Horror Stories

Tall, Thin, Faceless

Walls.

White walls.

White padded walls.

Day in.

Day out.

White padded walls.

Let me tell you why I see these white padded walls day in and day out.

I am, or at least according to several doctors, certifiably insane. Hallucinations, paranoia, schizophrenia, multiple-personality disorders, the list goes on and on. I was a normal, working class man, living the American dream. I had a wife and two children. My income was high and my debt was low. I had it all. Then things started to go wrong. They started to go in a direction I couldn’t even fathom.

My wife and I had always wanted to go to the British Isles, but for the longest time, the money wasn’t there. It took seven years and two promotions before we could even begin to think realistically. Anyway, after months of careful planning and preparation, we were on a plane flying over the Atlantic Ocean. Just me and her. No kids. No job. Nothing but beautiful scenery and relaxation for twenty-four straight days.

Fast forward a week. Having taken in many of the big city sites, we decided to see some of the smaller places, out in the countryside. We packed a small bag of essential and took a cab into the rural side of England. This is where things started to go wrong. Not ‘the whole world is coming to an end’ wrong, even though it sure felt like it, just wrong. We came across an old tailor in a moderately decorated cabin. He said he had been making suits for over sixty-five years. My interest was piqued. I decided to splurge a little bit and buy one. Nothing beats the craftsmanship of a home-tailored suit. After paying for it and calling for a cab, a picture on a wall caught my eye. It was old. Black and white. Mid 50s. It was a very tall and very slim suited man standing on a grassy plain. His face appeared to be smudged out. It was old. I didn’t think much of it. Even so, something about this picture was unnerving. It gave an odd vibe. It felt almost ... menacing. I inquired about the photo but the old man refused to talk about it. That just added fuel to my mental fire.

Days upon days had passed. My wife and I took in every sight, every castle, every grassy knoll we possibly could but, alas, eventually we had to go home. Part of us wanted to stay, but we were exhausted. There was no way we could spend any longer there. Our flight back home was vague as we were both asleep most of the time; the drive back home was hazy. We just wanted to relax. As I pulled into the driveway, something was off. Something didn’t feel right. I got the same feeling I had when I saw the picture inside the tailor’s home. It was a feeling of dread and curiosity. I didn’t want to continue but my mind forced me to. I stepped out of my car and when I stood onto the concrete, my legs suddenly gave out. I fell to the ground onto my right hand and found myself unable to force myself up. I must be more tired than I thought. My wife helped me up and supported me up to the bedroom. I was going to be asleep for a very long time.

Or so I thought...

That night, I was plagued by nightmares of the suited man on the grassy plain. It wasn’t really a bad dream as much as it was his presence haunting me in my subconscious. Just standing there, unnaturally tall, unnaturally thin. Standing there without a face, without an identity and no matter how hard I tried, his face never focused. It was as though the picture had come alive in my thoughts but remained unchanged. This went on until I had been abruptly woken up by the sound of the smashing of a lamp.

I raced down two flights of stairs leading from the bedroom to the living room. Armed only with the brick we used as a doorstop, I slowly crept to where the only lamp in our house used to be. I knelt down to pick up a piece to examine when I felt a slight blow of wind from behind me, like a person running past. I shot up faster than a startled cat. I spun around to see what or who it was. My eyes had still not adjusted so surrounding me was nothing but darkness. My next thought was to listen. Nothing. Not a single thing. Not even the sound of a house settling. Maybe it was my nightmare, or fatigue playing tricks on me. Maybe we had a slight tremor that caused the lamp to inch off of the table. Regardless, I was tired and I sorely wanted to get some nightmare-free sleep.