“It huddled by the light of the lantern, that small and hideous thing. It barely moved at all, and excluding breathing gave scarcely an indication of life, its shriveled form on the thinner edge of life and death. It curled into a tighter form as I leaned down to investigate it, as if it was almost able to detect me through its wrinkled, closed eyes. Its lip-less mouth grimaced, its teeth gritting as I took out a small probe and tested the elasticity of its skin. And I marveled at the odds of finding such a thing in these hidden tunnels, under the floorboards of the orphanage.

My investigation started off after I heard reports of knocking coming from below one of the local buildings. The owner was talking at a local store and was willing to let me investigate. I asked to spend the night, as most of the disturbances occurred during that time. I was given a room on the bottom floor, close to where the knocking was often heard. For much of the early hours, there was little to report, just the sound of the children of the home playing upstairs.

At last the children went to bed, granting me a chance to truly hear the sounds of the home. For hours I sat in silence, but outside of the expected creaking of the wood, there was little of note. Then at around the witching hour, I heard a noise coming from under the floorboards. At first it was faint, but then it became increasingly clear, identifiable as a steady tapping, like a pick against stone.

This continued for an hour or so, then slowly began to die down. I took the time to check the floorboards under which the noise originated, only to discover that there was a hollow noise from underneath. I grabbed a lantern and went to work removing the floorboards of the home. They came up with little resistance. After removing a few boards, I could see that there was a hollow space below them and grabbed a lantern from the side table.

I noted that the distance was high enough to allow me to drop down with little trouble. After landing, I saw that the tunnel ran from east to west. It had been carved by man made tools, though it was clear it was quite old and had been untouched for some time and was about five feet wide. A thick layer of dust was settled on the ground, a heavy, thick feel to the air, air. Likely it hadn't moved much in years. Not sure which direction to take, I decided it was best to try and stick to an area under the house and went to the east. After only a short while I came to an open space.

“I have tried for years to understand the workings of the human mind, and though as the saying goes “I stand on the shoulder's of giants,” I am still aware of how little I know. This is especially true due to the focus of my work, abnormal psychology. Although there is some repetition, the ways in which a mind can break is astonishing. One case that haunts me still was when a patient of mine was discovered dead in the main sitting room of the sanitarium, the TV set to static.

I initially began the man's case several years before, when he began to describe to me increasing feelings of paranoia and overwhelming fear. It had begun to affect his day to day life, and at first it seemed to be perfectly manageable. Though he had no previous history of mental illness, I normally believe that someone is rarely beyond my care. But sometimes we can catch someone late, and recovery can become much more difficult.

When I asked him initially what was it that he was afraid of, he confided in me that he had been seeing someone stalking him wherever he went.

I did the normal analysis, beginning with his home and work life. Although these areas were clearly being affects, it was also clear that the source may not be found there. His home life with his wife was supportive and relaxed, something that was confirmed after conversations with her.

His work life was also without error, and although I imagined it would be the source of the fear it was obvious within a short amount of time that it was something that he not only enjoyed, but was passionate about. As the weeks passed I continued to talk with him, but had little success. Despite my efforts and the introduction of medicine his condition continued to get worse, eventually reaching the point where he was unable to leave his home for long.

“When I was little, I tried desperately to convince my parents that there was something in the basement. They always dismissed it as a childhood fear, something I would grow out of. But they didn't understand, because their room was on the second floor. They didn't hear what I heard, the scratching on the thin floor that separated my room from the basement. They didn't hear what I heard. They didn't hear it speak.

At first I told my parents about it, but they convinced me that there was nothing to worry about, that there was nothing hiding in the dark. So for a while I dismissed it. Even as a kid I was smart enough to recognize that scratches in the night and murmurs below my floor were likely to be a result of my imagination. But even though I had made up my mind, that didn't stop me from dreading going to the basement.

Anytime I would be asked to get something from the basement, a deep chill would rush up my spine. I knew that it was just my own insecurity, but that thought didn't help. The darkness felt solid...tangible. Like it was a living, hungry thing. The only thing that I could do to provide me with some courage was to turn on the light for the stairs, then run down as fast as I could to reach the pull string for the light for the basement itself.

