Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25003089-20141008153943

       These stories are gathered from several different sources. some are from police reports, and some are straight from the words of key characters in this massacre of events, such as the victim, the policemen, and the murderer himself. Be warned, these stories are fictional and do not in any means prove or disprove any real occurrences of a murdering spree or kidnapping. Readers' discretion is advised.









December

           Hello, my name is Jack Martin. I’m lucky I can even remember my name. I've been here for a long time. It’s hard to remember anything anymore. All I am left with is this stupid laptop, and my thoughts I’ve been just typing away in pure monotony. I guess it’s out of hope that someone will see this and to have my thoughts and information like my name and birthday documented so I can look back on them and know who I am. I’m currently twenty-four, and if my time keeping is right, it’s my birthday today. Too bad I’m stuck in here. I miss the surprise birthday parties that my wife and kids throw for me. I miss the cake that my daughter always accidentally burns. I miss the quiet serenity of my home. But all of that feels so far away. It seems like it's been years ago. Unfortunately I tried opening a specific folder that I guess I had typed some time ago, but it wouldn’t let me. It was called "The Beginning". Maybe something isn't wanting me to find out whatever was in that document. I wonder if it tells of how I got in this dreadful place. Every day I wake up and see a piece of meat, bread, and a glass of water sitting on a table next to the iron door. Whoever that put me in here obviously doesn't want me to just die. He wants something.

Jail

Hello, again. This is killing me. Not literally, but mentally. The cell I am in is completely dark, except for a single light coming from a five-by-eight inch window. The walls from what I can tell are made of brick; the kind of white brick you see in school buildings and facilities. There are cracks and blood all over the walls, as if someone beat their hands, or head, on them. I woke up after a dreadful sleep, yet again finding food and water by the door. I scarfed it down, chugged the water and looked at the glass. I noticed it was a glass cup. ‘I could end this right now’, I thought. ‘Yea, it’d ruin whatever this monster was planning. I threw it at the wall, and it bust into a million shards of glass. I picked one up, but threw it down. I couldn’t do it. I have to get out of here. I have to get back to my family. I have to find out what, or who this is keeping me here. My curiosity gets the better of my anger. I wonder if I’ll ever get my story out.

Hey, the window! I need to see what’s behind that window. Maybe I can stand on something high enough to see through… the bed maybe?

No, it’s bolted down to the floor. I’ll figure out something…

I have to.

Dreams

I’ve been having rather, disturbing dreams at night. I dream of being in a room with no doors, and no windows, but somehow illuminated so I can witness the walls being closed in around me. They get closer and closer, until their pressing against my arms, and then I wake up, gasping for air and drenched in sweat and tears. Claustrophobia, the worst thing about being in this place, or so I thought. I figured out what was on the other side of the window. I had managed to jump the four feet up and glance out it. It was a mirror. A two-sided mirror. Someone was watching me. The light was coming from the edges of it, as if it wasn’t completely secured to the wall, but it was. I made sure of that when I punched it. I’m scared now. Really scared. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just fucking stay in here forever. What does it want from me??? I’m sick of this. The broken glass is still here. I’m thinking about ending this. I don’t know if I’ll write another entry. If I don’t, farewell, whoever reads this.

The Darkness

I haven’t died yet. It’s ironic how those words aren’t comforting. I hate it here. I want out. I have to get out. I’ve yelled and yelled at the top of my lungs in hope that someone will hear me, but no one can. No one except for that creep behind the window. Maybe he/she is doing some evil study on me? Maybe to see how long I would last with only my thoughts. Who would do this to me? It’s getting difficult. Very difficult. I found another blood stain by my bed. It’s a word. It reads “find the door”. It really creeped me out, seeing how in my dreams I’m in a room with nothing but walls. What if he/it knows what I’m dreaming? Maybe it’s from the last person that he experimented on. I’m going to try to get some more sleep. I hope I don’t have any more nightmares. They’re getting longer and longer. Every time I have the dream it feels more real, as if I go to sleep and wake up in another world. I wonder if I could stay there, away from this prison. Maybe if I find a door…

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Another world

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">I found the door. In my dreams, it was right in front of me this time. I could hear a voice from the other side calling me, telling me to enter. It sounded sort of demented, like it’s been tortured. I couldn’t do it though. The demon or whatever was screaming at me not to open it. Everything went black, and then I woke up. This time there was no food, only water. I ran over and drank it down. I looked at the glass and wondered, ‘could he have laced it with drugs?’ it would explain the dreams. I think I’m going to go through the door. The next time I fall asleep, I’m opening it. I’m ready. Anything is better than being in here. Maybe it really is another world? What if it’s not drugs? I guess I’m going to find out. If I don’t write another entry, you know where I am. If this is the end, goodbye.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">The way out

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">I found a weak spot in the wall. I’m going to try to escape. I wish I could bring these documents with me. Maybe someday they’ll reach the eyes of people to warn them of this dreadful place, if I can ever figure out where this is. I'm starting to feel really tired again... I'm gonna go lie down. Goodbye for now.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Memories

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">I figured out what was behind the door. Michael. I can't believe this. Michael is my twin brother. I'm so scared, I don't know what to do. The missing file “Beginning” that I lost was telling of what happened to me, and how to get out of here. But Michael had deleted it and took my memory. But luckily, I had already sent it to the police. I even had the address of this place written down. There’s a key hidden behind a loose stone in the wall. I have it now, and I’m about to leave here. There's a sewer system somewhere through the basement. It flows into a small river located just outside the power plant. I hope if I don’t make it that my story will atleast get out to the people. I hope the police finds this horrid place. If anyone finds this, stay away from this place. I don't want Michael to hurt anyone else. At least don’t come here without the police. This is real. Believe me or not, STAY AWAY.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Date: 06/04/1983

