarely at work, so I just slacked off for the first few weeks, running errands and other trivial work. The inner building was comprised of a long entry hall, with all the desks and coordination, and a few smaller offices off to one side. Down in the basement, there were various tools, papers, printing machines, and a bunch of reference books and records. There was an upper floor, but I didn’t notice any stairs or ladders anywhere, so I assumed it had been sealed off.

I realized otherwise on the fourth week. One of the older employees, who I will call Bill, asked me to get him some charts from the upper floor. I was surprised of course, and intrigued as he showed me a door in the back of one of the offices that opened onto a spiral staircase. It occurred to me at the time that such an out of the way access was very oddly placed. Being excited by such a hidden area, of course I instantly took a liking to the upper floor.

The upper floor, which Bill called the attic, wasn’t particularly special in itself. The staircase opened onto a large square floor, littered with boxes and old remnants of offices. The firm had put a few bookcases up here, to store some of the older and more outdated records, but otherwise it had been left undisturbed for a long while.

Instantly my focus at my internship was transformed. I spent all my available time upstairs, going through the relics of the previous century. Nobody really noticed I was gone, or if they did they didn’t mind. Again, it was just a shoddily patched together school internship. I wasn’t getting paid, so they basically just ignored me, so long as I didn’t interfere with anything.

For several weeks I rifled through the boxes and things in the attic. Anybody else would have likely considered it boring work, but I took a certain joy in it that is hard to describe. Old typewriters, papers, correspondences. Mostly a dull and drab affair, piles of junk. I found several tidbits of particular interest, including an antique pen of excellent quality, an iron paperweight in the shape of a hound, and some odd paintings of fruit in bowls dating back to 1989. They weren’t of very good quality. I took several of these things home with me. In hindsight it was stealing, but at the time I thought very little of it. It was obvious nobody had been here for ages, and I didn’t picture anybody actually owning these things. I still don’t know whether anybody did.

Towards the middle of my internship, roughly on the 8th week, I came across an interesting discovery. Buried behind several stacks of paper, there was a large crate, roughly the size of a pig. It was sealed with nails and marked with large letters 'HEN TENSL. NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN.' Instantly upon reading this I grew excited. Curiosity swam thick in my brain and I decided to open the crate and see what mysterious package somebody had left behind, intentionally or not. Of course at this point I could look back and say that opening it was stupid, that what I did I wouldn’t repeat, but of course that’s false. At the time there was no way to know anything about it, and I was a bored high school student with questionable morals, so I got a hammer and pried the top off.

I was a little disappointed by what I found inside. A few outdated writing utilities, a dried red inkpot, and a stack of letters. I had come across many letters already in the vast piles of junk, so I would have tossed these aside, except that they were the only think of interest in the crate. I figured they must be interesting, so I picked up the top one and began reading it. I recorded all of these on my computer, so I have almost an exact transcript here. Again I’ve changed the names, and of course removed all mention of the address and directions to the building.

''My dear Maria, ''

''I have received your correspondence and am delighted to find one so similar to myself in such odd preferences. I own a building in the downtown district, a custom built place, very nondescript. I think it will serve such a purpose perfectly. You really must come over to see it one day. It’s got all sorts of features that you’ll delight in. How would this coming Sunday work? I’ll be free for the whole day, as I’m not much of a churchgoing sort. You can get there by [removed]  ''

''That tea you sent me is really excellent. You really must tell me where you got it. I look forward to meeting you and discussing further pleasures. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Yours, Leopold Barker. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Directly underneath this was a reply.

<p class="MsoNormal">''To Mr. Barker, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Thank you for your invitation, I’m also keen to meet one of such similar interests. Sunday would be fine, and I’m glad you liked my tea. Expect me around noon; I’ll be over as soon as service is finished. I can bring some food, and of course some more tea. I already have found someone who you might be interested in. I look forward to commencing. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Love, Maria Orin. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">My interest was piqued immediately by several sentences. Such a purpose? Odd preferences? Similar interests? My immediate suspicion was of two people with some odd fetish who were arranging a discreet meeting to share “further pleasures.” I thought briefly about not delving further, but was curious where the correspondence went from here.

<p class="MsoNormal">At that time, however, my Internship for the day was just about over. I carefully wrapped the letters in a sheet and stuffed them in my bag, then said goodbye to Bill and the other architects, and caught the bus home.

