DEAD RINGER

Manuscript found in the room of a patient who died

under unusual circumstances following a series of night
terrors in the Bellevue Psychiatric Institution

My memories are in a haze, made murky by those

vile fiends and their schemes. I cannot recall much,
but the details of the execution of their deeds still
remain. I have decided to write this hurried
chronicle of unnatural events leading up to my
unjust imprisonment in the Bellevue Psychiatric
Institution, for I feel my torment is not over yet.

The circumstances regarding me are as malignant

as they are unnatural and unexplainable, but I am
certain of them as one is certain the sky is blue.

Recalling from memory, it was the beginning of

February, 1913. I found myself on a ferry ship
bound for New York City from Liverpool. I
remember very little of my life in England, it has all
been wiped from memory by the torturous events
that took place in this horrid city.

I came to New York as a journalist, having found

employment in The New York Clipper. Upon my
arrival, I began my search for cheap lodging. I
sought to find a loft suitable for living until I could
secure a home of my own and settled on an
apartment building on Grimmer Way for its
proximity to my work and its being the least
detestable option. I did not know then of the
nightmarish creatures that dwelt within.

The building was run by an old woman of Italian

descent, with grey hair and a faint moustache.
None of the tenants there knew her name, but all
referred to her as „Nonna“. The others are, from
what I have gathered at the time, a middle-aged
man called Morris who works as a locksmith and a

skinny and unkempt artist with pitch black hair and

sickly pale skin who called himself David, a
sculptor and a man gifted in the art of decoration.
They rarely left the confinements of their lofts.

I paid no mind to them nor the seemingly kind old

lady, only occasionally running into them in the
stairwell and exchanging a few greetings.

The room I inhabited rested on the 4th floor with

the ground floor being the residence of the
locksmith and below me resided the artist, with
„Nonna“ dwelling in the basement. Upon settling
in I must admit I was careless in the placement of
my affects. The room was small, only affording me
a separate bathroom, with the kitchen, bedroom,
and living quarters being one room and only
separated by a few sliding curtains hanging from
the ceiling. The room was littered with cobwebs, it
obviously had not been inhabited for a while.
Leaning against the wall was a large empty
bookshelf where I deposited the few volumes and
personal curios I brought with me from my
homeland across the pond. There was a desk next
to the window overlooking the busy streets below,
I took it as my workspace and quickly covered in
old newspaper articles, drafts, scribbles, and my
mechanical typewriter.

As one might imagine I spent most of my time at

my workplace, often staying long hours into the
night after my colleagues already left the building.
Coming to my humble lodging exhausted, I would
often disregard dinner, preferring a glass of neat
whiskey while I gazed at the empty streets below,
lit up only by the empty glow of the new
luminaires before I would drift off to sleep.

Day after day I grew accustomed to my new life

and lodging. I would dare to say that at that time I
felt as if I had finally gotten a grip and composed
my life in such an order that it was hard to
envision a disaster so dreadful that would knock
my routine out of balance. But there was such an
event…malady… a catastrophe of such dreadful
proportion I do not believe I can fully convey its
gravity in written text. But I must do all that I can
to leave a faithful chronicle of that terrible
calamity that befell me.

