He Who Follows Me

This entire story comes from the diary of a dead man. This is what was found written in the diary. The entries end on the day the man was found dead.

March 3, 1938

Today, Helen and I came across one of the delightful old southern mansions. We decided to stop and make a study of the place. Helen was especially interested in taking some color pictures to illustrate our lecture series in the fall.

Although no one was home, we felt than no one would mind us taking a look around the place. We both felt it a shame that the owners let the place rundown. It was probably beautiful in its day. It could still be renovated, but not without a lot of money being spent.

After some shots of the house from the front and side, I noticed a building in back of the house. No one was to stop us, so we moved back there to take a look. The grounds of the back was more shabby than the front, but seeing how much needed done, it would be impossible without major construction work. Part of the mansion was still livable, though not very secure.

The building we were nearing didn’t seem so worn down. It was in remarkably fine condition. It was built a lot later than the house was, I estimated it as no more than twenty years old. It was made of stone, gray stone. Somebody probably had lived in the old house not too long ago, and during that time constructed this building. But we both still felt it a shame that they let what must have been a wonderful place rundown like this.

We both stopped in front of the stone building. Helen made the observation that it didn’t have any windows, something I had noticed too. I told her it was probably used for storage. It was then that Helen pointed to the broken padlock on the door. Our curiosity getting the best of us, we decided to check inside, to make sure everything was alright.

The massive heavy iron door swung open reluctantly. We stepped inside. Although there were no windows, light entered the structure through a skylight in the ceiling. The cold, damp musty air chilled our bones. Helen looked around the room, and laid her eyes on a large stone block in the middle of the floor, right where the light was coming down from the skylight. This was not a storehouse by any stretch of the imagination. This was a mausoleum, and the stone case on the floor was a sarcophagus, a stone coffin. There was nothing else in there, but Helen, and I to an extent, felt crowded.

Helen wanted to get a picture of the sarcophagus, with the light laying over. We didn’t think there was enough light for our camera, but we decided to try.

After the first shot, we heard movement outside and a man yell to us. I explained that we saw that the lock was broken and decided to explore. He told us that he wasn’t mad, but that we still shouldn’t of came in here, because “he” wouldn’t like it. When I pressed the man to tell me who “he” was, he answered “the thing that sleeps in that stone coffin.”

“This man must be crazy,” I thought. He asked us why we didn’t pay attention to the warning. Not knowing what he meant, he took us outside and showed us the writing above the door. “IF YOU ENTER HERE, INTO THE REALM OF DEATH, I SHALL FOLLOW YOU, AND BRING HIM WITH ME.” He said it was a shame that we didn’t see it, because we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into.

I once again apologized and told him we didn’t want any legal trouble. He said we were already in enough trouble, none of it being legal, because it didn’t matter to “him.” This time, Helen asked about “him,” and the man went into his story. “They called him Mr. Thomas when he was livin’. They call him The Dead that Walks now that he’s dead. He came to get that name because people around here ‘as seen ‘em, at night. He is dead, but they did see him walkin’. I know, cause I seen him myself. I know you ain’t believin’ what I’m tellin’ ya. I don’t care what you believe. But you listen to what I’m sayin’ now. If I was you I’d get as far away from this place as I could. Not just this place, but this town, this part of the country.”

I didn’t understand the urgency, so the man continued with the story, hoping to convince us.

“Old Thomas came from some place in Europe. I say “Old,” but he really wasn’t old. Just seemed that way. He bought the house and grounds here and had them cleaned up, till the place looked like it was brand new. Then he started buildin’ this here buildin’.”

“There was something funny ’bout Thomas; somethin’ in his eyes. Made ya frightened of him. His eyes, they looked like the eyes of a dead man.”

“He never acted like anyone I ever knew. He was always talking about death, always tellin’ me how he could come back after death. I was the caretaker then, just like I am now.”

“After this building was completed, I use to watch him at night. He’d come out here. It seemed as though he was in some sort of trance. He’d stay out here for hours. And when he’d come back to the house his eyes would glisten and shine, so you couldn’t hardly look at him.”

“A week before he died, he told me that as long as I live, I was to take care of this place. ‘Cause if I didn’t he’d come back an kill me. Then he died. Just like that. He was put in here, in that coffin.”

“One night, about two months later when the moon was full, I heard a noise. And when I had come out to look I saw the door to this place open, and him come out. I could hear his footsteps, something queer and draggin’-like. Then he turned around, and I could see his face in the moonlight: pale and pasty. Sick lookin’. Those eyes of his seemed like to burning coals of fire.”

“He seemed to be lookin’ at me. I heard him say, ‘They have disturbed me, and the moon has awakened me. I shall follow them.’ That’s what he said. I heard him just as straight as your hearin’ me. And then, he vanished into the night.” “Towards morning, I heard his footsteps again. I heard that big iron door closin’. And I knew he was back.”

