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Description
Insomnia.

One.

The location is San Francisco, 2004.

It’s nearing midnight, and the streets are quiet. At a little bedsit on the edge of Chinatown, all the lights are out, indicating that there is no-one still awake inside the building, which is an old 1920’s row house, getting older by the second, and showing signs of age. The white paint peels off the window frames, which are retro 1950’s styled, and the curtains on the top floor hang out of the broken window panes, waving around gently in the light breeze.

But if you thought the outside was offputting enough, then don’t go inside. Everything inside the place speaks out of another age. In the smallish reception area, a little seating area gives a place for the residents to sit and do anything they please. The counter is a mahogany corner unit, which is in a bad state to say the least, with a gold press bell at one end. Behind this on the back wall is a notice board with nails in, and keys to rooms hang from these nails. The board is half empty though, which alone should describe the dire situation of the place. A huge grandfather clock, complete with brass pendulum, ticks away in the corner near the stairs to the first floor. Upstairs, only the first floor is inhabited now, and a ghostly kind of mist hangs about the dimly lit, unpapered, threadbare carpeted corridor.

Then, as the grandfather clock downstairs chimes midnight, an ear piercing, blood curdling scream tears right through the dead silence. The mist then disappears, and is replaced by a long low moan from the top floor.

Then, silence. Nothing moves, nothing breathes. Just unbroken silence.

Two mystified residents exit their rooms in their dressing gowns.

“What the hell was that?”, exclaims one. “I have no idea”, replies the second. “Well, where did it come from?” “Old Ralphs place. C’mon, let’s investigate.”

The two residents make their way down the corridor to no 8. “Ralph?” No answer. “Oh, to hell with that, he’s nearly deaf anyway.” The second guy then kicks the door down and enters the room. “Oh nice. Yeah, very clever! Give the poor sod a heart attack before you know that all’s well!”

The first person speaks out of darkness. “Not much chance of that now. Switch the light on.”

He does so. “AAH!” He screams as he sets eyes upon the scene of what’s happened. Poor Ralph has been stabbed once through the neck, and the face of the corpse displays a truly horrified look, explaining without words the last thoughts of the poor guy. The first resident stands at his bedside with bloodied hands, while the other one turns and vomits against the wall. “Who’d want to ice this guy?” “Well, whoever did, is a sick mother fucker to say the least.” “Call the cops, get all this sorted.” The second guy runs back to his apartment. “Sorry Ralph, old pal.” The first resident says a prayer and carries out the death duties.

******************

“What’ve we got?” “One male, early seventies, knifed through the neck once.” Words are exchanged between a police officer and a CSI investigator in white protective robes. “Where’s the body?” “On it’s way to the morgue.” They both duck under the cordon tape and make their way upstairs. “I’ll warn you now, if you don’t like bloody stuff, don’t come any further. I’ll get hold of someone else from your unit.” “No, no, I’m cool with it.”

Both enter the scene of the crime. “ Oh bloody hell! I see what you mean now! God!” The officer exclaims as he sees the blood soaked bed dead ahead of him. “The odd thing is, apart from the damage to the door done by the two residents in order to gain entry to the property, all is in place. No lock has been touched, no sign of anything forced in any way”, says the investigator as he looks over a window lock. “They couldn’t have used the window, and if they did, they’d need one hell of a ladder to get up to this window, and if the suspect used the door, he wouldn’t have been able to escape through the window, because there’s one hell of a drop, and he couldn’t have shut the window behind him, as you can see, there’s no ledge for foothold or any kind of purchase to enable you to gain access this way.”

“A real mystery. Any witnesses?” The investigator examines a dressing table with a microscope. “Your guys are dealing with that side of things. Witnesses ain’t my problem, I just investigate to open lines of enquiry.” “Oh okay”, replies the officer, as he walks out, muttering, “Thanks for nothing mate!”

Going back downstairs, he checks in on his colleagues, who are questioning witnesses and surveying the street below the window with CSI people. “Yo people, what’ve we got?” “This is Leanne Sorato. She’s a resident here at the block.” “Alright, what’s your story girl?”

“I was asleep”, began Leanne, “when I woke up at around, it must have been around 10 to 12, and I was making a herbal tea when I heard this blood curdling scream from down the hall.”

“Did you notice anything at all abnormal about the place in general?” The first officer takes notes as Leanne speaks. “Well, there was a sort of low moaning like sound, I couldn’t possibly distinguish it, and a kind of white/grey mist. I’ve never seen that before.” The first officer notes everything down. “Thank you very much. You may go now.” Leanne gets up and walks away.

“Okay man, I’ve seen enough. Inform central; tell them to sort out an undercover for tomorrow. This thing needs taking out.” “An undercover will take months of prep.” “And meanwhile, people are killed under our noses while we sit back and watch. We can’t have that. Get the FBI in on this. It’s something out of the ordinary, definitely.” The second officer walks away towards a police van, whilst the first guy sits and wonders.

“Supernatural or not, this thing needs sorting, sooner rather than later.” He gets up and walks back inside the building.

