I’m leaving this record in the hope that should some ill befall me, others might not meet the same fate.

It was late on Friday afternoon, and the sun was just starting to set. Magnolia Boulevard is set in one of the more reasonably priced parts of the city, the terraced properties often lending a strong sense of community, neighbours in and out of each other’s homes, always a helping hand, and you would often find children from various families playing in the streets. So it came as a surprise when the tenants of 17 Magnolia Boulevard had missed the last three months of rental payments. All attempts to contact them had failed, and so it fell to me to visit the property and discuss the situation. So, torch in hand and a spare key in my pocket, I headed to the terrace.

It was clear quite quickly that the property had not been taken care of; bricks from the garden wall were dislodged, and the bush in the garden was so overgrown it spilled out onto the pavement. The curtains were all drawn at the windows, and my first thoughts were whether the property had become a den for delinquents or tenants had merely absconded. I approached nonetheless.

The gate squeaked terribly as I entered the garden. I was sure I would receive complaints from the neighbours, and sure enough, the curtains in the adjoining properties twitched. I would have to make my apologies later, I thought to myself.

From the disrepair of the garden, I had expected the lock to be stiff, and to my surprise, it wasn’t. The sun was almost set now, and upon opening the door, I found myself looking into a dark hallway. Stepping inside, I immediately stumbled, hidden by the dark, a small collection of clutter. Cursing, I looked around for a light switch. Finding one, however, did me little good; flicking the switch did nothing. It was my good fortune to have with me my flashlight, however, my hopes were dashed when I illuminated the beam, only for the light to die moments later. Bemused, I knocked the torch against my palm; I was sure I had fitted new batteries before I left. Luckily, the torch had lasted just long enough to reveal that within the clutter I had stumbled upon were a box of matches and three candles, two of which were quite normal, the third was black in colour, little more than a nub remaining. I lit one of the regular candles and proceeded to look for the fuses.

The candle’s orange glow picked out signs of habitation albeit a somewhat feral existence; discarded cans littered the floor, the tell-tale sawing marks of a can opener used to lever open the lids, empty cardboard packaging of cereals, now flattened and beginning to moulder. It had all been used and discarded, no care given for what would happen to it next.

At the end of the hall were the stairs to the floor above, and to the right was the entrance to the large reception room; through the rear of the reception room was the kitchen/diner. I was surprised to find so little furniture; the reception room was quite bare, save for an aged mirror above a fireplace on the right-hand wall, the silver worn around the edges, and some chalk markings and melted candles on the bare floorboards, along with a book opened to a page of strange symbols. I’m no font of knowledge on things such as the occult, but the marking put me in mind of something that one might find in some fanciful tale. I assumed some children must have broken in and been playing. Without further thought, I headed into the kitchen, still searching for the fuses. 

What I found, however, was the remains of a broken chair and a door set into the right-hand wall. I had reviewed the floor plan before coming and was certain it shouldn’t be there, it would have opened into the adjoining property. I tried the handle for good measure and found it to be quite locked. Had the occupants performed some sort of renovation? I was sure the neighbours wouldn’t have approved. Shaking my head, I continued to search the kitchen. I found the fuses, or what was left of them, someone had smashed them; the floor was littered with pieces of bakelite and wooden splitters.

It was at that point I heard a creak from the floorboards above. I started to make my way towards the stairs and heard the clattering of a can in the hall, then it felt as if something brushed against my leg. I looked around to see what it was, maybe it was the weak light from the candle, but there was nothing there. “Rats”, I told myself, unsurprising given the state of the place. 

