The Walker Of London
June 27, 1932 Up in a castle of mystery, darkness, and dreariness, there lies a man, a man of darkness. A hooded figure with a long black cape. As dark as the night. The man is as quiet as a mouse. The silence of the castle screams. He lies on a weathered and old bed. Ashes spread across the bed. Rusty springs protruding from the sides and something that would occasionally cut the man’s skin.The wood holding the mattress above the ground has burn marks all over it and is severely splintered. The wooden posts leading to the top of the bed, all broken in half like stakes. The room the man lies in, made of gray dusty cinder blocks. The only way to the outside is a gaping hole in the roof from those who tried to attack the man. His house was struck by a massive boulder many years ago. The castle would remain a home for the sleeping man. Even though it could get difficult for him. He sleeps during the day and at night he becomes a beast. A hellish beast. A bloodthirsty beast who walks the streets of London late at night. He isn’t any Jack the Ripper. He isn’t any serial killer at all. A behemoth of a beast that will stalk and attack each and every thing that it lays its cold dead eyes on. A violent creature with dagger teeth, hair everywhere, and claws the size of Frankenstein. The claws retract from the beast’s hand like those of a cat. Many claim to have seen it stalking the towns like a virus but the rest know it only as a myth. While rare to find evidence of its existence, many figure that it’s just another one of those myths that climbs through time. Like a bigfoot. Or a Loch Ness Monster. Or a Dracula. Or a Rake. Or a Wolfman. You get what I’m saying. This would be the case until one fateful night where the creature came into London with violent and brutal intentions. That fateful night would be the end of it along with many whose lives were lost. June 21, 1932, 4:53 PM “Do you not understand my proposal?” I ask through a handkerchief covering my mouth. “I do not.” “What is it that is so hard to understand? We split a little cup of tea and in exchange you get you to give me some information on Jacob Stanson.”, I say through the handkerchief. My name is Samuel Renfeld. I am an investigator. I have many years of experience. Maybe too many years. Unfortunately, because of the sudden tragedy that befell this London, investigators must walk around disguised. They have to find information secretly whether that be through a small discussion in an undisclosed location or through simple talks on the docks of the canal. Many of us investigators wear a handkerchief and a hat to hide our identity. If we don’t, there’s a chance they walk up to us and attack us in the streets. They started a rebellion that day and we will never forget or be free of the violence that occurred that day. I beg the man for information on the murderer of Jacob Stanson. “Just one spot of tea in exchange for information. In an undisclosed location.” “Listen, what if one of the psychos runs through and attacks us?” “That isn’t very likely. This is a very discreet place. We are basically invisible.” “How could we possibly hide in this place? There are seemingly people in every crack and crevice of this city?” “Believe me when I say nobody will be there.” “Ok. Where exactly is this “place”? It’s in an abandoned building that some investigators use as their home. We hide there.” “And they haven’t found this before?” “Somehow, no.” “Fine. I’ll join you for the spot but as soon as I am done, I am leaving.” “I am deeply thankful for your agreement to join me.” “When will we have this conversation?” “We will meet at 9:30 PM.” “Are you insane?” “What could you mean by that?” “That is past sundown.” “Yeah, what’s so bad about that?” “The walker comes out past sundown.” “Oh please, you actually believe that myth?” “It isn’t a myth.” “Oh be truthful with me. You actually believe that story? That’s nothing but a lousy joke that people keep around to enforce the curfew.” “But there’s been so many claims of people seeing it that it almost becomes real.” “Remember how I said it’s a lousy joke that people keep around?” “Yes, but what if it isn’t a joke?” “Don’t be weak.” “If you or anybody else finds me dead tomorrow you’d better believe my words that it is real and that you’re wrong.” “There are psychopaths everywhere. There’s already been people disappearing then being found with their throats slit, seemingly by a metal razor.” “But the thing about the recent deaths is that they’re all seemingly found with the same exact wounds. A massive laceration on the chest that punctures through the the ribs of the victim. They’re also found bloodless and skinless.” “Don’t you think that would still be easy to pull off with a knife?” “No actually, no I don’t.” “You know the story, “To Those Who Fought”?”