It was on one such night, a night that seemed like

any other I had previously described, that I had
come home after a long day behind the typewriter.
Weary and my eyelids drooping, but all my
tiredness faded away as I crossed the threshold of
my apartment. A strange feeling washed over me
and through me. A feeling I cannot describe, as if
something was missing…or was superfluous, in
excess. I did not know what the feeling was back
then, but later I would come to know it very well.
That night I did not sleep. I spent several hours
pouring over all my belongings, hoping to realize
what it was that I had lost and was causing me this
emotional malady but to no avail. I ceased my
efforts in locating the missing or superfluous
artifact and decided to drown the feeling in coffee
and work, remaining awake for the duration of the
night. In the morning the feeling had not yet to
ceased its attack on my being. By now I was tired
beyond what words can describe and visibly
unkempt from the torturous night, but still
endeavored to attend and complete my work. That
day was the day I left work early and it was that
decision that eventually brought me to the
horrible revelation about the source of my
affliction.
As I was walking up the old, creaking steps I
noticed a hurried descent from the 4th floor, the
floor only I inhabited. It was the artist. In my
confusion, I tried to remain polite and greet him
even though the man was covering his face from
my gaze. I reached my floor and inserted the key
into the lock. You can realize my surprise to find
the door already unlocked, however at the time I
had thought no malicious scheme was at hand and
that I had merely forgotten to lock my apartment
due to forgetfulness resulting from my restless
night. I step through the portal of my door and it
was as if walking over the edge of a precipice. The
feeling struck me again, magnifying tenfold. I
nearly fell to my knees, barely containing a
scream. I still remember how horrible the feeling
was. As if my life was in danger of an intruder in
my dwelling. A strange entity lurking in the corner
of my vision, always out of sight, out of reach. But
its presence pierced my being like a black dagger.
Fear engulfed me fully, not allowing me to
breathe, to think. I knew it was going to be
another night of misery and torment…unless I
escaped. I had gathered my things and left the
accursed room with great haste and took
temporary lodging in the hotel across the street. I
noticed that I had left in such a hurry I had
forgotten to switch off the light in my room, but I
was too terrified of what may lurk in the shadows
of that terrible place to even consider returning. I
thought I would finally manage to sleep, but
somehow my gaze was fixated on the window of
my terrible abode. As if turning away I would miss
the sight of the mysterious imposter which now
inhabited my loft…and I was right. Turning my gaze
away from my window would have been a grave
mistake if I had done it, but I did not. I remained
motionless, staring into my room, into the
bottomless abyss with morbid curiosity.

And then I saw IT. A thin, disheveled-looking entity

jolted from one side of the window to the other,
and as quickly as it had appeared, it had vanished.
My original curiosity quickly melted away and all
that remained was I, staring blankly into the room
with a gaze of echoing despair.

And there it was again, another grim revelation

appeared in the form of a small, flickering light in
the apartment blow mine. The apartment which
belonged to the thin and unkempt artist. I must
confess to you I was deeply shaken even at the
faint idea that my fellow tenants were involved in
this terrible malady that afflicted me. But now I
had ample suspicion to muster enough courage to
return to my loft and investigate till I uncover what
has been done to me that is causing me to flee so
irrationally from it. Therefore, I gathered the little
things I had brought with me on my escape and
steadily returned to the apartment building.
Ascending the steps my heartbeat increased with
every flight I conquered until I reached the
dreaded 4th floor. Hastily I crossed the threshold
and entered my loft. That familiar feeling I had
been feeling the last few days was now more
terrible than ever before. Hitting me like a brick
wall and causing indescribable torment, anguish,
and fear. My heart nearly gave out at the vicious
assault, causing me to once more flee mindlessly
from this unknown aggressor, but my mind was
hell-bent on discovering the source of my misery. I
quickly snatched my portable electrical light from
the worktable and scoured the entire apartment in
search of signs of tempering, things that were
missing, or things that did not belong. But again to
no avail, I had found nothing to suggest anything
was out of the ordinary. Defeat became me. In my
miserable hopeless state, I took a seat at my desk
and lit a cigarette to calm my breathing. I sat there
for what seemed like eons, my head in my hands,
sobbing, the tears blurring my vision. I wiped them
away on my shit sleeve and stamped out the
cigarette in the ashtray on the edge of my table,
accepting my defeat.

That is when I saw it. Again at the edge of the

abyss, at the very pinnacle of my misery and
despair, I saw what I needed to see to rekindle my
want for revelation. There, near the ashtray, as I
stamped out my cigarette I noticed the old ink
blotches on my desk were…wet. But how could
this be?