<p class="MsoNormal">At home I was distracted by other matters, video games with friends and such. I took the letters out and put them on my shelf, forgetting about them as I settled into the lazy evening.

<p class="MsoNormal">That night I had the first dream.

<p class="MsoNormal">I was standing in a vast cavern, the walls hidden in shadow. Somehow I could perceive their presence, their location, but tell neither their color nor texture. A glint of light caught my eye, and I walked through the silent cavern towards the source.

<p class="MsoNormal">I walked and walked. An aspect of my past dreams had never been repetition. Always when I focused on something in a dream I was there, instantly. There was never any waiting. Yet, In this particular sleep I walked for minutes, approaching the light.

<p class="MsoNormal">As I got closer, I realized it was an enormous pen. No, it was exactly the pen I had “taken” from the attic. I recognized the brass inlay, the fine wood shaft. I had leant the pen against my shelf, near the dog. Sure enough, as I turned to my left I saw it suddenly before me, colossal in scope. The iron dog paperweight. The eyes, normally nonexistent, leered at me, staring with indistinguishable feeling towards me. Suddenly something grabbed me from behind.

<p class="MsoNormal">And I woke up. I turned to my clock, my heart still beating with the scare I had received. It was around 1 o’clock, and I had gone to bed around 12. I was confused, but still in the post-sleep lethargy, and went back to sleep.

<p class="MsoNormal">I had no further dreams and awoke the next morning feeling fine. The day was pretty nondescript, as was the Friday after that. Then we had a weekend, and I spent my time playing online games with friends and lying about. The next day I went back to school.

<p class="MsoNormal">As I was slacking in class my thoughts turned towards my internship, and with a start I remembered the letters I had stuffed aside. Strangely, up until now I had forgotten about them. When I got over to my internship that afternoon, having nothing better to do I promptly went upstairs to have another look at the crate.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was there where I had left it. I decided to examine some of the papers that had been stacked around it. They were all old, unimportant things, newspapers or accounting sheets. I looked through them for an hour without finding anything. Further analysis of the crate showed it to be rather unremarkable. While I turned it over in my hands, there was a thump behind me, and I jumped up and spun around, heart racing.

<p class="MsoNormal">A stack of paper had fallen over. That was strange, as there was certainly no wind in the attic. It had probably just come off balance. Even so, I was a little spooked by it. I decided to return to the first floor and continue slacking there, running occasional errands for the architects.

<p class="MsoNormal">When I got home that afternoon, I went straight to my shelf and picked up the stack of letters. Walking over to my computer, I sat down in the chair and commenced to read.

<p class="MsoNormal">''Dear Maria, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''How is your vacation going? I decided to send you another letter because it is somewhat lonely here with Hen Tensl. The past few months with you have been absolutely lovely, and I continue to look forward to your return and our future interactions. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''There are several people at the moment who I have been looking at, and if I had your skill I’d send you sketches, but alas, I can’t draw nearly as well as you can. I’ve been watching them for quite some time, and I think you’d agree they’re absolutely prime. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Unfortunately, the police have been looking into one of our little affairs. The one with the yellow bell. I can’t say more, but be assured I covered our tracks well. Best wishes on your vacation. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Yours fondly, Leopold. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The police? I was startled and also intrigued by what was clearly some criminal venture. It was obvious to me that I had stumbled upon something these two hadn’t wanted anybody else to see. The next letter was of a thick, light brownish paper, and had a picture of the statue of liberty on it.

<p class="MsoNormal">''To Leopold, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Do be careful while I’m away. New York is grand, and I’ll be returning to you and Hen Tensl at the end of the month. I’ll look forward to what you may have come up with! ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''As to the case the police are looking into, I remember quite clearly that affair. I’m sure there is no way for them to trace that to us, I was most careful in my works. Nevertheless, I hope you have blocked off the Southern doorway for now. It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared in case they should find us. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Love and luck, Maria. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The next letter was again from Maria. This time it was written on the old type of paper.