“The next day I heard Ralph Cummins died the night before, screaming something about not meanin’ to go into the mausoleum. I knew who killed him.”

“This has happened again and again for the last ten years since he’s been dead. Folks around hear say he’ll follow you around wherever you go if you come inside here.”

“Why haven’t you been killed?” I asked, thinking I have caught him in his lie.

“Cause he needs me, Hee hee. He ain’t gonna kill me. But if I was you, I get out of this part of the country.”

March 3, Later.

I sit here and write these words. It is late and the moon has risen full in the sky. Helen is standing by the window looking out.

For some reason, I am frightened. Yet I know that a few months from now I will laugh at the memory of my fright. However, in the morning, I do believe that we will leave this place. Helen is glad. She doesn’t not believe the caretaker’s story, but she is concerned, just as I.

March 3, Still Later.

When I joined Helen at the window, a husky man appeared on the street below. He looked up at us.

The thing I noticed first was his face. Pale and pasty looking. Helen was startled by his eyes — two bright coals of fire, just as the caretaker had described.

The man down in the street, whomever he was, left after about ten minutes. He has given us quite a fright. If I had felt any doubts as to whether we should leave this place they have all been dispelled now. I don’t know what to believe.

Helen has just gone to bed. I think I shall do the same.

March 4, 1938.

Upon settling down to sleep last night, we heard footsteps coming from the room above us. I called down to the desk clerk, who only told us that the room above ours was unoccupied.

We left the hotel a short time after hearing the steps. We went immediately to our car and drove all night and all day.

We are stopping now in a motel almost one-thousand miles away. It is reassuring to know that he cannot possibly follow us.

I am very tired. I will go to bed and get an early start in the morning.

March 5, 1938.

Last night was not very comforting either. We heard the same footsteps outside our room, and Helen saw the man’s face at the window.

This morning when I went into pay the bill, the man who owns the motel said that a strange pasty-faced man had been in earlier and told him to tell me that he would follow me.

March 11, 1938.

It is impossible to get any material together that will help me in my work. Everywhere we go, he’s there also.

March 16, 1938.

The clerk told us this guy had said it was OK for us to go ahead because he was going to follow us.

March 22, 1938.

He left a message with the lady at the desk lady telling us that he would be in touch.

April 7, 1938.

He left another message at the desk. The manager had the nerve to ask me if he was a friend of ours.

April 18, 1938.

Another disturbing night without sleep. More footsteps from the hall outside.

April 29, 1938.

Expecting it when we went to check out this morning, I asked the clerk if there were any messages. The clerk said a husky man in a white suit came by and said he’d follow us.

May 15, 1938.

I don’t know what to do anymore. We cannot stop for the night without him showing up. The only sleep we get anymore is in the car while on the road.

May 30, 1938.

Helen and I argued again today. Since we’ve been on the run, that seems to be all that we can do. She suggested we go home. I fear that he will stalk us there, too. She felt it was the only place left to turn. I didn’t know what to do or say, so we left for home.

June 23, 1938.

We arrived home this evening. I called Gary as soon as we got home. He said he’d be out within the hour to see us.

June 24, 1938.

Gary wasn’t able to help us in any way. I did not really expecting any help. I was hoping he would be able to offer some concrete suggestion as to what to do. However, last night was the first night in months that we haven’t been aware of his presence.

Maybe Helen is right. Perhaps he won’t follow us here.

July 3, 1938.

We have not seen, nor heard, anything unusual since we first came home. I feel as a man might feel who has been given a new lease on life.

July 10, 1938.

Still nothing.

August 19, 1938.

For the past two months, a feeling of peace and security has enveloped the house. Helen and I have been able to go around with no sense of danger or dread. But last night that feeling was shattered…

According to one of their family friends (Gary?) my Great Uncle Bill went upstairs to investigate some footsteps, leaving my Great Aunt Helen downstairs alone.

When he got to the room that the noise came from, he found it empty. Going back downstairs, he found Helen, dead, with her eyes wide open.

August 23, 1938.

I sit here in the empty house, writing this. I know that Thomas will come for me too. I write this in the hope that someone will find it. Read it. And maybe understand my death.

It is lonely here. Yet, suddenly I feel as if I am not alone. Someone is here with me.

He is here, in this room with me. I am afraid to turn to meet him. Those eyes of his burning in to me. Yet, I must. I pray that someone reads this. Perhaps he will….

The August 23 entry was the last he ever made. The man was found dead in the very room he wrote about in his diary. The coroner could not determine a cause of death, but you and I know what killed him – The Dead that Walks.