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">FLORENCE POLICE INCIDENT REPORT

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Suspect: Michael Diablo Crane

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Victim(s): Unknown, one-hundred-twenty-six

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Location: Florence Jail; Florence, Italy

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Notes: Several victims of the “Cloaked Killer” Michael Crane was found dead in the prison cells of the old abandoned Florence Jail. Their bodies were unrecognizable by detectives of the Florence Police Department. A known total of victims were one-hundred-twenty-six. They were found in several different cells of the prison, along with thick blood caked on the walls, floors and ceilings. There was also traces of glass in them.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">CLASSIFIED POLICE REPORT OF CELL #42

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Evidence of an escaped victim has been found in the basement cell of the Florence Prison. There was an American laptop with Microsoft Word documents and photos of who we believe is the family of either the victim Jack Martin, or the killer, Michael Crane saved on it. Like the other jail cells, this one had blood everywhere and glass on the floor, but there were no victims found. In this cell there was also a camera behind a small glass double-sided window. Unfortunately, the tapes were missing. We believe that this cell was where we received the email of a victim named Jack Martin. He had written a distress letter that led the Florence Police Department here, and is believed to be the missing victim. We have searched the entire building but no one alive was found. We do not have the knowledge of where Michael or Jack is at this time. This document is to be strictly classified top secret.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">The Beginning

<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Please, somebody help. Anybody? Please! This place is horrible. I think I was kidnapped from my house and brought here to this prison. Is anybody reading this?? I hope so. My name is Jack Martin. I’m at the old abandoned prison in Florence Italy. I found this laptop, so here’s what’s happening. I don’t understand why there’s internet here but I’m definitely not complaining. Somebody please help!!! This guy that brought me here is about six feet tall, and has a black cloak and mask. He carries around an old broken cane, and appears to be older. I’m really scared, I don’t know what I can do. I can hear him coming! I better hide the laptop.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Hello, this is Amari. I’m a policeman out of six that was sent to investigate the Florence Prison case, and I am the only one who escaped that place. These stories that have been floating around should not be believed. That jail is corrupted, evil and haunted. Anyway, when my team entered the premises, things started getting really weird really fast. The walls were completely covered in blood, and bodies lined almost the entire floor. We heard whispering, as if it was coming from every direction. This evidence I am writing down is what we left out of the official police report. We did not want our superiors to think that we were crazy. We checked the prison’s cells on the bottom floor, and then found a basement entrance. We decided to send one team of three down there and the rest of us up stairs. That was a very bad idea. The three of us that went up to the top floor completely scanned the entire area, but we found something rather peculiar. Actually, it was very, very strange. We figured out that the blood that covered the walls of this floor, was actually the names of Michael’s victims. But at the control room for the prison, there was the names Michael and Jack written in blood inside a yin-yang sign. This guy is completely insane. He’s the same person, both the victim that contacted us and the killer himself. What is going on in this guy’s mind? Anyway, a few minutes after we got to this room we started hearing screaming coming from the bottom floor. We raced back to the stairs and down to the basement, but the screaming stopped before we opened the door. I turned to my group and asked what we should do, but just like me, they had no idea. So I grabbed the doorknob and opened it. We stepped inside and immediately started puking at the smell of dead rotten corpses. It was worse than the top floors. But what was different about this was there were no bodies lying on the floors. There was blood everywhere though. Even me writing this right now is making me sick. I wanted to go back to the station and file a report, but my team urged me to keep going and try to catch this killer. So we did, but the killer caught us. As we were walking down this long hallway we heard the dripping of blood falling from the ceiling, and a weird sawing sound. We approached another door, an iron one. We turned the knob and entered, but as we did we all lost our consciousness. Chloroform. I woke up in a small cell hanging from the ceiling. I looked around and saw a table with arm and leg restraints, along with a body. I didn’t recognize him, because his face had been cut off, and replaced with a mask. I looked at the lock on my cell. It was a padlock. Luckily I still had my notepad in my pocket. But unfortunately the killer took my gun, my belt, and all of my ammo. At this point I was freaking out to the point where I thought I was going to die from pure fear. But, I remembered my special training that I was taught. Especially the lock picking sessions. I grabbed the paper clip from my notepad and started working. As I picked it and opened the door, I swear I saw the body on the table move. I didn’t even care about my team or my equipment. I dropped down from the cell and ran for my life. The killer left the door open, so I ran back up the stairs and out the door. I never went back there again. So that’s my story. Believe it, or not. Just please, don’t go to that prison. Don’t get lost.

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<p style="color:rgb(53,28,117);font-family:garamond,serif;font-size:13px;">Hello. This is Michael Diablo Crane. You may know me as the “Cloaked Killer”. I am writing this, because I fear that my twin is trying to put me away anyway, so I might as well get my real story out there. My twin did not fully develop in the womb. The truth is, I am BOTH Michael and my twin, Jack Martin. Jack is living inside of me, like a separate personality, but he is all too independent when he takes over. We unfortunately had two different fathers, so Jack took his father’s last name for himself. Whenever I start to take back control, I always wake up in this cell. I assume he’s been trying to contact the police, but I disconnected the internet after his first little “story” of his got out to the public. I’ve tried, and tried, and tried to keep him locked up. I even set up a camera behind a window to try to watch Jack, but I am growing tired. I’m done. I only hope my twin doesn’t find out about me. He could kill us both. If the police finds this and catches me or my twin, PLEASE PUT ME IN A LOCKED UP FACILITY. Oh, and don’t get lost down in the basement. My, “colleague” is a bit of a nasty fellow… <ac_metadata title="Okay, so this is my first story for this site. I hope it&#039;s good, and I hope I can get good help on it from you guys. Beware, it&#039;s a little long lol."> </ac_metadata>