<p class="MsoNormal">''To Leopold, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''I hope you are enjoying your own vacation; it is high time you had one. All’s well at Hen Tensl, she really is a wonder. How you have kept her secrets from the world is a mystery, but I’m glad we have such an ideal location to work in. I’ve got a few more subjects, and have enclosed some sketches. Our mural is coming along wonderfully; you’ll be excited to see the progress I’ve made when I get back. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Do take care! Maria. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">There were several sketches indeed with this letter. They were all fairly crude, lacking any artistic skill or particular aesthetic, but very detailed and clearly unique. They all featured a very detailed face of a person, some male and some female. All of the people sketched were quite attractive looking. The next letter was a response.

<p class="MsoNormal">''Dearest Maria, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Hen Tensl is a beauty, I’m glad you can appreciate the work I put into having her built. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Don’t forget about the furnace in the crematorium. They have to be constantly maintained or else they will break. If you forget to check them for days at a time, you know what might happen. I can’t wait until my vacation is over, but at the same time it is very pleasant out here. You really should try the west coast next time. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Greatest love, Leopold. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">At the sight of the word crematorium a chill ran down my back. I suddenly felt in a little too deep. I reassured myself that by now these people were likely dead, though, or else they wouldn’t have forgotten about their correspondence. Wasn’t the box marked, 'NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN? 'Regardless, nobody could have seen me take the letters.

<p class="MsoNormal">All the same, that was enough reading for one night. I put the letters back on the shelf. Hen Tensl seemed to probably be the building where these two criminals worked. The more I thought about it the more curious and scared I got. In the end, I decided I should just go to sleep and finish reading the rest during the daylight hours.

<p class="MsoNormal">That night I had the second dream. It was much worse.

<p class="MsoNormal">I was in a brick room. The walls were brick, the floor was brick, the ceiling was brick. A single bulb illuminated the room from one side, covered with an odd glass shade. The only other object in the room was a large grinder, of the sort used for chipping wood. Three doors led off, each in a different direction. There was screaming coming faintly from behind one, persistent and agonized.

<p class="MsoNormal">I stood rooted to the spot unable to move. Ages passed, painfully listening to the terrorized screaming. Slowly, it quieted down, into a barely perceptible sobbing. Then nothing.

<p class="MsoNormal">A moment passed, then suddenly with a bang one of the doors flew open. A small table wheeled through, pushed by a woman with a somewhat misshapen face. She wasn’t exactly ugly, and I couldn’t really discern any part of her face that was in particular malformed. She just looked wrong somehow, uneven.

<p class="MsoNormal">The table was covered by a large tarp, giving little hint of what was on or under it. I was frozen in terror, but apparently was not present at the time in the room. She wheeled the table through a different door, marked with a grey circle. A slippery, odd sound drifted through the door, and for another agonizing period I could hear her at some insidious work in the other room. Then all went quiet. The door with the circle opened, and the woman stood there. She stared straight at me, her eyes wide and glistening with savage joy.

<p class="MsoNormal">I woke up with a scream. I was sweating madly. I shakily got up and decided promptly to go for a walk. At last I calmed down enough, and figured it was just a nightmare. I went back to sleep.

<p class="MsoNormal">The next morning I decided I was done with the letters. Although I would certainly describe myself as curious, I would certainly not describe myself as brave. I wanted to get rid of those things.

<p class="MsoNormal">I scooped them off my shelf and headed to school. The day was uneventful. My friend, who I will call Edward, had the day off from his internship due to a scheduling conflict with his mentor. He was free for the afternoon. I told him all about my story thus far, and he was quite impressed, although a bit skeptical. Over lunch I decided to show him the letters. He read all the ones I had thus far, and then we continued to read the last few after where I had left off. The next letter was from Leopold again.

<p class="MsoNormal">''To my dearest Maria, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''This could be our final correspondence. It seems that the odds are against me. As you know, I was out today visiting relatives in [removed] A perfect final specimen came up to me. Of course, I endeavored to lure this fellow to our home. Unfortunately, it seems he was an undercover scheming weasel. Damn him! They must have traced us somehow. Anyways, I am currently incarcerated in [removed] jail. I have enough money on me to bribe the guard to get a few more letters out discreetly, but I fear the end may be nearing. And so close to the completion of our work! ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''We are almost done though. We need but another single subject. It should be a person quite more attractive than our usual fare. I fear I have a lot of enemies who will have heard of my capture. My life nears its end. You must hurry and get this finished before then, or everything will be wasted! ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''You can send a return with the man who delivers this. Don’t worry, you can trust him. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''With the deepest love, Leopold. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The next letter was little more than a note, hurriedly scrawled in an unsteady hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">''Leopold, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''You can’t die ha the jokes on them. Don’t worry. I have found another subject, though not perfect will do. Will have the mural completed by tonight. DONT DIE YET. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Maria. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">There was one more letter in the stack, written very carefully and precisely.