During the holidays was the worst, mostly because it was guaranteed that I would have to take the ornaments both up and down the stairs over the course of a few months, forcing me to face the fears. Unlike many fears that I had as a child, this one didn't improve with time, and even into my teens I was still frightened to go down the stairs, though I would never admit it to my friends.

I still heard the scratching noises, as well as the strange, mutterings of speech that I could never make out. I had convinced myself that it was just some animals, or the movement of the house. Years ago we had a family of raccoons move into our attic. I figured it was possible that they had found their way back. But then again, I wasn't willing to make sure.

The man's condition was brought to my attention through a neighbor of his. Entering his house was difficult, as he insisted that the blinds in all the room remain drawn and the lights off, so it took me time to adjust to the dark. I was not aware of what he wanted to speak to me about, but it soon became clear. The man wished to talk to me about an experience he had several months ago, an experience that left him with the belief that his body is slowly being replaced with bugs.

I asked him why I shouldn't open the blinds. He said that if I did the bugs inside would scurry away, taking his arms and legs with them. I...listened as he shared with me the tale of how he got to this point, and I am unsure how to react to it. I will leave interpretations up to the reader.

“I often go out late at night on walks. At least I used to. It helps me clear my head...to focus. I have lived alone for most of my life, and the burden of that can be overwhelming. People don't really talk to me, and I struggle to make friends. I have assumed myself to be an introvert, but increasingly I believe I have simply given up the desire for human contact. Even so, I have at times felt enclosed in this place. And so I leave, usually sometime after twelve, and wander for hours.

That night it was very cold. But I had been in my home for several days straight, after a bad sickness kept me from working...I had only been walking for a hour, up and down the street, avoiding whatever places seemed open. I was walking along, when I distinctly heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I wanted to turn around and look, but the thought made me nervous, and so I crossed the street. But after several blocks I was still hearing the sound, and I made up my mind that whoever it was was following me... I finally worked up the courage to turn around and look, knowing that I wasn't far from my home if I needed to run. Looking back on that moment it probably would have been smarter to simply head home and not look back. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to look all the same. What had been following me defied explanation.

It wasn't in the shape of a person. Instead, it as shaped like a lumpy ball, with around seventeen thin, hairy legs sprouting from all over its body. Some of the legs were thicker than others, and it were those steps that I had been detecting. All over its body were a series of mouths, far too many to really know. It had stopped moving, its smaller legs repositioning frequently, its body swaying slightly. I couldn't see any eyes, though I still had the sensation it was watching me...

“I woke up while it was still dark, a habit that started four months ago when my wife and I had our first child. Everything would get my attention, even if our daughter was fine. Every creak and thump the house would make would wake me up, and it became common for me to spend an hour or two at night wandering around the house. I stood up and went to the hall, passing by my child's room. A person with my wife's hair was there, which made me stop as I had just seen my wife still sleeping in my bedroom.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart beginning to race. I couldn't grasp what I was experiencing, my only thought being the fact that I had to find out who was with my daughter. I entered the room, my voice cracking as I asked her if she and the baby were okay. The figure in the room turned around, and I was only partially relieved when it was my wife looking back at me.

“Everything is fine,” she said groggily. “You couldn't sleep again?”

I wanted to answer her, but my mind was on whatever I saw in the bedroom. I wanted to warn her, but I didn't want to scare her until I had things under control. I simply smiled and headed into the hall, moving quickly to the bedroom. Still in the bed was some figure, their breathing shallow and slow. I slowly made my way to the other side of my bed to retrieve my phone, hoping to call the police. But as I reached for the phone I heard the person shift in the bed. I looked down, only to discover that the person sleeping in my bed looked exactly like my wife.

My mouth went dry as I desperately began to think of how what I was seeing could be possible. Was I going crazy? Was I dreaming? I pinched myself hard and felt a rush of pain as I felt my flesh fold between my fingers. Slowly, I made my way back into the hall and headed back into the baby's room, only to find the person still there, the one that looked like my wife as well holding my baby.

Years ago, the temperature in the area began to inexplicably drop, falling nearly thirty degrees over the course of several days. The overcast sky, temperature, and long nights began to take their tole on the night life of the people, as increasingly locals began to spend more time indoors, getting to the point when even the local theater had to temporarily suspend several shows due to lack of interest. This strange set of circumstances brought about many repercussions, but none stranger than when several of the residents began to on mass report clogs in their drains. The events that followed occurred over the course of several days, and mysteriously “ended” after several residents made claims that something in the pipes was looking up at them.

