Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29637859-20160815105857

My story happened to get deleted and I'm not really sure why. Personally, I don't mind but when they don't say why it's frustrating.

Anyway, take a look and see what needs improving.

The Pale Man

Before you begin to read this story I would just like to clarify that it is indeed a true story. It happened when I was younger and I'm sure there is a logical explanation behind these events. However this is from my perspective and I honestly thought that I would never write an experience like this. HOWEVER, do not let me put you off exploring the unknown. This experience has opened my eyes to the grey areas of life and has actually made exploring it more fascinating. Most of all, please enjoy my tale of the experience with the “Pale man”.

When people talked about urban legends, ghosts and myths of creatures of the night, I laughed. Being down to earth was one of my main traits and seeing was believing. I didn't care about the ‘spooky’ stories that were told by my friends, older kids or adults for that matter. To me, it was lame. Many people that knew me got frustrated with the fact I didn't have an open mind, objecting to their opinions on God, religion and other aspects of life that were mysterious and somewhat inconclusive. However, I was yet to know that this personality type would make me come in close contact with the paranormal. Closer than most people could imagine.

Living on the Isle of Lewis, Scotland, there wasn't that much to do. Me and my mates would roam about the beaches, play football and were just typical teenagers at the time. I would say I had a very enjoyable childhood because it wasn't swallowed up by technology of today and being active and around your friends was the most important aspect. Building dens was an enjoyable experience as we could seen how spectacular we could build it with the little resources we could scavenge. A few of us had built one down in the woods in our local village. The structure was mostly made from wood, which covered the sides and secured a foundation for the metal sheeting roof which was tied of by scraps of rope we could find on the shore. It was rough, but to us it was a indestructible fortress.

Anyways, this is where my story of the Pale man began. It was a Saturday night, my homework was done and I was ready to meet the gang to see what mischief we would be getting up to. Usual meeting point was at the ‘fortress’ in the woods at 6, in which by this time it was getting dark and the wind began to pick up speed. We all met and decided to stay in the fortress and talk about my least favourite subject. Ghost stories. “Do we have to” I would complain, knowing that I was going to be bored out of my mind on a perfectly good Saturday night. “Stop being a killjoy and just listen” they would angrily say as we sat in our den. I eventually gave in and and began to listen to the first story. A few stories passed and eventually it came to Duncan's story, the one that changed everything. “My old man told me that further North by the point of the island there is a old building that is alone, no other building is near it and there was a great tragedy that occurred there…” I began to roll my eyes as it sounded like a generic horror story was about to be begin. “ He said that a man lived there who was insane…., he used to kidnap people and keep them in cages. Sing nursery rhymes while torturing them in the cage and then…and then…EAT THEM ALIVE” Duncan made most of my friends jump by saying that, but, of course, I was cool as ice. “You're such a kill joy” Duncan complained at me. “Anything scary or mysterious you try to debunk it, have some fun for once” I began to get annoyed with the group and told them I was leaving. My little brother George was also with us and I told him to come with me back home, or else our parents would go crazy if I was late home. We eventually got home and started to rummage the cupboards for food. “Do you think it's true, about the pale man?” My brother squeaked as I searched through the cupboards. “Nope. Talking crap. As usual” I replied swiftly. My father then walked into the kitchen. “What on earth is all the racket about?, you've had your tea. You don't need anymore food” George then piped up again. “Dad! Dad! Have you ever heard about the Pale man? Duncan was tell… “Where has he heard that story” my father interrupted abruptly. I stopped rummaging in the cupboard and turned towards my father. It was very odd for him to be concerned on a topic like this. Before George replied to him, he spoke again. “Listen boys, I'll show you something. It's quite grim, but I want you to see what happened to Mr McPherson. I don't want anymore stories being spread about him, I think it's quite disrespectful that people call him by that name”

He went into his draws and found an old newspaper clipping. He collected any major event that was covered about the island in his collections, many were from newspapers. He handed over the crinkled, brown sheet of paper with the date 04/08/1967 on it. “Daniel McPherson mysterious disappearance after being found hanged” I carried on reading the old paper. “Daniel McPherson, aged 50, was found in his house at Point, hanging from the ceiling by his neck. Mr McPherson had no known mental illness, so the death was assumed to be suicide. However, after being found by the postman (Harry MacLeod) the body vanished. The police thoroughly searched the house and surrounding areas for the body, but no sign of Mr McPherson had been found. Postman Mr MacLeod had been questioned as he was the last to see the body, however he rang police as soon as he saw the body and stayed outside the house until they arrived. He says he saw know one come to the house. investigations are still ongoing”

I gave back the newspaper to my dad and shrugged it off. “I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all that” I said confidently. My dad shrugged and explained; “They still don't know what happened to him, people let the whole thing go after a couple of years. He never had any children or siblings. The pale man story came from people claiming to see him wandering around near his house, like a ghost. I think it's plain disrespectful to make up things like that”.