<p class="MsoNormal">''Maria, ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''How can I describe the pleasure I have had with you? I have enjoyed every second of it. Others call us sick, twisted. They don’t understand our joy. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Listen very carefully, there is a final set of instructions you must obey. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''I’m sending all of your previous letters back to you. I have treasured your messages, and it would bring me comfort to die clutching your notes. But that would be ridiculous. It might give away our game. We can’t just burn them though, that would be disastrous. Some part of us has to be here to give us body. The letters must be properly disposed of, so get one of the crates from Hen Tensl. Put all of our correspondence inside. Label it with a proper name, something that can be recognized by my friend. I’ve given him careful instructions, and we can trust him to properly keep it. Hide it upstairs. He’ll get it. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Our final step in our project must be to make sure that nobody can find our mural. Take the bricks and mortar from the storage room, they should be under the left cabinet. Brick up the doorway. The room shall be sealed. After that, kill yourself. Do it however you wish. The sooner you can join me, the sooner we can begin the enjoyment of our work. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Love, Leopold. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Regardless to say, we were both left excited and a terrified. Edward of course thought it was a joke I was playing on him. I invited him to come along to my internship with me. As he had the rest of the day off, he decided he might as well.

<p class="MsoNormal">We caught the bus to the building, whose name I now knew; Hen Tensl. The architects didn’t seem to care much that my friend was here. I had always behaved well, they felt they could trust me. Immediately we went down into the basement, and searched along the south wall.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sure enough, there it was. A doorway, bricked up. It was fairly well done, very even and plastered to blend with the plain brick wall on either side of it. Without looking for it, you would never have seen it. A large printer was pushed against the patch of wall.

<p class="MsoNormal">We headed up to the attic. I vaguely recall E saying asking what I would do next. The answer was quite simple. I didn’t want to get involved in whatever sick activity Leopold and Maria might have committed. I put the letters back in the box, nailed it shut, and left. We went downstairs and slacked off for a few hours, and I decided not to go into the attic anymore. A few hours later we left.

<p class="MsoNormal">That might have been the end of it. But the dreams continued.

<p class="MsoNormal">The third dream was the same as the second. I was in the room with three doors. From the door with the grey circle on it, a man came out. He was a tall, imposing figure, with dark eyes and lank, pale limbs. In his arms he carried a bundle of clothing, shoes, a coat, some belts. He dumped this into the grinder, and then reached around and pulled the lever to turn it on.

<p class="MsoNormal">The think shook and roared as he watched it, satisfied. He left the room, and then returned with another bundle of clothing. The grinder shredded the material into a pulp that collected in a basket by the side. He made several more trips, until at last he was left with a full basket of torn clothes and metal. He pulled the lever, turning the machine off, then picked up the basket and left through the door from which earlier I had heard the screaming.

<p class="MsoNormal">I awoke, terrified. I don’t remember precisely how I got back to sleep, but eventually I did.

<p class="MsoNormal">The next night was the same. This time it was the woman again, the screaming, the horrible cutting sound from the room with the grey circle on the door.

<p class="MsoNormal">I hoped to god when I woke up that would be the last night, but they continued, ending each night with me waking up terrified of the figures at work.

<p class="MsoNormal">At last I had enough. I went to my internship at Hen Tensl, and took the box full of letters. I carefully snapped it apart, disassembled it, and then stuck it into a bag. After I was done at the firm, I headed over to Edward’s house. He had a firepit in his back yard, and with him I burned the entire collection of letters, the tools, and the crate. When we were done, a few fragments of misshaped metal and nails were all that was left, and ashes. Satisfied, I returned home and went to sleep.

<p class="MsoNormal">That night was the worst of all. Instead of either of the figures there, there were just two charred skeletons. One was tall; the other’s skull was misshapen. They stood there, staring at me as I cried. For an eternity they seemed to watch me, as I cowered into the corner, hiding from their eyes. Then they walked over to me, very slowly. The each grabbed ahold of an arm, and dragged me towards the room where the screaming had come from. I resisted and kicked, pleading, my heart beating like mad, as they forced me towards the door. Somehow, for a moment, I escaped and sobbing ran over to the other door, the one I hadn’t seen used at all yet. Opening it, I found I was faced by a plain brick facade. I screamed and tore myself against the wall, trying to get out as they slowly moved towards me.