It started off with reports of poor drainage in people's homes. These were shortly followed by claims of what sounded like movement in the pipes, like there was something loosely tumbling within them. However, every investigation that was carried out during that period would find the examined sections to be cleared of debris no matter how prevalent the clogs were originally. After each investigation the trouble with drainage would subside for a couple of hours, but would invariably return. At first many of these cases were assumed to be caused by the pipes freezing, a problem that can be common in older buildings.

Yet as more and more cases began to emerge it became increasingly clear that this was not a true pattern as homes of all types seemed to have been affected.

At around midnight several calls were made to emergency services after several members of the local population began to develop fitful, violent sleep patterns. Several were taken to the local hospital but were unable to be broken out of the semi comatose state. Their condition only changed at around four in the morning when all of the patients afflicted with the disorder mysteriously awoke. Strangely, they all seemed to be suffering some sort of deep nightmare, though upon awakening they were unable to deliver any details concerning what the nightmare had been about.

The only piece of evidence that could be provided was a single phrase that all the victims seemed to be able to remember; “come together.”

It all started with a knock at the door. It was a late Christmas Eve, and it took some time for my father to separate himself long enough to answer the door and turn on the light. I followed him through the crowd of people I didn't know, friends of my father. My dad opened the door, the cold air stinging my face from my position next to my father's leg. There in the doorway was a very tall, pale creature. Its long, spindly limbs were settled close to its frame, its knees tucked against its chin as it attempted to fit within the short expanses of the porch.

“It's cold...Can I come in?”

Its face betrayed nothing of the motives behind its presence, save a warm smile settled low below a pair of bloodshot eyes. Its hair was drawn back and greasy, its form seeming to be lost between distinctions, rendering it without a sense of gender. The only clothes it wore was a single white nightie, its bare feet ending in purpled flesh surrounding blue toenails that sunk and trembled in the snow.

I looked back at the den, where all the stockings were hung. My mothers was still in the in the box. Dad said it wouldn't be going up this year...Meanwhile, the song “Santa Claus is Coming Town” began to play, the other members of my family yet to be aware of that horror that crouched at our front door.

“You better not pout, you better not cry, you better no shout I'm telling you why...”

I was putting up a painting I had purchased recently when the nail I was putting in stopped suddenly and popped out. Something about the sound it made caused me to be curious, so I decided to investigate. After discovering that there wasn't a stud behind the wall, I cut away a small piece, revealing a leather bound journal with a steel clasp. The spot where the nail had hit the buckle was evident, but was mostly unharmed. After a little more cutting I was able to remove it behind the wall. I assume it belongs to the previous owners, though I hope I am wrong... because what I have found so far in its pages has been disturbing. Below is a small except.

“Throughout time there have been instances where different species come together to make a new whole. Jellyfish and ever distant ancestors of humans have combined to make what we have today. Mitochondria in cells are thought to come from a separate organisms, but came together for a common goal, a purpose in harmony. The idea of fusing two unlike parts together seems terrifying, but the dream of it, being so intimately connected to unlike parts, to stop being separate is both frightening and beautiful. Amoebas present yet another, much earlier example...”

From what I have been able to gather so far, the contents of the journal are in fact notes. Though I have not read much, there is a clear interest in the unification of forms.

Much of what is contained is mathematically based, and I have had a great amount of difficulty making them out, though what little experience I have seems to suggest a source in chemistry and physics. Much of what is written utilizes language I am unfamiliar with, and I am certain that great amounts of the text are in another language altogether.

There are numerous notes along the edges of the pages, and it is clear from these notations that what was written here has been reviewed over and over again. I plan on going to the Wellington Street Historical Society, in the hopes that they may be able to provide some aid in understanding what is written here, and hopefully help to get a fuller understanding of this building I call my home and the history that belongs to it.

“It was just one of those nights, when the weekend pours over into Monday. I had a bad day, and I was drinking, something I seriously regret now. The fact I was drunk means that what I saw is just going to be immediately dismissed. But I am not stupid. Alcohol does a lot of things. I would know. But it won't make you see something that isn't there, unless of course you see stuff like that anyway. And I have a clean bill of health, psychologically speaking at least. So when I say I saw something in the rain, something big...well, I wish people believed me.