Candle in hand, I climbed the stairs. The light from the candle picked out more strange markings on the walls, more childish wards, no doubt. At the top of the stairs was the bathroom; the door was ajar, and I could make out the bath and filthy marks along the floor. There were two more doors, the two bedrooms. The door to the smaller of the two rooms was open; a glance inside revealed a mattress and little else. I could make out muttering coming from the master bedroom. Knowing that someone was there, I steeled myself for what was likely to be a confrontation. I made my way to the door, the gentlest of caresses touched my back, I spun on the spot, searching with candle light, nothing. I felt a bead of anxiety creep in, what is going on I thought, before telling myself, “I’m imagining things”, and opened the door.

A young woman was curled into a fetal position on a bed. The woman was dressed in what appeared to be a filthy white nightgown, and she was muttering to herself. Glancing about the room, there were more empty cans, a can opener, a fork, and little else. She recoiled from the light as I entered the room and pressed herself against the wall. Seeing that she was in some distress, I raised my hands to show her I meant no harm. Not wanting to startle her further, I merely spoke, “It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you. I was sent to check on the property. I can see that you’re in some distress, I’d like to help you”. 

At those words, she asked, “Have you seen the others?”.

“I’ve seen no one”, I replied

“You came. You opened the door. The spell. It’s broken”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, spell, what spell?”

“Whatever you do, don’t feed it”

“Feed it? Feed what? I don’t understand”

“Don’t feed it, don’t feed it, don’t feed it”, she repeated over and over, shaking her head as she did so.

“Look, clearly, something terrible has happened. Let me call for some help”

I was about to turn to leave when suddenly, faster than I would have imagined possible, she was at my side, gripping my wrist.

“Now, hold on just a moment, I want to help you”, I stammered.

She looked at me, a focused intent I’ll never forget

“You must send it back” she said

“I still don’t understand”

“It’s trapped between here and there. It wants out. Take this”, she thrust a scrap of paper into my hand.

The scrap of paper had some lines drawn on it, a mixture of mostly straight lines and a curve.

“Take it to the mirror”, she said “Place it up against the glass, and get the key”

“What?”

“The key, the key. You can use it to open the door, send it back”

“What is ‘it’? This is madness”

“I know it’s still here, I hear it, it knocks into the cans, that’s why I leave them”, a grin spread across her face “you’ve felt it haven’t you.” the grim widened, a glint of madness in her eyes “do you want to see it? The light from the dark reveals all, the light from the dark reveals all, the light from the dark reveals all”. She detached herself from me and retreated to the bed.

I’m not sure why I entertained the idea, but I said, “If I do as you ask, you’ll come with me, and we’ll get you some help”. She nodded her assent.

Sighing inwardly, I turned and started to head back down the stairs. The front room, just as it was before, the old mirror hanging from the wall above the mantelpiece and the chalk markings on the floor, the book laying open. I stood before the mirror. With the sensations I had felt, and now this woman talking about ‘it’, and ‘others’ my imagination was getting the best of me, and my anxiety grew. I tried my best to think to myself, “This is ridiculous”. With some trepidation, and no small amount of hopefully disbelief, I took the piece of paper, and placed it upon the mantel, and then slid it towards the mirror. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but when I looked into the mirror, the reflection, instead of mirroring the marks, completed them, spelling out the word “mirror”. To say I was astonished would be an understatement; it was as if the mirror was a portal or doorway to another copy of this room; it defied explanation. I began to wonder if I was going mad. I tried to gather my thoughts, which turned to the key the woman had mentioned, and there it was, in the reflection. I’m not sure what made me do it, but I reached for the key. I had expected my hand to meet the glass, it didn’t, and now in my hand was a key that shouldn’t be possible.

A can rattled in the hallway, and I turned to look. Nothing. Then it struck me: “the light from the dark reveals all”, the nub of a black candle I’d found. I’m not sure why I did it, and even to this day, I wish I hadn’t. I took the black candle from my pocket and I lit it. At first, there didn’t seem to be any difference, and then as I looked around, I saw something. At first, I thought the paper was bubbling away from the plaster due to dampness. The bubbling began to move, as if it were turning towards me, and I realised it wasn’t the paper on the walls but a mass of glistening tentacles, six feet high and just as wide, and they were reaching towards me, parting as they did so to reveal a salivating maw with layer upon layer of razor-sharp teeth. One of the tentacles brushed against my leg, and I recalled the moment I’d felt earlier. I backed away as fast as I could, falling as I did so. I dropped the black candle, and it guttered and died. I panicked; that thing was in the room with me. I scrambled away as far as I could. I’m not sure if I imagined it, but my skin crawled all the same, and I recoiled.