<p class="MsoNormal">I woke up, sobbing and screaming. I sleep in the basement; otherwise I surely would have woken my parents or brother up. After rocking myself again and again, telling myself it was a bad dream, I realized I knew what I had to do.

<p class="MsoNormal">There was no sense doing it in the night. I would have been terrified as hell. I knew that the architecture firm was closed on weekends, so I picked Saturday as the best day to do it. I asked Edward to come along. God, that kid has more guts than I do. Were our positions reversed I’m not sure I would have said yes.

<p class="MsoNormal">We broke into the firm around midday. I knew of a window that didn’t lock properly, so it was easy to slip in. We needed some way to cut through the brick wall, so I searched on the web for various methods of doing so. In the end I got a jackhammer and some mortar from my uncle’s house. He lives nearby and does masonry and carpentry. We took some other various supplies, flashlights and crowbars. We were careful, took all the necessary precautions. We had to be, for we didn’t want anybody to know about the work. It would only cause more problems. We did all the necessary research online, and finished breaking through the bricked doorway at about 4 o’clock. You might be impressed by our determination, but all that was driving me at this point was fear. I knew I couldn’t spend another night in that damned brick room.

<p class="MsoNormal">So we got through the door. And found ourselves in there. The room.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was exactly the same as in the dream. Two other doors, and the large grinder. First we went through the door opposite the entry, where I had heard the screaming coming from. It was full of odd devices, metal contraptions, mostly medieval looking. On the far wall were a row of furnaces. It smelled faintly of rotten meat. We left immediately.

<p class="MsoNormal">The door with the grey circle on it we went through next. And there was the mural.

<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure how to describe it, but it was very well crafted and very beautiful. The perfectly formed Skulls and bones of countless people had been stacked against the wall, arranged in the artistic shape of a circle. The design was intricate, each tiny little bone perfectly arranged around the larger ones. This was certainly what they had been working on. Truly, I must admit it was an amazing craft. Countless days, weeks, years had been put into arranging it.

<p class="MsoNormal">But I was tired, and confused, ready to be done with our ordeal. We took the jackhammer and began destroying the mural.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was easy, the bone fragments were frail and delicate. We bored through it in a line, then again, crisscrossing and shattering the perfect works. The entirety of the wall crumbled into dust. By the time we were done, the ground was littered with the fragments of bones, and the wall was laid bare, just pocked brick and bits of mortar.

<p class="MsoNormal">To be sure, we gathered the larger fragments and fed them through the grinder.

<p class="MsoNormal">When we were done, we smashed the grinder to pieces. Edward was just as freaked out as I was. None of this was necessary, of course, but it made us feel better. The ground was littered with bits of metal and bone. We swept all of the dust and debris back into the room, then set about bricking up the door again. If this didn’t work, there would be no point returning here, and I might as well just accept my fate.

<p class="MsoNormal">Our work was crude, but passable. It was clearly different to the searching eye, but again, we were the only ones who knew about the room. We cleaned up our mess, pushed the printer back into place, and slipped out the window.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal">That was the end of it. No more dreams ever disturbed me. I finished up at the internship a few weeks later, and left Hen Tensl. I didn’t feel exactly good about the experience, just relieved. At the time It was all too fresh for me to think on.

<p class="MsoNormal">As the year passed, it has become more and more unreal. Looking back on it, it seems like one of those things that one dreams about, and in a way it was. But it feels good to finally write it down, and get it off my chest. Makes me feel less alone. I’ve decided to post it here due to its paranormal nature, and because I don’t really have anywhere else to share it yet. I don’t want to tell my family, nor does E want to tell his, for they might not believe us. I lost the beautiful pen, but I still have that Iron hound. I have to hang on to something I guess.

<p class="MsoNormal">Just to prove to myself I didn’t imagine it.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal">One day Hen Tensl will be discovered. But by that time my name will have faded completely from its history. Honestly, I don’t want to get involved with it ever again. <ac_metadata title="My Story, Hen Tensl."> </ac_metadata>