Deadmower.doc (Fatty the Mower)
April 5, 2002~
Did I hire a man to mow my lawn and I just don’t remember it? I certainly didn’t need the fat man to be out
there, mowing my lawn. Maybe he was a psycho killer. Everyone in my neighborhood enjoyed conspiracies. Maybe this was one of those conspiracies they were always talking about. I was skeptical though. The man looked innocent enough; maybe he just had the wrong house. It took me a moment to decide, but eventually I slipped on my tennis shoes and opened the door. The man didn’t turn around; he just kept mowing the lawn.
I laughed nervously once. Maybe I should call the police. This man could be dangerous! I suddenly shook myself out of it; he was just a confused man. I was being stupid. I would send this poor guy away. Walking out to the man with long, quick strides, I realized that I hadn’t yet seen the fat man’s face. He’d managed to mow almost half the lawn, and I hadn’t seen his face. This thought made me pause, but even though every muscle in my body didn’t want to move any closer to this man, I did.
“Um, can I ask you what you’re doing on my lawn, because I didn’t hire some fat guy to do yard maintenance?” I questioned the man rather rudely. He didn’t reply; he just kept mowing. “Hey? Are you ignoring me?” I put a hand on his shoulder to turn him around, which is an action I fully regret doing. He turned around, and for the first time I saw his face. Skin hung from his face like cloth, revealing nothing but bloody, shredded bone beneath. “I’m here to mow you’re lawn.” He told me, but his voice was far too high pitched for the body he was in. I tried to look into his eyes, but there was nothing but dull light where his eyes should be. His mouth looked like a stitched black line, and it wasn’t moving.
I stumbled back, but he caught me with one bloody hand. “Don’t you want to pay Fatty the Mower?” he asked. Shaking my head, I ran inside and called the police. Within minutes they were there, but Fatty the Mower was gone. “Hey, the next time you call the police, make sure it’s an emergency.” an annoyed police officer told me, before driving away. I felt extremely unnerved. Maybe it had just been my imagination and I had merely scared away some helpless lawn mowing guy. Finally calming myself down, I decided to go to bed. It wasn’t doing me any good to sit on my couch and wonder. When I was safely in bed, I put my arms behind my head and sighed. It had been a long day. Slowly, I began to fall into the calm world of sleep.
My eyes flew open, and it took me a minute to realize what had woken me up. There was something tapping on my window. Sighing, I walked over to my window and looked out. I saw nothing that could have made the noise. I must be going insane, I thought. Soon I was safely in my bed again, but I didn’t get to sleep. The tapping resumed. Shaking my head, I stood up again. This time I opened up the window and yelled out, “Cut it out!”
Feeling defeated, I was about to try to go back to sleep when I finally fully woke up. My sleep-numbed mind had been wrong. The tapping was coming from under my bed. A grotesque figure slithered out from its hiding place. It was Fatty the Mower, but this time his mouth had broken its seams to show long, pointed teeth. Long claw-like fingernails stretched out from a bloody, beckoning, hand. One of the claws tapped against the wooden floor; the sound was almost hypnotizing. His eyes that looked like little, dull, suns stared up at me, and a blood-red tongue licked his decaying lips. “It’s time to pay Fatty the Mower.” it hissed. Those yellow claws reached for me.
“It’s time…” I murmured. Each step brought me closer to the demon by my bed, but at the last moment I came to my senses and ran. The thing didn’t seem to follow me, and I hid in a closet, panting. I knew I shouldn’t be hiding in a closet; the thing would know exactly where to find me. I’ve always hated being right. A blood red tongue licked my throat, bringing burning pain. A clawed hand reached into my throat. As I write this, I can feel him slowly inching his hand down toward my heart. Why he is taking his time I will probably never know. All I know is that I shouldn’t have- (note cuts off)
This was a journal entry found by police next to a deep hole in the woods. The handwriting was sloppy and probably hastily written. I found this while I worked at my local police station in a small town somewhere in Newaygo County, Michigan. I do not remember the name of this city, and I do not even remember finding the note. I do not- cannot remember anything from that town. The note was in a sealed file, but it seemed like just a hoax to me. That was, until I found a copy of this note in my email with the photos below attached. The name of the file was deadmower.doc, and it restarted my computer the first time I tried to open it. I had thought it was a scam until I found the note I took hidden deep in a moving box.
If you ever get this file in your email, delete it and forget about it. I suspect Fatty is drawn to any thoughts of him. Another thing I believe is that the writer of this note somehow also sent this email. Whoever they are, they are not dead. At least, they aren’t yet. So what does Fatty do to his victims? I hope to never find out.
Don’t you want to pay Fatty the Mower?