Description
Insomnia.

One.

The location is San Francisco, 2004.

It’s nearing midnight, and the streets are quiet. At a little bedsit on the edge of Chinatown, all the lights are out, indicating that there is no-one still awake inside the building, which is an old 1920’s row house, getting older by the second, and showing signs of age. The white paint peels off the window frames, which are retro 1950’s styled, and the curtains on the top floor hang out of the broken window panes, waving around gently in the light breeze.

But if you thought the outside was offputting enough, then don’t go inside. Everything inside the place speaks out of another age. In the smallish reception area, a little seating area gives a place for the residents to sit and do anything they please. The counter is a mahogany corner unit, which is in a bad state to say the least, with a gold press bell at one end. Behind this on the back wall is a notice board with nails in, and keys to rooms hang from these nails. The board is half empty though, which alone should describe the dire situation of the place. A huge grandfather clock, complete with brass pendulum, ticks away in the corner near the stairs to the first floor. Upstairs, only the first floor is inhabited now, and a ghostly kind of mist hangs about the dimly lit, unpapered, threadbare carpeted corridor.

Then, as the grandfather clock downstairs chimes midnight, an ear piercing, blood curdling scream tears right through the dead silence. The mist then disappears, and is replaced by a long low moan from the top floor.

Then, silence. Nothing moves, nothing breathes. Just unbroken silence.

Two mystified residents exit their rooms in their dressing gowns.

“What the hell was that?”, exclaims one. “I have no idea”, replies the second. “Well, where did it come from?” “Old Ralphs place. C’mon, let’s investigate.”

The two residents make their way down the corridor to no 8. “Ralph?” No answer. “Oh, to hell with that, he’s nearly deaf anyway.” The second guy then kicks the door down and enters the room. “Oh nice. Yeah, very clever! Give the poor sod a heart attack before you know that all’s well!”

The first person speaks out of darkness. “Not much chance of that now. Switch the light on.”

He does so. “AAH!” He screams as he sets eyes upon the scene of what’s happened. Poor Ralph has been stabbed once through the neck, and the face of the corpse displays a truly horrified look, explaining without words the last thoughts of the poor guy. The first resident stands at his bedside with bloodied hands, while the other one turns and vomits against the wall. “Who’d want to ice this guy?” “Well, whoever did, is a sick mother fucker to say the least.” “Call the cops, get all this sorted.” The second guy runs back to his apartment. “Sorry Ralph, old pal.” The first resident says a prayer and carries out the death duties.

******************

“What’ve we got?” “One male, early seventies, knifed through the neck once.” Words are exchanged between a police officer and a CSI investigator in white protective robes. “Where’s the body?” “On it’s way to the morgue.” They both duck under the cordon tape and make their way upstairs. “I’ll warn you now, if you don’t like bloody stuff, don’t come any further. I’ll get hold of someone else from your unit.” “No, no, I’m cool with it.”

Both enter the scene of the crime. “ Oh bloody hell! I see what you mean now! God!” The officer exclaims as he sees the blood soaked bed dead ahead of him. “The odd thing is, apart from the damage to the door done by the two residents in order to gain entry to the property, all is in place. No lock has been touched, no sign of anything forced in any way”, says the investigator as he looks over a window lock. “They couldn’t have used the window, and if they did, they’d need one hell of a ladder to get up to this window, and if the suspect used the door, he wouldn’t have been able to escape through the window, because there’s one hell of a drop, and he couldn’t have shut the window behind him, as you can see, there’s no ledge for foothold or any kind of purchase to enable you to gain access this way.”

“A real mystery. Any witnesses?” The investigator examines a dressing table with a microscope. “Your guys are dealing with that side of things. Witnesses ain’t my problem, I just investigate to open lines of enquiry.” “Oh okay”, replies the officer, as he walks out, muttering, “Thanks for nothing mate!”

Going back downstairs, he checks in on his colleagues, who are questioning witnesses and surveying the street below the window with CSI people. “Yo people, what’ve we got?” “This is Leanne Sorato. She’s a resident here at the block.” “Alright, what’s your story girl?”

“I was asleep”, began Leanne, “when I woke up at around, it must have been around 10 to 12, and I was making a herbal tea when I heard this blood curdling scream from down the hall.”

“Did you notice anything at all abnormal about the place in general?” The first officer takes notes as Leanne speaks. “Well, there was a sort of low moaning like sound, I couldn’t possibly distinguish it, and a kind of white/grey mist. I’ve never seen that before.” The first officer notes everything down. “Thank you very much. You may go now.” Leanne gets up and walks away.

“Okay man, I’ve seen enough. Inform central; tell them to sort out an undercover for tomorrow. This thing needs taking out.” “An undercover will take months of prep.” “And meanwhile, people are killed under our noses while we sit back and watch. We can’t have that. Get the FBI in on this. It’s something out of the ordinary, definitely.” The second officer walks away towards a police van, whilst the first guy sits and wonders.

“Supernatural or not, this thing needs sorting, sooner rather than later.” He gets up and walks back inside the building.