My heart pounded and my mind raced to devise a

solution to this mystery. The unknown feeling, the
imposter, the thin figure I saw, the light in the
artist's loft. The light in the thin, disheveled artist's
loft. Yes, my mind quickly pieced together the
puzzle and solved the enigma. The despicable
artist, so gifted in the art of decoration was
forming exact replicas of the furniture and objects
of my room. Hence why I was unable to detect
anything out of the ordinary but could not shake
the feeling of an impostor. I was right in my
feeling, not only was something missing,
something was in excess. But how was he able to
gain access to my loft? I regularly locked my door
upon leaving and returning from work. There were
never any signs of forceful entry. Of course, I had
even upon asking myself that question realized it
must have been the locksmith that unlocked the
door to my loft and allowed entry to the
nightmarish artist, which quickly enacted his
terrible scheme. Taking the precise notion of the
exact position and state of all my furniture and
artifacts, in order to replicate them to the highest
degree of precision and scrutiny just to cause me
inexplicable mental and spiritual anguish.
Upon finishing this abominable puzzle of misery
and profane evil, the flame of ambition that was
kindled in my heart became a roaring bonfire of a
desire for retribution.

I would rid myself of those foul fiends, have

vengeance for the ceaseless misery they had
caused me, and finally know peace. In the dead of
night, I devised a most cunning plan to confirm my
suspicions. I tell you now this plan was of such sly
and devious design that no irrational or insane
person could have devised it. I descended the old
wooden stairwell, careful not to make a single
sound. I approached the door of the replicator's
apartment with the same level of caution, so
carefully slow and silent that even if the fiend was
awake it would not realize my presence. Upon
grabbing the door handle I found it unusually cold,
but the door was unlocked and so I twisted the old
and rusty knob, ever so slightly opening the door. I
could not see the fiend, but I heard its breath,
sleeping soundly, unaffected by the terrible
malady it has caused me. The replicator was
unaware of my presence and how could he be? I
was so cunning and quick, so sly and crafty that
not even a fox could go so long undetected. I spent
a considerable amount of time slowly and
soundlessly continuing to open the door. As soon
as I had opened it enough, I hastily pushed my
head through the doorway. Oh, you should have
seen me then. I was no longer the prey, but had
become the hunter, and I was skillfully stalking my
prey with such subtlety and subterfuge that it was
not even aware of my presence even as I was
gazing at it with fury in my eyes. After staring
unmovingly at that dreadful creature, sleeping
undisturbed by my existence, I took notice of the
remainder of the room.

It was littered with various materials and tools.

Chisels, saws, nails, and finishing materials.
Various varnishes and oils. Adjacent to that was a
large bulletin board with precise and detailed
schematics and measurements of all my earthly
possessions. My heart was filled with
unquenchable rage and fury upon the realization
that all that I had devised had happened, did
happen. All that I have, all that I had ever had in
this new life was taken apart. Meticulously
documented and measured, in order to be
recreated and returned to its former place as an
impostor, an invader. And trust me when I tell you
everything was documented, every dimension,
every slight imperfection even the chaotic form of
disorganized letters and papers on my desk were
recreated perfectly. Down to the last indentation
on the paper. But what had given the wicked
fiend's plans away, was the only thing he could not
control…the time it would take for the perfectly
replicated ink blotches on my desk to dry. For it
was that very detail, that shone a light onto his
wicked, abominable craft. That led me into his den
of misery and horror. Enraged, I violently swung
the door open and pounced on the bed where the
fiend lay to take my revenge, beating, biting,
pounding, scratching, clawing at its sickly thin body
until its demise was certain. The rush of adrenaline
was astonishing, giving me unnatural haste and
strength. It was exhilarating. Finally, after what
seemed like hours but must have been mere
seconds, my fury was spent. As I climbed off the
mangled corpse I took a moment to gaze upon the
fruits of my endeavors one last time. The image of
my victory will remain burned into my mind
forever as a memory of triumph. I left the dreadful
den of nightmares and blood and felt the long-
desired wave of calmness and stillness finally wash
over me. I returned to my loft as soundlessly and
slowly as I left it. Upon my triumphant return to
my abode, the feeling was gone, the terrible
impostor had died with that abominable fiend.
Weariness overcame me, and even though I knew
most, if not all, of my possessions were lifeless
copies, I was finally able to afford a much-needed
and deserved slumber. But my triumph and
reward were short-lived. For the others had heard
the commotion caused by my unbridled
retribution and alerted the authorities of
suspicious and violent sounds emanating from the
former artist's apartment.