I had to move; surely it would be on me any moment, and I could no longer see it. I tried to steady myself. What had she said? “Send it back”. Key in one hand and candle in the other, I stood slowly and slid my way back against the wall to the kitchen, reaching with a foot, probing before taking the next step. My heart in my mouth, each step took an eternity.

I was at the door that shouldn’t be there. “Send it back”, the words echoed in my mind, a can scraped, and for a moment, I closed my eyes fearing the worst; my hands shook, and I had to fight the urge to run. I reached towards the keyhole in the door, my hand shaking so much that it took me several attempts to find the hole. I turned the key and opened the door.

The temperature in the room plummeted; I’ve never felt such cold. I was sure I would freeze on the spot, but it was nothing compared to what lay beyond the door, an endless vista of stars beyond our time or space. Such wonders I have never seen, a void that went on forever, such emptiness, such desolation. I would have looked upon it until the end of my days. I was snapped from my wonder by a cry for the floor above. “Close the book, close the book”. I held up the candle and cast the light as far as it would go. The book was still near the markings, still open. Feeling sure this was the end of it, I dashed for the book and slammed it closed. There was a sound, not unlike a scream, emanating from the kitchen. I looked back towards the door. The walls, for want of a better term, were eating the door, the sound of bricks scraping against bricks, they folded in towards each other filling the space. Then the sound of the key hitting the floor, and then silence.

The silence rolled on, eventually broken by a voice from the top of the stairs, “It’s done”

I was stunned for a moment “I’ve done as you asked” I stammered

I moved to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, I could just make out the silhouette of the young woman. She made her way down and pushed past me into the front room, the dark didn’t appear to bother her as she stopped picking up the book and the remains of the black candle before heading to the kitchen and retrieving the key. She returned and thrust them into my empty hand “I don’t want them”. I was somewhat taken aback, I stood dumbfounded for a moment before I found my voice. “Earlier, you mentioned there were others”

“There were three more of us, then one day the they were gone”, she replied

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Gone” was all she said. Maybe she didn’t know, I thought.

After a moment, I asked, “Why is the electricity out?”

“It fed on it, so it had to go”

A sick feeling came over me, as I thought about the flashlight. It must have shown on my face as she pulled away from me “What have you done? What have you done?” she asked, a look of horror spreading across her face, before she turned and ran down the hallway. She yanked open the front door and ran into the street. There was the sound of a horn and screech of tyres before a sickening crunch. I dashed out of the house, but it was too late; she was lying in the street, quite dead.

Later, the police arrived, and they questioned the driver of the car, who indicated that she had fled 17 Magnolia Boulevard. The police asked me questions, I wasn’t sure how much to divulge of what I’d witnessed, so I decided that rather than sound like a madman I would stick why I had come here, that I was checking up on failed rent payments, that I had used a key to gain entry, that I had found the woman in the master bedroom and offered her help, that she had agreed but that she had run from me at the foot of the stairs. The police seemed happy with my explanation and told me, “It’s not the first time that has happened, squatters; they run when they’ve been caught, shame this one ran into the road mind”. I gave them my contact details should they need to follow up on anything but received a somewhat dismissive “seems pretty open, and shut to me sir, I doubt we’ll need a follow up”. With that, I was allowed to depart.

I decided I would walk back to the office; there was a lot to unpack, and I needed the time. It wasn’t until later that I realised that moments after I passed, litter would rustle, and street lamps would die.