I had just gotten off a long day at work. One of those days where the boss asks you to work the weekend because he can. I wanted to unwind, so I went to the local bar and had some drinks. Turns out a few drinks were a lot more than I thought. Got to the point where the owner told me to leave. At the time I was sure I was a bit pissy at him. Looking back I am sure I overstayed my welcome. Had I a better mind at the time I would have called for a cab. But my house wasn't that far away so I decided to walk.

It was raining that night, and since it was near the end of the year it was one of those cold rains that sits a bit heavier on your skin than it should. Helped me sober up a bit, but I was still having trouble walking. Thankfully it seemed the weather was bad enough to keep most people indoors, including cops. I began my trek home, but in no time flat I was starting to get soaked. I was still at least ten minutes off, so I looked around for something to go under. It was late and I didn't know anyone in the area, but I got lucky when I saw a bus stop in the distance. It was raining pretty hard by then, and the alcohol was starting to hit me hard as well.

I stumbled over to the shelter and sat down, suddenly feeling very dizzy. I steadied myself with my hands and kinda lost focus for a while. The last thing I remember was one of the posts of the structure shifting to the left. I suppose I fell asleep because they next thing I knew I was laying on my side. It was growing brighter, though the sun hadn't risen yet. The rain had also stopped, the few drips here and there indicating that it had only ended recently. I looked around, slightly stunned that a cop hadn't come by to bust me. I was cold, but no more wet then I was when I sat down. After a few seconds looking around, I noticed something big was missing.

The bench was the same bench from the night before, but the structure I had taken shelter under wasn't there anymore. I figured I had simply imagined it being there, but the ground around me was dry. Somehow the overhang had disappeared. I realized that I wasn't near the bus stop, just a random bench along the street. I looked around, my eyes a lot clearer from the night before.

After World War Two, a large number of children were orphaned by the conflict. Because of this, institutions had to be established to house them. Although the building in question was a boarding house, the large number of children left in its confines led many to view it as an orphanage. But this building was not immune to the strange and curious nature of this area, resulting in several odd cases throughout its history, none stranger than when the odd baby arrived.

The following information was provided in large part by the long term owner of the building, who has made a decent living renting the rooms for anywhere between a few weeks to a few years at a time. Nowadays few children remain in her care save her own, but at the time of the night in question there were ten children on the premises, largely supported by the other tenants. It was rather cold on the night of December 18th, 1953. At around two in the morning, the landlady was making her rounds, checking on the children. She was shocked when she heard a baby crying. None of the children in her care were infants, and none of the tenants had children of their own.

Moving from room to room, she eventually traced the sound to one of the empty rooms on the third floor. Upon entering, she heard a gurgling noise emanating from one of the beds in the room. Turning on the light, she walked over, only to be confronted by a startling sight. Laying in the bed was a baby boy, wrapped in a red blanket. The baby was badly deformed, though it was able to breathe intermittently. Located centrally on its face was a single eye, lacking a nose, forcing it only breathe through its mouth. Quickly, the woman gathered up the child and brought it to the hospital, awaking another one of the tenants to watch the remaining children.

A great amount of effort was made at the hospital to try and keep the baby alive, but after a few hours the infant passed away. A short investigation led to the conclusion that the baby had been suffering from a rare disorder known as Cyclopia, a condition in which the forebrain of an embryo fails to divide properly. In most people, this division is what ultimately forms our faces, the indent under our noses known as a philtrum being evidence of this. Cyclopia is commonly brought on due to genetic issues or exposure to certain toxins, namely cyclopamine, as well as high doses of cancer therapy. Despite a large amount of investigation, the source of the infant could not be found. No parent ever came forward, and the baby was ultimately buried in a small plot in the local cemetery despite a earnest desire from certain persons in the scientific community to have it donated. The woman who discovered the child would later attempt to adopt the child, feeling that the boy deserved to have a family one way or another. Unfortunately, laws dictating such cases do not exist, and despite her efforts she was unable to adopt the child.

This caused a large amount of outrage in the community, and it surprised no one when the tombstone was later placed with the woman's last name, along with the name “John.” No efforts have been made to try and change the grave marker, and to this day many of the children that the woman cared for, full grown adults at this point, will visit the grave with her.