“Indeed I do.” “That king had a sword so sharp it could do something like that. If this killer did this to a knife then it could be easy to do that.” “But think about it. That’s brutal even for a killer. That’s excessively violent. That’s the violence only a beast could commit.” “Oh please. Hell we don’t know, this could be what Jason Stanson does to his victims.” “I know what Stanson does and this isn’t what he does.” “Look, can we just meet at 9:30 PM? Can you forget about the Walker for the night and meet me after dark?” The man sighs “Yes. Fine. Yes I can meet you.” “Good, we will meet tonight, have a spot of tea, and discuss his case.” “Okay.” I reach out my hand for a handshake. He reaches out and we exchange a handshake. June 21, 1932, 8:37 PM A knock comes on the door lightly. I open the door and pull the person inside the building forcefully. “The fuck are you doing?” “Hey, let go of me!” “You’re really early.” “Yeah, that’s kinda the point.” “It’s still not dark outside? You could’ve got us killed, you fucking idiot!” “I’m sorry but I’m terrified of the streets at night.” “Oh for christ’s sake, it better not be because of the Walker.” “It’s because of other things too.” “What other things scare you?” “Psycho’s.” “Who wouldn’t be scared of psychos? When it comes to the Walker, there’s nothing to be afraid of because it isn’t real!” The man sighs in anger. “Look, just come into my room and we’ll have that tea and you’ll tell me that information. Understood?” “Yes.” “Good!” We walk up the stairs. “There are so many rooms!” “Yes there are.” “Are they all filled?” “No, unfortunately sometimes, some of them leave in the morning and they don’t return that night. We assume they were lost to those who started the tragedy.” “Aren’t the people called the white shadow?” “Yes. Just to be clear, you aren’t a shadow, right?” “You’d be dead already if I were.” “You make a good point.” We finally arrived at my room. It is a room without light. A worn out couch that has a few tears. Dust nearly everywhere. A small gas stove. The squeaking sounds of rats along with the occasional frightening sounds of snapping mousetraps. A small wooden dining room table surrounded by 2 wooden chairs, both clearly weathered and on the brink of bust. The room had a small mattress covered in stains of blood and other fluids. The walls had a kind of mold growing on them. The windows cracked. 8:50 PM, Sun near completely down The water for the tea heats up in the kettle and we begin talking. “So, begin with the knowledge you have about Jason Stanson.” “What is it that you want to know?” “Everything” “Well I don’t know where to start.” “I’ll give you some questions.” “That sounds helpful.” “When did he last attack?” “Nearly 5 months ago.” “Where did he attack?” “On the corner of Hyde street and Jekyll road.” “Who was the last victim?” “His name was Victor Todd.” “What do you think his motive was?” “I have no idea.” “Where do you think he went after that attack?” “I’m unsure but what I do know is that night the people of the town went around searching for him and they put a massive boulder through the roof of the castle on Mount Nos. They say that there was nothing in there, while others think that’s where the Walker lives. If that’s the case though, the Walker is probably dead.” “Don’t get off topic.” “Yes sorry, my apologies.” “I don’t know where he went after his last victim.” “I’ve heard rumors that you were once friends with Jason Stanson. Is this true?” “Yes it is.” “How well did you know him?” “Not exceptionally well but every now and then we’d go out for a drink or two then he’d go home. After a few months we stopped talking and he started acting strangely. He acted like he was a ferocious animal on the verge of brutally attacking its prey. He became frightening. Then the news broke that he had claimed a life. How tragic that day would be. He always seemed like a nice guy.” “You seem like you’re panicking. Is everything okay?” “Yes, I just hate discussing him. It makes me feel nervous about trusting anyone.” “I understand that feeling.” “Do you?” “I do, I had a friend a while back. He seemed like one of the happiest people to ever exist and within a month of me meeting him, he was dead. He took his own life. I still have no idea why he did this.” “Do you think he was good at hiding his sadness?” “I guess he might’ve been. He always seemed so happy.” “I’m so sorry for your loss.” “It’s okay. That was many years ago now. Let’s get back on topic.” We discussed Jason for over 3 hours and discussed all the information we knew about him and everything we could assume based on the information given. One of the details was that someone from another town nearby had seen someone who looked exactly like Jason but didn’t want to assume anything. That person told others and eventually the man who looked like Jason, was found dead. The man, found with not a drop of blood left in his body. He was drained entirely. His skin bound to his bones like a wet shirt to skin. A violent killer was loose in that town and was never identified. A strange case. The only clue left behind to even try to identify the killer was a small stray gray hair which could’ve come from anyone in the town. The man who discussed the information of Jason Stanson would leave shortly