I would lie if I said the newspaper didn't creep me out, but I was still confident that it could be explained. However, George was not so sure. Later on after my dad showed me the paper me and George went to bed. We shared a room at the time. “I can't sleep” he complained “What happens if he's still out there” The complaining went on for a long period of time in which I was beginning to get annoyed.

“Shut up! He's not wandering out there! I'm trying to get to sleep!” I shouted. He began to sob. I rolled my eyes but then gave him a promise. “Listen ok, we will go there tomorrow and I will go in the house and I will prove to you there is nothing to be scared about. We will face your fears and I will show you that there is nothing to worry about, ok?” He gave me a little nod and slumped his head on the pillow.

We biked to the village “Point” the next day. It's a little village and finding the house wasn't to hard. However it was strangely distant from the actual village itself and had random trees that towered around it in an odd formation. I knew it was the house because of the memorial plaque outside its long drive. It said something in Gaelic and I wasn't great speaking it so I wasn't able to translate it, but it did say “Daniel McPherson” on it and I'm sure there weren't more than one in this small village.

We began walking towards the building down its desolate gravel drive/road. The trees that surrounded the drive and house added to the eerie presence that was building up. Their unnatural formation and dark colours made the walk uncomfortable, this coupled with the wind blowing through them felt like they were whispering to us. The building was quite large, larger than most houses in the villages on the island. It had a wooden decking that was rotten with large parts of wood missing and the rotten blue door looked like it was hanging off one hinge. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but as soon as we were next to the house, I felt like was been watched. I darted my eyes across the windows to try and justify my feeling but saw nothing, just mouldy and ragged curtains. “I don't like this, I'm scared” stuttered George. “It's ok, I'll go in and come out and show you there is nothing to be scared off, ok?” I replied half heartedly. This place creeped me out, but it was all in my head. I go in, take a look around, leave. Simple.

I stepped onto the wooden deck and it began to creek loudly. Luckily it didn't break and I made it to the door and slowly pushed it open. I was welcomed by a long hallway with a door on either side and on the end on the left were the stairs. I began to walk along the stained carpet to the first door on my left, I peered through. It was the living room. Everything seemed as it was out of place, like someone had been trying to live there. However it wasn't food waste or trash like if it was squatters, it was as someone had moved all the mouldy furniture and placed them in really odd positions. The armchair was placed on a wooden table, a painting was placed upside down on a wall, there were forks hanging from the ceiling with string. It really didn't make any sense but I quickly decided it would have been kids trying to weird any other people visiting. I returned to the hallway and looked into the room on the right. The room had nothing in it…apart from a noose hanging from the ceiling and a chair underneath which had fallen. This is where the Mr McPherson must have died, the poor man. There were no doors leading to this room and it looked like it had been a kitchen as pipes were hanging out of the walls. I found it odd that the kitchen had been stripped bare and the living room was untouched.

Suddenly there was a loud rush of footsteps coming from the stairs. I turned quickly to see who it was. It was like someone running up the stairs. I left the room and looked out the door window, George was still there. I turned towards the hallways and shouted “hello!”, no answer. Determined that his wouldn't scare me I ventured on. It will be some punk kid that was in before us. I walked down to the stairs at the bottom of the hallway and looked up. They were extremely steep steps and it was considerably darker than downstairs. I began to slowly walk up and looked around. The smell was horrendous, smelt like rotten flesh. There was no way I was going up there, the smell was too bad, I was going to vomit if I stayed any longer.The structure of the up stairs area was there was another hallway on the left and a bathroom on the right. Just before I turned away, a small white figure darted across room to room in the hallway. I stared. This was strange, but the strangest was to come. BOOM!

The living room door downstairs smashed shut. Beginning to believe that this was not a natural occurrence, I began to walk quickly for the exit. The forks that were strung up on the ceiling started swinging about and clanging into each-other from the living room, I could hear it behind the door that just slammed. I tried to open it, to prove I wasn't going insane but the door was jammed like someone was holding the other side. Panicking, I decided it was enough and when I was just about to open the front door…silence. Slowly, the living room door swung open…no-one. All the forks had stopped dead. “Impossible” I gasped to myself. There was no way someone could have done that, there was only one way into the room and I was trying to use that way!

Ever so slightly, I could hear the rope swinging in the room next door. Nervously, I peered inside. The rope was swinging side to side aggressively on the ceiling and what I saw haunts me to this day.

The chair that was underneath was now behind the rope with a naked, shrivelled up man sat on it facing the back wall. I just froze. He began to stand up, still facing the wall and began to clap, aggressively.

That was it for me. I ran out the room into the hallway then sprinted to George.

“RUN! RUN!” I screamed, sprinting towards my bike.

I told George after that I was joking with him, trying to scare him. If I told him what I saw he would never leave the house.

I'm just glad he didn't see what I did. 