Written and Created By: Mary Ann Moody
A knock came at the front door of Jane’s apartment.
“Peter?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied.
She unlocked the door and opened it for him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Did it record?”
“I checked my laptop this morning. There’s over eight hours of footage.”
“And the writing on the wall?”
She nodded her head. “It was there, too.”
“Did you wash it away?” Peter pushed himself into the apartment.
“No. I left it just as you instructed,” she said and turned to follow.
In the only bedroom, she found Peter staring at the far wall where the bed resided, rubbing his fashionable black beard. His small mouth and black eyes were wide open with intrigue. His hands trembled like an earthquake when he reached for his cell phone and voice recorder. Goosebumps on his neck and face were visible to Jane from a distance.
“Tell me again when this happens to you.” He pressed record on the recorder and took pictures.
Above Janes’ headboard, black marker streaks were scribbled on the wall. The laptops’ camera focused on that portion of the room. The bedroom was small but it had a window. There was enough space for a bed, nightstand, and vanity table. There was a closet to the right of Jane’s bed, but it was the size of a school locker and too tiny to be useable so it was kept it empty. He sat down on the matching vanity chair while Jane literally sat on the edge of her bed.
“Um, well, like I said before, when I woke up yesterday…I…saw this on my wall. Um, I washed it off…but it was here this morning,” she shuddered as she recalled her story.
“Interesting. Go on.”
“There’s nothing else to say except it scared the hell out of me, so I called you. I did as you suggested. Last night, I programmed my laptop to record me while I slept, but I haven’t watched it yet. Um, you don’t think I brought something back with me? Do you?”
“No, no one else from the group is experiencing phenomena,” Peter smiled as he scoffed. “Let’s watch the video and see what’s happening at night.”
“We’re not sitting here and watching this for eight hours? Are we?” she asked.
“Of course not. I’ll fast forward to the good part,” he said as he took out a pen and laptop. “Why don’t you upload the images I took of the scribble and image reverse them on the web?”
She took his laptop and phone and set up a workplace right beside him. They stayed silent while they worked. An hour later, Peter grasped her shoulder.
“Jane,” he gasped.
“Did you get to the good part?” she joked.
“It’s you,” he whispered.
“It’s you. You’re the one writing on the wall.”
She practically pushed Peter aside to look at the screen. “What are you talking about?”
“Just watch,” he instructed and pressed play.
The video recorded in high definition but with a special night vision lens. Everything in the video was either black or green, however, Jane distinctly recognized herself. In the video, her eyes gleamed fiercely, without blinking, as she staggered to the wall. A long football jersey hung from her shoulders and swayed gently when she walked. A black marker was in her hand.
“Oh, my Goddess. That is me,” she said as she watched herself scribble on the walls furiously. Jane heard herself grunt periodically with frustration when the marker fell from her fingertips. Peter’s computer dinged, indicating a new message. “Peter? I just got a hit on the image reversal in a chat room. According to this poster, the words are Vedic Sanskrit. The words…they mean ‘I’m in the closet’.”
Just then, a noise came from the other side of the room. Jane screamed and grabbed onto Peter’s arm.
“Ah! What was that?”
“It came from the closet,” Peter replied, his voice squeaked like boy going through puberty.
“There’s nothing in there,” she whispered.
“Well, something is.”
She motioned for Peter to open the door. At first, he hesitated. Jane silently mouthed for him to be a man and open the door. At that point, poor Peter felt like he had no other option. He grabbed the doorknob tightly, yanked it open, and looked inside.
“There’s no one in here, but there’s more scribbling.” He turned to look at Jane, but she pushed him into the closet and shut the door behind him. The sound of a lock snapping into place made goosebumps explode over every inch of his body. His head hit the wall with a hard smack, but he didn’t fall to the floor. The closet was too small to do anything but stand upright, like a coffin.
“Jane?” he called.
“Jane’s not here anymore,” her voice hissed with an eerie calmness through the crack in the door. “She left the day you and your ghost hunting team came to investigate my mansion. Her body is now mine.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?” he asked.
“Just a woman longing to be reunited with her husband. My husband. John Lee Davasgol.”
“The Butcher of Wilpasco?”
“We need bodies if we are to live again. The so-called scribble in there is a spell to bind your body with Johns’ spirit.”
“Wh…wh…what?” Peter took out his cell phone and activated the screen light. The tiny closet lit up, revealing the red scribble. Something shifted to his left. He spun to confront the darkness, but there was no one there. At least, no one he could see.
The sound of Janes’ voice cracking with emotion was the last thing he heard. “My love will never die for you, John.”
Peter reached into the depths of his stomach and pulled out a terrifying scream as his body and Johns’ spirit became one.