after our discussion. Before he left I told him to meet me at the same place we met earlier in the day. I told him to meet me at 2:30 PM. With his exit, he would flee out and into the night. Into the abyss of London’s darkness. I commonly dream of this day. A day that I deem as unforgettable. A day that would give me a constant feeling of fear of being on the streets of London. A day that would forever change my view of the world. A day that would forever change my view on humanity. A day that I cannot live down. February 9, 1927 A normal day in the office. A simple quiet day. Peaceful. Fog covered the streets of London. As the day progressed, the fog would clear up and the sun would shine. Near the middle of the afternoon, the silence would end when the sudden sound of screams echoed through the streets. Down the road there are two dozen people walking towards our office in white masks that barely fit their faces. They walk towards our office with knives in hand. Two of them threw Molotov cocktails at the windows of our office which caused the glass to shatter. Glass shards scattered across our floor. Fire floods the predominantly wooden floor. Fire covers up the back door. Whoever was in the group charging towards us was a traitor. They knew the layout of our office. We didn’t allow civilians in. We took papers of possible cases. Everyone that was in the office that day sprinted out the front door. I daringly charged for the back door. I ran through the fire. I still have second degree burns from doing that. The rest ran out the front door straight into the two dozen people. They ran into what was a spike pit. They ran out the doors and straight into the knives of the two dozen. They killed 46 people that day. They attacked us, but for what reason? They wanted to make an impact on the investigators of the city. They wanted to put a hole in the society of London. They didn’t have a motive. They said there were more of them out in the streets of London. They didn’t say how many but they did say there were more. They told us they don’t wear the same masks but rather keep their secrecy. They are simply known as The White Shadow. A group of people who will attack an investigator with no motive. A tragic loud day. Violent. The streets ran red. To ensure our safety we wear handkerchiefs, hats, and other things to hide our identity. Something that nearly everyone wore back in that time, as not to catch smallpox. Some didn’t fear smallpox and some did. Those who didn’t, didn’t wear masks. Those who did, wore all the protection they could. The White Shadow knows us by our faces. They know who we are but we could pass them on the streets and we wouldn’t even know. June 22, 1932 The next day, a dead body would appear. A dead body of a man who had recently gone missing. The body was horrifically mutilated to a point where it was near impossible to identify them. There were several scratches along his arms and legs. But the most terrifying part about this corpse was the fact that from the waist up, the corpse was entirely split in half. The organs and bones were gone. There was no blood. There were no muscles. It was the husk of a person that was left behind. I walked around for a while afterward. Just trying to cleanse my mind of what I had witnessed. A disturbing crime scene with an impossible result. An impossible thing for any human to do in a matter of hours. This felt animalistic and brutal. One we’d never seen before this. I walked to the place where the man and I had met before. I arrived at 2:30, as planned, and waited another two hours. He never showed. Perhaps he could’ve forgotten. But how. The man got those plans and wrote them down. He couldn’t simply forget when he wrote it down. I walked up to my room. I collapsed on the mattress and fell asleep. June 23, 1932, 1:53 AM I wake up to the sound of thudding on the roof. A traveling thudding sound. I jump out of bed and walk to the window. I stare out the window for a minute before I finally see what is making the sound. It was a human. A human traveling along the rooftops of our tiny town. It was running along the rooftops like an animal. All of a sudden it looks towards my building and its eyes reflect the shining of the moon like the glint of a glass sniper scope. It starts running towards my building along the rooftops. It then jumps from the building across from ours and lands on the roof. The loud thud collided with the roof. I run to my room and grab the loaded revolver from beneath my mattress. I aim at the doorway for what felt like forever. The sounds of thudding sounded like they could’ve been in the same room as me. An inhuman jump. I had to be dreaming. I pinch my arm and feel the stinging sensation of the pinch. I was wide awake. “What is happening?” The thudding stops. The sound of breaking glass erupts from the window in front of me. The sound of fire roars from the silence after the glass breaks. I sprint down the stairs knocking on each person’s door on the way out. I go out the back door and sprint down the alley. Someone