The policeman, along with the other tenants found

the grizzly, disfigured corpse I had left behind. At
that moment I realized what I had failed to notice
prior to my victorious return. My hands were
soaked. Dripping with blood. The blood of my
tormentor. I had no doubt left a crimson trail
leading up the old, dark stairwell, for I had heard
the precautious footsteps of the vigilant officer
following it like a bloodhound. I knew what was
coming, I had to escape once more. He surely
wouldn't understand the reasoning behind my act,
the pain, the ceaseless torment the fiend had
caused me. My fury was just and my retribution
divine. But the officer certainly wouldn't realize
this. for how could he? The others, the
treacherous accomplices in this dreadful design of
my agony, must have planted seeds of doubt in
the officer's mind.

Whispering in his ear of my insanity, of my

unstable nature, saying: „How could a sane person
afflict such terrible mutilation on another human?
To cause him to be barely recognizable!“

I assure you I was of a perfectly sound mind, and

that fiend was no man.
The officer's footsteps approached still, each new
step thundering in my ears louder and louder. A
rush of anxiety overcame me, and I panicked.

I began to frantically search for any means of

escape from this newfound threat. I looked for a
place to vanish, to hide my visage, but with a room
so small there was no hope of concealment. I
bolted to the window, my last resort, only to find it
lacking any means of a safe escape, the only choice
would be to jump to my doom. Accept defeat to
the atrocious fiend and die with it. No. I could not
allow that, not after my final victory over it. The
footsteps grew louder and louder like the drums of
war. The officer had reached my floor. It was only
a matter of time before they forced themselves
into my room. My heart was ready to burst, my
mind racing with alternatives. Do I leap out of my
window? Do I confront the officer and the
treacherous posse with my last morsel of strength
and violence? Or do I surrender my fate into their
hands? The punishment I had dealt for the
wrongdoings against me was complete, my peace,
was hard-earned. What had I to fear anymore?
With this last quantum of solace, I lit a final
cigarette and waited for my judges and
executioner. The thundering footsteps ceased as
the officer reached the end of the trail of blood at
the foot of my doorway. I did not hear, but I felt
his shaking and sweaty hand firmly grasp the
doorknob finding the door unlocked. He cautiously
opened the door, his revolver pointed at me as if I
was the terrible danger he ought to fear and not
the abominations of flesh who cowered behind
him. Whispering things into his ear, while flashing
their wicked teeth through their grinning faces at
me.

He briefly questioned me on the matter of the

deceased tenant, inquiring about my involvement.
I confessed to everything.

The dreadful feeling during restless nights, the

unending mental torture at the hands of the
demonic blackguard, my revelation. My glorious
victory over my tormentor, and the escape from
his black clutches. I warned the innocent officer of
the two nightmarish hell-spawns who surely
assisted the designer of my misery. As I had
suspected, he did not believe me, nor did he
hearken unto my warnings. The seeds those
treacherous dogs sown grew into plants of thistle,
entrapping the officer's mind and heart in a cage
of thorns. He sternly requested my surrender and I
offered it freely. As he restrained me, a last
thought of resistance entered my calm brain in
hopes of stirring up a flame of violence. But it bore
no fruit, I was restrained and escorted out of the
apartment. All the while we were descending the
dark stairwell I could hear the others following us,
feigning their grief and pain. Mocking my agony
and misery with every counterfeit tear. Finally
crossing the threshold of that house of nightmares
to be transported to the nearest station where I
would be assigned a holding cell, I looked back at
the entrance and saw the minions of my
tormentor staring at me, silently, with their
glowing eyes open wide, and their vicious teeth on
display through their sinister grins. After a short
while in holding, my trial was held. It was
uneventful, I once more confessed, recounting the
entire stream of events, while those vile creatures
once more feigned their tears and mocked me in
view of the court, to boast of their sure triumph.
Ultimately I was declared insane and sentenced to
spend the remaineder of my life in the institution
in which I currently reside.

