I’m still plagued by the incessant scratching noises coming from my walls… I’ve tried using traps, putting them out in different places, using different baits… sometimes nothing at all happens, the trap stays there for days, untouched. Sometimes the traps are moved. Sometimes they’re destroyed. But in all these weeks, I’ve never actually caught anything – the only thing left behind has been green slime and a terrible odor. I decided to try something different, just to understand what I was dealing with… Now I wish I hadn’t. God, I wish I hadn’t.
I bought a night vision camera, an infrared model I could plug in and set to record all night, watching a mousetrap. I set it up near one of the traps and let it record, then I’d review the footage every day. For four days nothing at all happened – the trap remained untouched and the footage was clear. Then, this morning, the trap was gone and there was more of that green slime and that foul smell. I checked the camera right away and… I don’t know what it is; I can hear it, the green slime drips like, like drool… and then whatever it is obscures the camera and takes the trap. Continue reading
As the scratching in the walls continues, I’ve been trying to set traps to catch the mice or rats that have invaded my home. First, I tried those glue traps, the ones that stick to the mice and trap them. All of those traps disappeared somehow – I have no idea where they went, I assume mice or rats got stuck to them and dragged them off. After that I bought some real traps, the metal spring kind. I set a few with peanut butter as bait – mice love peanut butter right? I set a few around the areas with the loudest scratching noises, and waited – I was assuming I would catch a few mice, confirm the infestation. Continue reading
The scratching behind my walls hasn’t stopped – I hear it all the time now… It must be mice, but how many are there? There must be so many, to make so much noise. I can’t afford an exterminator, and I don’t want strangers in the house anyway.
I bought some of those sticky mouse traps and set them around some of the loudest areas of the house, where the scratching was most prevalent. I put out two traps the first night and they disappeared without a trace. I assume the mice got partially stuck on them and dragged them away, but I thought I would have found them by now. I put out another two and tacked them to the floor, but they’re gone now too. Today I went out and picked up some ‘real’ traps, the wire kind – they should do the trick. I’m going to set them all out tonight and hope I catch something… Mice, I mean – I hope I catch mice.
Pulling out the big guns…
When did it start, a week ago? It seems that way, a week or so I guess. Scratching. A constant scratching sound coming from the walls, the floors, everywhere… It’s constant, I hear it all the time now, scratching… scratching… scratching… day and night…. scratching….
I’m going to get traps, to see if I can catch it… whatever it is.
The thick blankets of dirty grey snow are finally receded, revealing the streets of Providence glistening with dirty melt water and gritty with sand. I walked along today under the heavy grey skies, Easter Sunday, with churchgoers milling about church parking lots and posing outside the First Baptist in their finest clothes. They eyed me warily as I walked by, unshaven with jeans I’m sure I haven’t washed in a week or more, my brown ‘Miskatonic University’ hoodie torn in several places – I don’t remember how that happened, or when. They don’t trust me; probably even fear me, these upright citizens of Providence… I find that amusing, knowing the things I know, seeing the things I’ve seen. The things that exist in the darkest corners and underneath the ancient floorboards of this cursed city.
I found myself walking down an unfamiliar side street yesterday. It’s strange, but in a city as small as Providence there are always unfamiliar side streets; narrow alleys and hidden grottoes full of old shops and weathered old homes that you may only find once and never see again.
I was walking aimlessly – the day was dour grey but warming, and the huge piles of snow that covered the city were slowly melting, feeding streams of sickly meltwater into shimmering rivers that ran sluggish and dirty though the streets. I saw a figure standing at the end of a narrow street, just a smear of grey against a slightly darker grey, and I felt an unnatural chill that had nothing to do with the early March weather. I could feel it looking at me and, as I walked in it’s direction, it turned and moved away from me, slowly, as if taunting me to follow. Was I in my right mind when I decided to follow? Certainly not, but it has been so long since I have felt in my right mind, I’m starting to think that was the dream and this is my true reality. Continue reading
It’s a question I ask myself often, in the dead of night, listening to things slither and crawl in the darkest corners. I know there was a box, a steamer trunk. It was old and full of things, so many things… Terrible and wonderful things. It was real, I know that it was – I still have photos and videos of it, proof of so many things. I would say that at first – to my doctor. ‘But I have proof, look at the proof’ I would say, and she would shake her head and sigh. I have proof, but proof is not what the world wants. Evidence of a thing is meaningless if you are the only one who believes it.
I walked home from work and passed beneath an overpass. I have a new job now, after everything that happened. I get to work alone, mostly, and that’s soothing to me, comforting. I was walking home, as I said, through the streets of providence, and was walking under and overpass, when I heard the sound – that terrible, high pitched piping sound, discordant and maddening. I stood there, under the overpass, listening to the sound as it cut through the sounds of traffic, the cacophony of the city. A woman passed by me as I stood there – she looked uncomfortable. I asked her if she could hear it, and she stood for a moment, listening, her eyes squinting to focus on something that wasn’t really there.
“It’s just the wind, blowing through the structure’ she said to me, not sounding convinced at all. She stared for a moment longer then turned and hurried on her way. I heard her mutter ‘just the wind’ again as she moved away, and from behind it looked like she made the sign of the cross.
As if that would help her. As if it would help any of us.