had thrown a molotov through the upstairs window. Somehow the White Shadow had found us. The building burnt slowly from the top to the bottom. An orange blaze stood where the building I called home once stood. I had forgotten to grab my handkerchief and hat. I had the same clothes I wore the day before but nothing else. I couldn’t trust anyone at thrift stores or clothing shops. I unfortunately exposed myself to the entirety of our town. The sound of the thudding echoed through the alley. Whatever the human was, it was following me. The thudding became heavier and more violent. I jumped into another alleyway. The thudding sounds faded away as I ran. I had lost it. There was an abundance of silence. I had to find another place to stay. For the night I laid down in the alley. I was already covered up by the clothes I was wearing. I was just hoping not to die. After half an hour, I dozed off. June 23, 1932 I woke up and heard the sounds of commotion and fear from where the building had burnt up. I ran to the building which had dissolved to ashes and dust. I didn’t know if anyone had heard my knocking. The fire may have spread too fast. I don’t know if I’m the only one left. I could be all alone. No protection. No home. Nothing. There is a body near the ashes. The body is breathing. I walk up to it. The body is near unrecognizable. The closer I get the more I start to recognize who it is. It’s my friend, Marcus Shane. I run up to him. “Marcus?” I say. “Sam. I’m scared.”, he replies. “I know you’re scared.” “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die, Sam. Please.” “I wish I could help, Marcus. I really do.” “Please Sam. Please don’t let me die. Please Sam! Don’t leave me please.” He says weakly. “I don’t know how to help. If I lift you it’s not gonna help you. It’s gonna hurt you even more. You’re severely burned, man. You can’t see yourself but if you could you would agree. I can’t move you. I’m sorry.”, I say tearfully. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m starting to get tired, Sam. Don’t let me sleep.” “I wish I could help, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” “I can’t move, Sam. I want to live. I want to live.” His eyes close as he mutters his last words weakly. He stops breathing. He’s gone. I cry and lean over putting my head on his chest.“Oh God.”, I weep and cry. The police approached me. “We’re gonna have to ask you to move, sir.” I sit up and wipe the tears away from my eyes. I stand up and walk away from the site. In front of me there is another crime scene. I walk slowly towards the scene and get the best look I can at what happened here. There is a corpse. It is in the same condition as the last corpse that was found. Horrifically mutilated. A ravine down the center of the body with several lacerations. It is empty of blood. Empty of bones. Empty of organs. It is a husk. I get closer to the scene and reveal to the people surrounding the scene that I am an investigator. I walk towards the corpse and put the person’s face back together. I put the two halves back into one complete face. It is the man I talked to about Jason Stanson. Whatever is causing all of this carnage will suffer a downfall at my hands. June 26, 1932 4:32 PM For the past few days I have been consistently on the run hiding in small alleys for my protection. I’ve seen people looking at me lately. They looked at me with potentially violent intentions in mind. But I lived. It’s been so confusing. So truly confusing. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to go anywhere. There’s been a new strand of bodies with the same brutal conditions as the man and the corpses before. A terrifying series of events. Each corpse with a ravine down the middle of the body. Bloodless, boneless, and empty. June 26, 1932, 6:20 PM Someone just tried to attack me and I am now afraid that I can’t go out into the streets anymore. I have to stay in the alleyways of the city or I am going to die. June 26, 1932, 8:45 PM The sun is setting on this day of fear and pain. I am terrified to be outside at night. Genuinely terrified. I haven’t eaten anything in 2 days. I can’t drink out of the water near the harbor because I will die from it. There has been a sound of screaming coming from somewhere near the town. I’m not sure where it is. It is worrying. The scream is blood curdling. It sounds distorted as well. It’s terrifying. The screams echo through the town. It’s like sirens. I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to go. I am all alone in this town. I’m scared of dying from starvation. I’m so hungry. I need help. June 26, 1932, 11:59 PM The sounds of screams echo through the night and the silence fills the air between each scream. I haven’t slept at all tonight. What is it that’s making these sounds? Is it a creature? Is it a person? I don’t know anymore. I’m so scared of what happens next. I am afraid that if I fall asleep I won’t wake up in the morning. I won’t live to see the next day. “Dear God, if you even exist. Please help me. I am terrified. Do you understand