The following is a message I found on my answer machine the other day... scared the shit out of me... poor sod must have hit a random number.... and I swear I shouldn't have that many shadows....

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You've all noticed them, all of you.

At some point each one of you has seen, or, or heard them, the Observers. At least once.

An extra shadow from a street lamp, one footstep too many when you're walking home in the darkness. They're always there: ever watching, forever following. Sometimes you can even spot one, from the corner of your eye, a dark, shadow cloaked humanoid figure. If you're feeling brave you try to focus on them, and you can't. No matter how hard you try to, sometimes you spin round but to no avail, never will they stay in one place long enough. 


Unless you are judged fit for their purpose.

If you're lucky, you won't see one, ever.

But I did. I saw one.

I don't know why or how they choose us. But to them we're nothing but test subjects, like mice in a lab maze.

As I said, I call them the Observers, and that's all they do, watch, Observe. Until they need the next subject for their little experiments and they take you. They'll come at your weakest hour, when it's dark, when you're alone, when the only sounds are the rustle of leaves, the wind through the trees and the light pitter-patter of rain on your window.

Doors cannot stop them, none of our pathetic barriers can. If it's possible to get through, they will. They can sneak  through the smallest spaces. And once they get to you, and trust me, they will, you're theirs.                  

You can never run, never escape them once they've seen you, and that's what happened to me.

I'll... I'll start from the beginning:

I was walking back from work last night... at least I think it was last night. I saw something from the corner of my eye, I thought maybe, just maybe there was someone behind me, maybe a mugger, that type was rife in my area of London, not that it matters now.

I turned, searching for my potential attacker, but there was no one, just me walking down a maze of back-alleys, rain lashing at my face, as I traveled to my 'apartment', and I lose the term loosely... but I'll miss that place. My apartment was in fact the large, upstairs office of an old port warehouse... it had an 'open plan' set up, bedroom, living room, dining room, kitchen hybrid and a small, walled off bathroom with a hastily and cheaply installed shower, which matched most of the furnishing I own.

The warehouse itself stood lonely in center of a large area.. which would have at one point been full of shipping containers, but was now inhabited by just a few rotting examples, with weeds growing up through the cracks in the concrete. This was all surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence. Before you wonder how I came to live in such a bizarre environment I shall tell you... not that it'll affect anyone... my grandfather owned a shipping business, which slowly went under as cargo haulers got larger, and when he died my parents...  moved to Australia... They'll probably worry about me... I on the other hand did not want to leave my birthplace, so my father signed the land over to me.

But I don't have time for that

The rain only got heavier as I slunk through a hole in the fence and jogged my way to the large wooden warehouse doors, set into which was a small steel one. I unlocked the door and hurried in to the large empty space, which I hoped would one day hold my car, a pool table and a few other "bachelor" items, like a jukebox. But such were the dreams of a young man. I closed the door and jogged up the stairs, unlocked the door to my living space, which may have been white at some point, and still bared the word "Shipping Office" in peeling black italics. 

I hung up my dripping coat, dropped my bag on the floor, took of my cheap suit and jumped into bed to watch some bad TV... If I'd of known what would happen my last day would have been spent more productively. Then the power went out. Everything in pitch black, I sighed. The weather must have pulled down a power line or something. So I rolled over, and began to sleep.

Suddenly something woke me with a start, an almighty crash outside my door... I crept out of bed, grabbing an old sledge hammer from the wall (my grandads company was called Hammersmiths) and slowly began sneaking to the door.

I carefully opened it, trying to minimize the squeak it always made, and looked out.

One of the panels had ripped from the roof in the wind, and smashed a window...

"FUCK!" I said to myself, "I have enough cunting boills as it is."

I returned to my bed, and after a few minutes, nodded off. Then they came, I felt something hold my arms down, and my eyes flashed open, darting around the room I noticed three of them, two holding my arms down, another lowering something toward my head. It span, blades whirring. More entered the room, shimmering into existence, closing in on me...

I blacked out.

When I came to I was in a small dark room, rusting panels lined the walls, and the room was filled with a thin, greyish smog. I lay on a table, unable to move. I was not restrained, physically at least, and I noticed my phone, still tucked into my dressing gown pocket. I spent hours trying to reach it, listening to the metal creak and grown, tears streaming down my face. eventually I got to it, pressed record message, and here we are, I had to warn you. Oh... Shit... if, if you read this you might be a threat... fuck, I'm, I'm sorry, so, so sorry.



Message received 12:01 AM