My victory was greater still. Though I was

imprisoned, I have rid myself of their unyielding
torment and scheming. I was permitted to rest at
last.

Sadly my story of anguish does not end there. For

you see, this time of peace lasted, but only for a
while. Soon after my institutionalization, I lost
track of time. It might have been months or years
since the beginning of my sentence, but it had not
mattered to me. They may have imprisoned my
body, but my mind and soul were free. Free from
the anguish of the unknown and the terrible. Even
as I was surrounded by the demented and the
insane dwellers of the hospital, I was still able to
find serenity in knowing my great misery had
ended. I finally began to dream again, dream of a
life if the accursed events at that terrible fortress
of darkness had never happened. An accomplished
journalist, renowned reporter. A home on the
border of the busy city and the green countryside.
I dreamed of a life with a fair and loving wife, with
clear white skin and hair dark as the midnight sky.
Every day I waited just to fall asleep again, to
return to the dream world where these unjust and
cruel circumstances evaded me. It was on one
faithful night that I slept soundly, and dreamt
again of my fair lady.

She was lying in our bed, calmly sleeping, as if an

angel descended from the Heavens for a brief
respite. Approaching the foot of the bed to join
her I noticed the features of her face morphing.
Her hair losing its brightness, her skin losing its
vigor, and turning a pale and sickly white. Her
jawline was sharpening and her cheeks buckling in
as if from a violent attack. Her once healthy body
was covered in dark bruises and dried up to a
skeletal husk. She was covered in grievous
scratches and deep lacerations as if caused by
something with wicked claws. The blood began to
spill out of her mortal wounds. Rediffusion of
blood, sheets covered in dark crimson clots. Horror
covered my face as I witnessed the dread
metamorphosis. I awakened from this gut-
wrenching nightmare, my sheets soaked in cold
sweat, still unable to process what I had seen. Was
it the abominable artist? Coming to haunt me, to
take away the serenity and joy I had created for
myself. It could not be. I ended the waking
nightmare in that God-forsaken loft. I could not
stop thinking about my deed on that night, the
grotesque image of the mangled corpse
penetrated my mind, causing me immense
anguish. The event I once thought was a memory
of a sweet victory turned bitter in my mouth. The
demon had invaded my mind, turning a pure
dream into a dreadful nightmare, reminiscing the
past. These assaults continued nightly. They would
burrow their way into my dreaming mind, and
disrupt, disfigure, and destroy. A warm and loving
home would turn into a worm-infested den of
misery and decay. A fair woman disfigured into the
grotesque visage of the fiend's dead corpse. After
what seemed like aeons of nightmares, my mind
and spirit were so severely weakened, the visions
spilled into my waking hours which I had taken as
my refuge from my nightly torments.

IT had come for me again. I now realized I would

have no rest unless I devised a cunning and
absolute end to his endless stream of nightmares.
 Prior to this, IT had tormented me in the physical
realm, toying with me till I destroyed IT'S physical
form. Now IT haunts and torments me in my
dreams. Ripping them apart and distorting them to
IT'S own designs for the purpose of continuing my
agony beyond the wall of sleep. Now I know, that I
must conquer IT once more.

As the day ends and the curtain of the night is

drawn over the world I end this chronicle of
uncanny circumstances and terrifying facts
surrounding me, in hopes it may one day shine a
light onto the events that took place prior to my
imprisonment. I steel my nerves and will,
emboldened once more by the flame of ambition,
to free myself of my vicious pursuer once and for
all.