my plea for help? Please understand me. Send help. Please send help. Please. Help me. I’m so scared. Whatever you decide to do with the end of my life, let me go out painless.” The sounds of screams continue and I feel like I hear the screams getting closer. If this is my last entry, to whoever finds this, inform the cops to try their hardest to find members of The White Shadow and please cause their downfall. I was hoping to get out of here, but I can’t. The White Shadow wouldn’t let me. They know me by my face and it’s scaring me. For what it means to anyone, I tried my hardest to bring them down, but there were too many. Thank you to everyone who supported me through the years. If any of the investigators of this town are still alive, continue your work but get out of here while you still can. Goodbye. June 27, 1932, 2:48 AM The rooftops of our town are dead silent. But within seconds the sound of a loud bang occurs. The sound of civilian screams echo into the abyss of London’s moonlit night. The sounds of roaring follow behind the screams. I stand up and run into the streets. Atop one of the roofs there is a massive harry creature. “What the hell is that?”, a person yells. The creature bounds towards the person and swipes violently, killing them after splitting them in half. It then digs deep into the person’s skin and starts devouring his organs and bones. The crunching of the bones mixes with squelching sounds as it feasts on the organs. The sounds of civilian screams engulf the streets. The creature jumps directly at each person taking every person in its path. Cutting them in half with his long sharp violent claws. It begins leveling buildings with ease, taking people out. It kills everything it gets its wild hands on. It’s a hunter. It violently slashes at the sight of any movement, killing everyone in the town. I run through the town’s streets as it attacks everyone around me. I ran to the investigator’s burned down building. I found the revolver I kept beneath my mattress. It must have survived the fire. I grabbed it and checked the ammunition barrel. It’s got 6 bullets in the chamber. I have six rounds that I can use to try to take the beast down. I charge into the streets of the town. I aim at the beast. It won’t stop moving and I can’t get a clear shot on it. It continues to attack the civilians in the streets. They won’t stop screaming. The creature squeals at the top of its lungs. The town falls silent. The beast looks around with its dead cold eyes. I take a shot and hit it in the arm. It screams at the top of its lungs. It covers its ears. It then runs towards someone and attacks them and rips them in half. It swings around with its claws stabbing through buildings like a hot knife through butter. It swings blindly in front of itself. The violence and bloody carnage continues. I take a shot at it and hit it in the leg. It falls to the ground. It keeps swinging at people with violent intentions. It swings at one person and cuts off their head. I fire at it and I miss. It starts charging towards me. It shrieks loudly and jumps towards me like a speeding bullet. I fired at it and hit it in the head. The massive nine foot tall creature flies towards me and collapses on top of me. It stops moving. It stops breathing. I finally comprehend what happened. The hair we found on the first day came from the creature after it attacked. It must have lost one of its hairs leaving some evidence behind. It has been attacking people that it saw on the streets at night. On this night, it decided to go berserk, attacking people without a motive. Just like The White Shadow. It killed everyone in its sight. Just random civilians. I scream for help. The civilians that were still alive moved the creature off of me. I stand up. I am horrified and am suffering from shock. My brain feels accepting now. A brain that once felt fear. Now numb. The bodies scattered throughout the streets. I asked several people for some shelter so that I could clean myself off. I am covered in the blood and guts of the walker. Eventually a man comes up to me and tells me that I can stay in their apartment for a while until I find a new home. So I followed him to his home. He cordially invites me into his home. I walk in and he makes me a plate of bacon and eggs and grits. He makes me a cup of tea. It’s the best tea I’ve ever had. The bacon and eggs are the most delicious I’ve ever had. That could be simply because of the fact I have had no food in days. I finish the bacon and eggs. I am sitting at the table. “May I use your shower?” “Of course you can.” “Thank you so much.” I say completely emotionless. I can’t manage to show any emotions from the amount of shock I’m in. I walk to the bathroom and slowly take off my shirt. I sigh with relief. It’s over. Everything is quiet. Everything is peaceful. Silence. My ears ring with the deafening silence. I am finally at peace. The door behind me opens. The man is in a white mask. There’s a bang. Credit: AStoryMan Instagram Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.